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General BattleTech => Alternate Universe => Topic started by: masterarminas on June 11, 2013, 01:48:58 AM

Title: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 11, 2013, 01:48:58 AM

By the Horns

An Original Work of Fiction
By
Stephen T Bynum

All Rights Reserved


Prologue

TCS Samantha Calderon
Omega Anchorage, Hyades Cluster
September 27, 2596

“Jack, we need that drive back on-line,” pleaded Helena Vickers, the last remaining flag officer of the Taurian Concordat Navy . . . the last one qualified for a command in space, at any rate.

“Aye, Admiral, that we do,” the sandy-haired engineer answered with a sigh of his own as he ran his hands across the thinning crown.  “But I’m an engineer, not a miracle worker.  Saucy Sam here needs a full ship-yard, instead I’ve just got my own boys and girls down below decks.”

“And the engineers from the other ships in the Flotilla,” Helena added.  Jack Fletcher held up a placating hand and he nodded.

“More trouble than they are worth, truth be told, Admiral, despite being there to turn to a wrench or lift a cable.  I cannot change the laws of physics, ma’am,” he pleaded, “you have to give us the time to track down that fault in the drive core.  And that means we cannot jump.”

Helena closed her eyes and she shook her head.  “Jack, if we don’t jump before the Terries come out here to picket the Anchorage, we won’t ever get the chance to jump.  We—and those other ships out there—we haven’t complied with Marantha’s surrender.  In their minds, that means we are pirates and can be shot on sight.  And if they realize how many of our people are escaping, and just how many ships of the Fleet remain intact as their escorts?  Jack, they will spend the next hundred years tracking us down to destroy our children and the new homes we are supposed to be building out there past the borders.”

“I know,” Jack Fletcher said in a very quiet voice.  “But right now, if we jump we die.  That means, Admiral, that you are going to have to give the order for the Flotilla to proceed without us.”

Helena winced . . . but she nodded at the engineer.  “Can they accommodate any more of our personnel?” she asked quietly—already knowing the answer.

“No, ma’am.  But the good news is, if I can find the damned fault and repair it before Satan’s Legions of Damnable Fornicators gets out here, we might be able to catch up with the rest.”  If the long-abused Kearny-Fuchida faster-than-light drive managed to hold together went unsaid.

The Taurian Admiral knew well that the odds of that were . . . remote, to say the least.  But for the morale of her people, she nodded.  “There are always possibilities, Jack,” she whispered, as she leaned back in her chair. 

The War—the twenty-year long Reunification War—was finally over and done with.  Well, most of it was over and done with.  And it was a war that Taurus has finally lost.  Not due to a lack of courage; no, the Taurians may well have lacked many things, but courage was never one of them.  No, the Concordat simply had too many enemies; too many foes; and whether in space or on the surface of a contested world, the Star League and its member states had sent millions to fight and die.  All in an effort to make the Taurian people accept membership in the Star League against their will.

Helena sighed and she looked out the armored plexi that covered one of her bulkheads; she gazed upon the thick, red, roiling clouds of gas and dust and micrometeoroids that comprised Flannagan’s Nebula.  The thick armored hatch that covered the view-port was retracted at the moment and she gazed upon the clouds that—in all likelihood—she would never again see.

She stood, and she laid her hand upon the desk of the ship that she had served upon for the past two decades—the Flagship of the all-but-annihilated Taurian Concordat Navy.  The first—and now last—battleship of the TCN.  “She deserves better, Jack.”

“Aye, ma’am; that she does.  She needs another half-a-year in the repair slips to set everything right—but we don’t have a half-a-year; nor even a quarter.”

“No.  Jack,” she said with a sudden gleam in her eyes, “you know, the more I think about it, the better a chance the rest have at escape is if we take the fight to the Terries one last time.  The K/F Core will not last forever; not without more spare parts than we have on-hand—if you can get me one more jump out of her, Jack, . . .,” and Helena’s voice trailed off.

“Aye, ma’am,” Jack Fletcher whispered.  “We’ll do the Old Girl proud.”

Helena pressed the transmit key on the intraship comm and she waited until her bridge crew answered.  “Order the Flotilla to proceed without us, Commander Stiles,” she instructed crisply.  “Have Navigation compute an FTL jump to Gateway—when Commander Fletcher and his people get the Core back on-line, we are going back to kick ass and take names.”

“Understood, Admiral,” the voice of her XO replied.  “She deserves a better ending than the scrap-yards, and we’ll take more than a few of the Terries to Hell alongside us.”

“Jack,” Helena began, but the engineer simply nodded.

“I’ll get us there, Admiral.  Come Hell’s Heart or High Water, I’ll get us there,” and with a nod of his head, he turned and left the Admiral’s stateroom set on one of the Saucy Sam’s four grav decks.


TCS Samantha Calderon
Omega Anchorage, Hyades Cluster
October 1, 2596

“All hands, prepare for jump drive activation.  Repeat, all hands, prepare for jump drive activation.  Jump drive initialization is set for . . . one minute from my mark . . . MARK,” Helena tightened the restraining belts that held her in her command chair as the sober—somber—crew quietly attended to their duties.

“Admiral, all weapons are standing by,” Commander Daniel Stiles reported from his station.  “Nuclear warheads are loaded in tubes Five through Twelve and are ready to armed upon your command.”

“Make it so, Mister Stiles,” Helena answered as the jump clock slowly ticked down.

“All hands, stand by for jump,” the petty officer at the master helm station announced, “in five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . JUMP!”

The massive drive core at the center of the ship began to receive the tremendous amounts of stored power hoarded by TCS Samantha Calderon over the past eight days . . . and with that power it tore open a hole in the fabric of the universe.  Just as it did every single time the jump drive was activated, this very short-lived hole allowed mankind to traverse interstellar distances in . . ., well, no one had ever actually managed to measure elapsed time during a jump.

But any feat of engineering that allowed humanity to bypass Einstein’s speed limit had within itself the potential of doing far, far, far more than merely displacing the ship thirty or so light-years.  And despite Jack Fletcher’s attempts, not all of the drive core damage suffered by Saucy Sam had been found—and repaired. 

This jump, Helena realized with a start, seemed to last forever—and then the ship emerged into real-space once more; it emerged with a BANG and shudder and red emergency lights lit up the bridge as desperate voices clogged the comm channels. 

“GUNS!” she snapped.  “Target all SLDF vessels in range!”

But only shocked silence greeted her order.

“GUNS!”

“Ma’am,” the young officer finally answered, and he swallowed heavily.  “Admiral, I am reading no WarShips within range—and Gateway Station is gone.  Gone.”

“Impossible,” whispered Helena and then she looked down at her own consoles.  Sure enough, the massive space station that had for so long guarded the path into Hell’s Heart was missing—but then she detected the transponders coming from within the asteroid fields that surrounded the jump-point.  The troopers of the Special Asteroid Support Force—the SASF—were on the ball at least.

And then her eyes noticed a . . . discrepancy in the transponder data.  She gasped; her eyes grew wide, and she barked out a hurried command.  “SAFE ALL WEAPONS!  NOW!”  Helena unbuckled her straps and she flew across to the communications station and she hit the transmit keys.

“This is the Taurian Concordat Navy ship Samantha Calderon—hold your fire!  We request a communications link to the Protector of the Taurian Concordat, over.”

For several seconds only static emerged from the radio, but then a voice—a very quiet and disturbed voice—came through.  “Hold our fire?  Lady, I hope to God you are holding your fire!  I’ve sent a message to Taurus, but it’ll take a while to wake up Protector Thomas—who the hell are you again?”

“Thomas?” Helena asked; Marantha Calderon had been Protector until her suicide just days ago; no successor had yet to assume the throne.  She picked up the microphone.  “SASF, this is the TCS Samantha Calderon,” she paused and closed her eyes, “Admiral Helena Vickers, commanding.  Confirm today’s date.”

A new voice, stronger and more in control came over speaker.  “Admiral Vickers, this is Commodore Ethan Mendoza . . . today is the 17th day of November in the year 3025.  I believe that we need to have a serious chat, you and I—until the Protector manages to get out here, at least.”

Utter silence fell upon the bridge, and Helena swallowed the lump in her throat.  “Agreed, Commodore Mendoza.  I will be expecting your shuttle.”

She sat back down and made her trembling hands stop shaking as she grasped the arms of her chair.  “Intra-ship,” she ordered, and Daniel Stiles nodded after a moment. 

“Shipmates,” she started with as she began to inform the crew that their ship—HER SHIP—and all souls within her mighty hull, had been displaced more than four centuries into their own future.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 11, 2013, 01:56:42 AM

TCS Samantha Calderon (http://www.solaris7.com/TRO/Spaceship/ShipInfo.asp?ID=1506) is described in detail on that link.  For those who aren't familiar with this ship (not canon, created by yours truly) and that don't want to wait.  Enjoy!

MA

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 11, 2013, 10:45:46 AM

TCS Samantha Calderon
The Gateway, Hyades Cluster
September 27, 3025

“My god . . . am I dreaming?” whispered Ethan Mendoza as he touched the solid bulkhead reverently once again.

“Here,” Helena answered as she handed him a crystal glass filled with liquor, keeping a second one for herself.  “Dan?”

“One of us needs to stay sober, Skipper,” the XO answered with a grim chuckle.  “If you are dreaming, Commodore, then for us it is a nightmare come to life,” his smile and chuckle faded away.  “Just based on what you have said, the Star League was more vindictive than even we thought they could be . . . all of the yards are gone?” he asked in a shocked voice.  “The graving docks over Samantha; the orbital foundries at Jamestown; the component and weapon factories on Taurus itself!  According to your information, we have a single yard—in the entire Taurian Concordat!—one yard able to produce JumpShips!  And no WarShips.”

“The Star League was rather . . . perturbed,” Ethan said with a shake of his head, “at our continued intransigence following the War, Commander Stiles,” and then his face clouded and red anger—a deep and broad anger that was clearly visible on his face and body—welled up from inside him.  “The bastards didn’t want to ever have to fight us again; so they crippled as much of our industry as they could.  Crippled and maimed us enough that when the Star League fell we lost about half of our worlds thanks to their policies that didn’t let us build vital components out here.”

Ethan shook his head and he swallowed half of his whiskey in one quick gulp—but the shock of the powerful liquor calmed him down . . . somewhat.

“They stole half of our worlds, and when we rebuilt, their death throes destroyed half of those we had left, Admiral, Commander.  Which isn’t to mention the pirates and renegades that have plagued us non-stop since authority collapsed outside our core systems.  Oh, we have had peace—for a given definition of peace,” he spat sourly, “but the incessant raids and attacks on our people, the need to relocate millions of civilians as power and water failed on a score of worlds; all of this and a series of unfortunate . . . accidents kept us from rebuilding.  And when we finally managed to stop our slide we discovered that the nice people from the Star League who just wanted to help their backwards and primitive cousins had censored and edited all of our libraries.  They didn’t just make an effort to remove blue-prints and plans, because that would be too easy to overcome,” and Ethan laughed grimly.  “No, the bastards actually changed text in instructional manuals and textbooks; they deliberately removed the knowledge that we needed and so fucked up the basic learning materials that we haven’t been able to rebuild back to what we had in the Age of War even now, two centuries after it all fell apart.”

Helena exchanged a look with her executive officer, and he shrugged; she nodded in reply—and then she smiled.  “Commodore,” she began in a quiet voice, “I do believe that you count on that part of history being over and done with.  As I said earlier, we were part of an expedition that intended to preserve the best parts of the Concordat independent of Ian Cameron’s damned Star League.  The rest of the Flotilla, if they survived,” she added, “are still out there somewhere—we just have to find them.  And,” and here she grinned broadly, “my flagship carries aboard her a Data Core containing the accumulated knowledge of the Taurian Concordat, as of the year 2596.  You still have printers?  Because engineering textbooks, blue-prints, and schematics are NOT going to be a problem.”

Ethan blinked and he swallowed the second half of his whiskey before setting down the crystal tumbler.  He nodded.  “It is indicative of the sad state of affairs, Admiral Vickers, when I tell you without exaggeration, that the information you have offered is quite possibly more vital than the entire firepower of this WarShip.”  And then he winced.  “A WarShip . . . we have a fucking WarShip, a working WarShip.  Hanse Davion and Maximillian Liao will go fucking ballistic.”

Helen sighed again.  “Unfortunately, Commodore, we are working and functional only if you can discount the Kearny-Fuchida Drive Core.  Commander Fletcher might be able to restore the drive . . . given a few months to make repairs; if, IF, that is, that you are able to retool factories to produce the components that we need.”

“Understood, ma’am,” Ethan answered, but then he grinned.  “But your guns work, and so do those big-ass transit drives back there on your hind-quarters—you can fight and you can maneuver, and ma’am, no one has had a WarShip able to do that in more than a century.”

“Oh, yes, Commodore,” Helen laughed, “our guns work and I’ve got a full load of nuclear ordnance aboard.  I would say that I pity anyone that tries to attack Taurus on my watch—but my pity reserves are just about depleted,” she finished in a cold, cold voice.  “Someone jumps into this system on my watch, planning to strike the capital, their JumpShip and DropShips are going to be devoured in nuclear fire.  Unless I am feeling like playing with them; in which case our Naval Lasers and PPCs will tear them apart a millimeter at a time.”

And Ethan drew himself up and swallowed heavily.  He had read—in secondary school—about the heroic Helena Vickers and her twenty years of fighting against the League.  She was a national hero, for all that the Star League bureaucrats had tried to extinguish all mention of her—but only now was he beginning to understand, to see, the unremorseful utter hatred that ran through her body at the merest thought of those from the Inner Sphere invading even this Concordat—a Concordat so very different from her own centuries past.

“There are different rules today, Admiral,” he whispered.  “JumpShips—all JumpShips—are sacrosanct.  They are not attacked, but can be captured.”

“Really?” asked Helena in an acrid voice.  “Does that apply to this ship as well?”

Ethan blinked, but then the Admiral waved off his reply.  “I’ll comply with your rules—your time, your universe . . . for now, Commodore.  But if defending Taurus means blowing an Inner Sphere JumpShip and every living soul aboard her to Hell, then that is what I’m going to do,” and she took a sip of her own whiskey.

“Dan,” she continued, “while the good Commodore is still in a state of shock, perhaps you can inform him of what else we are carrying.”

“Aye, aye, Skipper,” the XO answered cheerfully.  “Commodore Mendoza, as part of the Expedition of Exiles, we gave up two of our four docking collars to transport the Fourth Battalion of the Calderon Red Hand.  Their Legionnaire-class DropShips carry two ‘Mech companies and two ASF lances apiece—so we’ve got a full strength Battalion of the some of the most fanatical defenders of the House of Calderon on hand,” he smirked.  Dan Stiles actually smirked at the two higher ranking officers.  “I am given to understand that units today are a hodge-podge of different ‘Mechs and vehicles; your logistics must be tangled to Hell’s Heart.”

Ethan frowned.  Where was this popinjay going?  And then the light bulb went off as Dan Stiles nodded.

“Aye, Commodore.  In our day, we fielded entire battalions and regiments of the same BattleMech.  The Red Hand is outfitted exclusively with Typhons, Commodore, supported by eight Skyhawk aerospace fighters.”

The Taurian Commodore coughed, his eyes going wide.  “Both of those are extinct designs!  The League did not allow us to retain them!”

“Fuck the League,” whispered Helena.  “In addition to the Red Hand, we are carrying two Mirage-class Assault DropShips, four Orbitmaster heavy lift shuttles, a quartet of Defiance-class gunships, sixteen Banshee light ASF, and sixteen more Skyhawk medium ASF.  All with combat veterans at the controls—just like the rest of this ship.  And I’ve got more than two hundred colonists intended for the Exiles aboard in my passenger quarters,” and Helena smiled again.  “Engineers, scientists, doctors, teachers . . . all of whom should be able to help you correct those errors that the League bureaucrats introduced.”

She paused, and then she sighed again.  “But right now, at this minute, I need to know the current passage through the Asteroids—we are dreadfully vulnerable sitting here immobile at the Jump-Point, Commodore.”

Ethan winced.  “Ma’am, until the Protector gets here, I cannot—literally cannot—give you the nav-details for an exit lane.”

“That isn’t a request, Commodore,” Helena snapped.  “WarShips are most vulnerable to a surprise attack when they anchored at rest within weapons range of a Jump-Point.  All it would take is one ship—ONE SHIP—that isn’t even armed to materialize just slightly off-target and vaporize half of this vessel in the process!”  She paused and bit her tongue as she saw Dan slowly shaking his head.  “Commodore Mendoza,” she began, “Ethan.  I need to get this ship off this jump-point ASAP.  You are a flag officer in the Taurian Concordat Navy, mister!  Start acting like one and show some initiative!”

“And if I don’t?  I suppose you will make your way through the field like a bull in a china shop?”

“Guns blazing, Ethan.  If you don’t give me a lane, then by God I will clear one,” Helena answered softly, and the younger man nodded.

“Damned if you won’t, will you?” he shook his head and grinned.  “Very well, Admiral; you will have your lane and a parking assignment outside of the Jump-Point itself—but I will fire into you if you move so much as a meter from that parking orbit without authorization; is that clear, ma’am?”

“Crystal, Commodore Mendoza—and it is what I’d expect from a Taurian naval officer,” Helena answered with a grin.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on June 11, 2013, 12:44:05 PM

Can't wait to read this!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 11, 2013, 03:18:18 PM

General Headquarters, Taurus Defense Force
Mount Santiago Defense Complex, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
October 1, 3025

“What did you just say?” Thomas Calderon gasped for air; he felt as if a giant had taken a sledgehammer to his chest.

Brenda Calderon, a distant cousin and the youngest woman in the history of the Taurian Defense Force to earn the baton of a Marshal, shook her head.  “Commodore Mendoza’s report made me wonder if he was drunk or stoned when he sent it, Tom,” she said softly, “but the sensor data isn’t lying.  There is a bloody damned big Calderon-class Battleship sitting at Gateway Point—Ethan dispatched a courier to us immediately after he met with her commander . . . Helena Vickers.”

Dozens of throats suddenly inhaled, and Brenda nodded.  “Yes, apparently it is that Helena Vickers, gentlemen and ladies.  Our best guess at the moment is that this ship—the TCS Samantha Calderon,” and an unbelieving moan passed through the room, “suffered a misjump that sent her to the here and now.”

Thomas blinked and he just stared at his relative.  “Pop,” a quiet voice spoke up, and Thomas shook himself out of the shock.  The Protector turned his head to face his twenty-three year old son—and heir—Edward Calderon.

“Yes, Edward,” Thomas finally said.  “How this happened no longer matters.  We must concentrate our attention on what this means for the Concordat of today—for our people, today.”

“This is an opportunity, Tom,” a middle-aged man began to hurriedly speak.  “The FedRats have nothing that can stop this ship—this is our opportunity to retake the Pleiades!”

Brenda winced—as did most of the serving military officers at the table, and more than few of the civilian advisors.  But before she could answer, young Edward spoke up.

“This is one ship, Governor Shraplen,” he said firmly.  “A single ship.  A ship that Mendoza reports has obvious unrepaired damage—we don’t even know if she is capable of conducting offensive operations . . . and even if she were, one ship does not change the balance of our ground-based military capabilities.”  Edward paused.  “Hanse Davion has close to one hundred Regiments of ‘Mech at his disposal, including mercenaries—we have just twelve.  Twelve, Governor.”

“Hanse Davion cannot afford to pull regiments away from the borders of the Combine or Confederation,” Grover snapped, “and he won’t dare attack our troops with a WarShip overhead!”

“The Fox will dare much,” Thomas intervened, holding up one hand.  “If he deems it is in his interest.  And make no mistake, the Fox will be extremely interested in this vessel and her crew.  No, Grover,” he sighed, “it would folly for us to invade the Federated Suns—at this time,” his voice grew louder as his old friend began to turn red and draw in breath for another exclamation. 

The Protector sighed and he closed his one remaining organic eye.  And then he opened it.  “However, all of that is moot if this vessel cannot leave Gateway and Taurus; I believe that you said their Kearny-Fuchida Drive is currently inoperative, Marshal Calderon?”

“I did, Protector,” Brenda answered.

“We already know how difficult it is to repair a capital WarShip, ladies and gentlemen—the New Vandenberg is a prime example of just how little we know,” and Thomas scowled.  “When we should bloody well know considering that we built better ships than that boondoggle without Terran aid in the past.”

He frowned and while his cybernetic eye clicked and whirred, he sat motionless and then Thomas nodded again.  “Commodore Perez,” he firmly said to the commander of the Taurian Aerospace Command, “I want that ship moved away from Gateway—can we clear all civilian traffic from Station Three?”

The grey haired former pilot—a gunship pilot—considered and then he nodded.  While not a full yard, Station Three was tasked with supporting the DropShips and small craft of the TAC and the Taurian Concordat Navy; of course, with the limited numbers of DropShips and auxiliary craft at hand, it also had a decent amount of civilian traffic.  And while Station Three in its orbit over Taurus lacked any ability to work on K/F Drive Cores, it did possess a number of very capable machinery and electronics shops.

“We can divert all traffic and have the civilians clear in twenty-four hours, Sire,” he answered after a moment.

“Good.  Brenda, invite Admiral Vickers to dock her vessel at Station Three—get with Mendoza and Hamish here to find out what sort of supplies that they might need and get them up to the station at once.  And do not lie to yourself, ladies and gentlemen, we are going to need to redeploy as much of the Fleet and air-defense assets as we can afford to.  I want Station Three isolated—no unauthorized traffic is to close within any possible weapons range.  Is that understood?”

One by one, the men and women at the table nodded their agreement.

Edward cleared his throat, and Thomas waved at his son to go ahead.

“Looking over this dispatch,” he said holding up sheet of paper that he had been reading, “I do believe that we need to take additional precautions with dealing with the information that is going to flowing off of that ship,” he shook his head in disbelief.  “A complete, unaltered, Data Core from the Reunification War—Taurus at its height, Pop.  This is . . . incredible.  It has the potential to revive the Concordat,” and then his expression fell, “and everyone will want it.”

“MIIO, SAFE, ISF, LIC, the Maskirovka, MIM, heck, even the Outworlders will have teams here trying to pry out the secrets in months,” chimed in Henri Jouett, the head of the Taurian Concordat Office of Special Intelligence and Operations, “if they do not already have intelligence teams in place.  Some of them do, ladies and gentlemen—and we do not know the identities of all of them.”

“Right,” snarled Thomas.  “Henri, you and . . .,” he paused and then nodded at the young commanding officer of the 2nd Battalion of the Taurian Guards, “Brigadier Doru coordinate with the Constabulary—I want a full-court press on keeping the lid on this for as long as we can.  Each and every one of those people—those Taurians—aboard that ship are now priceless and we will treat them accordingly.”

“Speaking of which,” the Exchequer of the Concordat said in a dry tone, “there is the small matter that we may well owe these people back-pay for four centuries.”

“WHAT!” shouted Thomas.

“I am not saying that they will ask for such a sum, but,” and Semyon Cantrell set his jaw, “under one interpretation of our laws, they might well be entitled to exactly that.  It will probably have to be decided by the Courts—but we are speaking of millions of Bulls—at the least.”

Thomas gritted his teeth, and then he sighed.  “We’ll find the funds when we have to.  We are already looking at breaking our current budget just in repair costs—if that white elephant New Vandenberg is anything to judge by.”

“And those funds will come from the Far Lookers?” sourly asked Aramis Hall, the leader of that group of explorers and colonization effort.

“Not completely, no,” Thomas answered with a chuckle.  “These . . . Exiles,” he continued in a more somber voice.  “If they are out there and they survived, I want them found.  And to that, we need to increase your exploration efforts.  We might not colonize as many new planets as you want, Aramis, but we are going to be looking out there in the Deep Black.”

Hall nodded his agreement—he wasn’t happy, but he agreed with the necessity.

“Good,” Thomas said again.  “And now, ladies and gentlemen, just how the hell are we going to tell the people—our people—about all of this without creating a panic?”

And the table got very quiet once more.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 11, 2013, 04:17:06 PM

DropShip Gayle Lowden
Outbound to Gateway Point, Taurus System
Taurian Concordat
October 3, 3025

Heinrich Shultz took a sip of the hot coffee and he sighed.  It would be such a shame to give up Crewman Jonas when they arrived back at Victoria, but orders were orders.  And despite his personal sense of loss over the only crewman who knew how to make a proper cup of mocha coffee, he wasn’t about to deny the newly promoted Adept the honor of his next assignment—tasked to the Explorer Corps, Jonas would see far more use of his ability to resolve sensor images than he would on one of ComStars covert operations vessels tooling around the Inner Sphere.  Well, the Inner Sphere and near Periphery, Shultz thought as he considered their latest mission.  Whatever the ROM team had been after, it had gone flawlessly.  And now the ‘Gayle Lowden’, a Capellan-flag merchantman by all outward signs, was heading back to dock with the JumpShip and proceed to their next assignment.

He drank another sip and he looked on the old converted Union-class cargo carrier with pride.  She wasn’t much—but she was his.  For now, at least.  Until he finally got promoted to command one of ComStars JumpShips, that was.

“Skipper,” the comm officer called out, “we are being hailed by a pair of ASF.”

Schultz frowned and he straightened up in his chair.  “On speaker.”

“Gayle Lowden, this is Obsidian Flight—you are entering restricted space.  Alter vector to 237 mark 41 immediately,” and the message repeated.

“Obsidian Flight, Gayle Lowden,” Schultz replied.  “We are on the course that Taurus Flight Control issued.”

“Gayle Lowden, Obsidian Flight.  That course has now been changed—alter vector immediately or you will be fired into.”

“This is damn peculiar,” Schultz said to no one in particular.  “Jonas, give me a 360-degree passive scan—no actives.  Maneuvering, alter vector to comply with their instructions.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” the crew barked.

Jonas bent over his sensor hood and his voice emerged.  “Taurian ASF are changing course, veering away . . . there’s something strange here, I can’t identify the fighters . . . I’ve got the cameras rolling, Skipper . . . okay, let’s look at our original course track . . . HOLY SHIT!” he screamed as he stood up, his hand toggling the control that sent the image from his station to the main viewer.

And Schultz spat hot coffee out of his nose as he stood.  “Magnify!”  The image zoomed in and a low moan sounded across the DropShip’s bridge.  “Bring Jayne’s data-base on-line and confirm the class,” he ordered in a quiet voice.

For several moments there was no sound on the bridge of the DropShip, and then an Acolyte looked up from his station.  “Jayne’s gives a 95% positive match for a Calderon-class Battleship, circa 2576-2596, Skipper.  There aren’t supposed to be any surviving examples.”

“Schiesse,” Schultz muttered as the distant image slowly shrank into the distance.  And then he shook his head.  “Tell me we recorded that, Jonas?”

“On tape, and copying to the secure data-base, Skipper.”

“Okay, people.  Game faces on—the Primus needs to see this as soon as possible.  Maneuvering, don’t violate ANY Taurian regulation—we are officially in Injun Country, folks, until we get back to Victoria.”  And then?  And then, Shultz thought, it was likely that every man and woman aboard would be ordered directly to Terra in order to be debriefed by the Primus and ROM.  Schiesse.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 11, 2013, 07:27:52 PM

TCS Samantha Calderon
Station Three, Taurus System, Hyades Cluster
Taurian Concordat
October 5, 3025

“Fearless souls who cross’d the sky; in search of home to live and die; men who swear we will live free; far away from your tyranny.”*

Thomas looked up in surprise as he crossed over the broad yellow line painted on the deck of the boat bay.  The music was not being piped into the reception area; no, there was a line of drummers tapping out the beat, musicians blowing upon horns, and a chorus of singers—all dressed in the uniform of the Taurian Concordat Navy.  But that was the lesser shock; this song had been detested by the Star League—not a single complete copy had survived their occupation.

“Our lady that we follow; deep inside Hell’s Hearts Hollow; bound in clouds of reddish dust; our new home, to find we must.”

One lady, an old lady dressed in the uniform of a Taurian Admiral—equivalent in rank to a Marshal—strode forward and she saluted sharply; a salute that the Protector returned just as solemnly.

“Taurus home, from now to end; a land that we shall ‘ere defend; with hoof and horn, blade and gun; we will fight until the day is won.”

“Protector Calderon,” the woman said, “I beg leave to report that TCS Samantha Calderon, bearing aboard her eleven hundred and twenty-four souls, has returned home.”

“None today shall ever know; the pain we felt, as our children go; but for our pride in their brave; we vow t’send our foes their grave.”

“Welcome home, Admiral Vickers,” Thomas said warmly, and he extended her his hand.  Helena took it and the two shook.


*Set to the tune of The Ballad of the Green Berets (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=34CXcgJURbg) with my apologies to SSGT Sadler.  You can rest assured that there are other verses, but for now that’s all I’ve got.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Dragon Cat on June 11, 2013, 07:51:02 PM

Very nice

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 11, 2013, 08:10:13 PM

TCS Samantha Calderon
Station Three, Taurus System, Hyades Cluster
Taurian Concordat
October 5, 3025

“Our drive damage aside, Protector Thomas,” Helena briefed the Protector, his heir, and their staffs—along with the senior members of the TDF military, “our problem is that no one here has produced NAC shells or Capital Missiles in centuries.  I’ve got twenty-seven Class 25 Naval Autocannon on the Samantha Calderon—with a total of one thousand, three hundred and fifty units of fire.  Fifty salvoes, gentlemen.  My missile magazines are even shallower—three hundred and sixty missiles, just thirty salvoes all told for my twelve launchers; forty of those missiles are nuclear tipped.”

She paused and then she nodded.  “Of course, given our probable opponents and the decline of technology, that is sufficient to wipe out any invading force—provided that the attackers are considerate enough to come to Taurus since I can’t go after them.  Now, I do have eighteen Naval Lasers—a mix of 45cm and 55cm—and a dozen Naval PPCs, neither of which require munitions, but compared to my main guns those are small fry.  The flak-belt,” and she smiled slightly, “won’t do more than kiss a capital ship, but serves well against fighters, small craft, and DropShips.  I’d imagine they’d do just as well as JumpShips . . . if you revoke that silly rule that Commodore Mendoza told me of, the one where Jumpers are out of bounds and safe from attack.”

She waited until she was certain that everyone present understood, and then Helena sighed.  “But the single largest problem that we are facing is a simple one . . . my people are tired,” and as she spoke, Helena Vickers looked every day of her sixty-seven years.  “We have—most of us—fought for the past two decades,” and she smiled slightly, “to us at least, in the most brutal war ever fought by humanity.  We knew we were leaving our loved ones behind, but Protector, we are bone-weary and in serious need of some time to unwind our levels of stress.”

“And you will have it, Admiral Vickers,” Thomas answered her.  “Despite what some of my advisors might think, I have no intention of starting a war—but your presence here cannot be concealed . . . and I fear that soon enough others may start one with us.  A war that will come about because they fear us possessing your ship while they have none of their own.”

Thomas cocked his head, and he considered, and then he nodded.  “But that is months down the road, and this vessel is going nowhere until her drive is repaired—if we can make those parts you so desperately need.  They may have to be hand-made, until we can get a factory up and running, Admiral.”

And Helena winced at that.  Thomas chuckled grimly.  “Don’t worry, we will be inspecting every part with a micro-meter—you won’t get sub-standard parts from Taurus, Admiral.  In the meantime, I think that you—and your crew—could use some rest.  Marshals Grenadine and Calderon,” he continued, nodding at the two senior officers, “have advised me that just granting liberty to your people is a bad idea—something about being able to de-stress in a controlled environment before being released into civilian society.”

“They are right, Sire,’ Helena answered.  “Some of my people are so wound up that they are ticking time bombs . . . they also need counseling, many of them.”

“They will receive it,” Thomas decreed.  “As it just so happens, there is a medical delegation from the Canopians on Taurus—a psychological delegation.  The Canopians have the finest healers—physical and mental—known, Admiral.  They will make certain your people get taken care of,” and Thomas frowned, “and we have also taken measures to ensure that none of your folks are abducted and spirited off world.”

“Is that a credible threat?” Helena asked.

“It is a possibility,” replied Henri Jouett.  “One that we cannot dismiss lightly.  Admiral, you must understand that your knowledge of technological systems—your crew’s knowledge—is something that any of the Successor Lords would kill for.  None of them are above abducting one or two of you and interrogating them for everything they know.”

“That is later, Henri,” Thomas said sadly.  “For now, I would like to invite the Admiral and her senior officers to dinner this evening—at the Protector’s Palace.  We have much, much more to discuss, Admiral Vickers.”

“Indeed we do, Sire.  Starting with the issue of . . . pay,” and she smiled as Thomas winced.  “Don’t worry, Sire.  We aren’t going to clean out the Treasury, but my people deserve to be taken care of.”

“You have my word on that, Admiral,” Thomas snapped, and then he waved his hand in apology.  “They are loyal Taurian citizens, and we take care of our own.  Always.”

“Good enough for me, Sire.  Now,” she said as she stood.  “I believe that you and your staff wanted a full tour of Saucy Sam here.”

“Saucy Sam?” asked Thomas.

Helena laughed.  “It is a long story, Sire, and rest assured.  The boys and girls could have named her a LOT worse.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: shwagpo on June 11, 2013, 09:27:53 PM

Glad to see more of your writing MA, looking forward to this one.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Blacknova on June 11, 2013, 09:31:35 PM

Why do you always time these for my busy periods? Dam YOU!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 11, 2013, 09:35:13 PM

Cháteau des Calderon
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
October 11, 3025

Thomas looked up from his desk as Edward was ushered into his private office.  The doorman closed the thick wooden panel, leaving the Protector alone with his eldest son.  The father smiled—a rare event for Thomas—and then he waved his son into a seat.  Today, Edward was wearing his TDF uniform—complete with his rank as a Subaltern, what would be a Captain in most militaries.

“Official business Subaltern Calderon, or personal?” Thomas asked.  Edward blushed slightly; he had made a habit of never approaching his father in uniform for a mere Subaltern shouldn’t be cavalier when it concerned the chain of command.  In uniform, Edward, and here Thomas smiled again, insisted on being merely Subaltern Calderon and not Heir Apparent to the Protectorship.

“Personal, Pop,” he answered.  “I have to report to duty shortly, and considering what I want to broach with you, I might not have time to change.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, Sir,” his son answered and then he paused, collecting his thoughts.  Gathering his courage, Thomas thought—and he frowned.  Edward was seldom so . . . cautious.

“Spit it out, boy,” Thomas growled.

“Have you looked over the précis on the contents of the Vickers Core?” Edward asked.

“I’ve skimmed it, son.”

“Pop, it is the holy grail.  Engineering data, computer sciences data, mathematics; every single accomplishment of the Old Hyades before the Reunification Wars began are contained within it.  All of our literature, arts, music, everything.  This could change the Concordat forever.”

“What is your point, Edward?”

His son looked Thomas directly in the eyes and he nodded.  “We have no right to hoard this; not from our own people.  Pop, we’ve long had the finest institutions of learning among all of the nations of humanity—we’ve got the highest literacy rate of any House, Great or Minor.  We need to organize a new university, a new institution whose sole purpose is to restore our knowledge.”

Thomas frowned, but he nodded.  “That will cost money, Eddie.  Right now, the coffers are pretty damn bare.”

“The expense has to be borne—we’ve got to get this information downloaded and distributed before something happens, some accident damages the Core and we lose information forever.”

Thomas inhaled sharply and he nodded again.  Already, there had been one such ‘accident’, with a man whose identity Henri Jouett had been unable to discover.  That man had come close to damaging the Core—but the guards had managed to stop him.  How he had even known it was being transported was something that Henri was feverishly investigating—and how he come so close, with a vest of explosives no less, just as intently.

“I agree, Eddie, but I can’t conjure funds out of thin air.”  And Thomas frowned at the look on his son’s face.

“Maybe we can,” Edward said quietly.  “Hanse Davion would pay . . .,” but Edward was cut off by his father.

“ARE YOU MAD!” Thomas bellowed as he stood.  “I stood beside you Edward, against Grover, because you were right and Grover was wrong.  Attacking the Federated Suns is a fool’s errand.  But the Davions are our Enemy—they have always been our Enemy and they always shall be.  And you want to share this, this, treasure trove with them?”

“Not share, Protector Calderon, sell.  Between Mad Max Liao and the Fox, whom would you rather have as your enemy?”

“They are both our enemy, Edward!”

“Pop, the Davions haven’t crossed our border since the end of the Reunification Wars—four hundred years ago.  Four centuries.  They haven’t once attacked us since then; while the Capellans?  They raid our border worlds sporadically.  Just look at it.  If we lift the embargo on our companies selling to the Federated Suns, look at how much more income we will have.  And I am not advocating giving the Fox everything; hold back the information on WarShips and he will still pay an Emperor’s ransom for the rest.”

Edward paused and he stood and he placed his hand on his father’s arm.  “You said yourself that Hanse Davion will desperately want this—he might well go to war for this information.   For our WarShip.  Let’s take that option out of the equation.  Let’s stabilize our borders and with the funds we can wring from Hanse Davion we can build the Concordat into a force that it would take a Second Star League to conquer in as little as ten or fifteen years time.”

“I’ll think about it,” Thomas growled as he sat back down.  “What would you want to name this new university?”  And then the older man grinned.  “The Taurian Institute of Technology and Science?”

Edward smiled.  “I’ll let you be the one to tell Katherine you are opening TITS, Pop.”

Thomas barked out a laugh.  “What would you suggest?”

“The Samantha Calderon Academy of Research and Sciences” Edward answered, and Thomas barked out a burst of laughter.

"SCARS, eh?  I can live with that, Eddie."

Encouraged, his son pressed on, “It would be your legacy for all future generations of Taurians.  We could break the ground this fall and be ready for classes by spring if you hammer out an agreement with the Fox.”


“I said, I’ll think about it, Edward Calderon,” Thomas growled again.  And then he sighed.  “Grover will have a stroke, if I even suggest it.”

“So?  He’s a planetary governor; you are the Protector of the Taurian Concordat.”

“He’s a friend whose advice I value.”

“He’s a Liao-phile who is convinced that our future depends on allying with the Confederation.  Sian is a snake-pit ten times worse than New Avalon—you don’t need me to tell you that.”

“No, I don’t,” Thomas said quietly and he tapped the top of his desk and stared off into space for several minutes. 

“If I decide to take your advice, and make Davion this offer, Edward, it needs to stay absolutely black until the deal is inked and dried.  That means no HPGs, no aides, no assistants, no Ambassadors.”  Thomas nodded again.  “Are you willing to take a sabbatical from that uniform to represent me on New Avalon—if I decide to do this, son?”

Edward drew in a deep breath and he nodded.

“Then I’ll think about it.  I promise you this, Eddie,” Thomas said as he stood again, “I might say no, but I will give heavy thought to this.”

“That’s all I can ask, Sir.  It is time we buried the past and moved on—past time.”

“And speaking of time, aren’t you running late, Subaltern Calderon?”

“Oh, damn,” Edward cursed as he looked at the clock.  “Permission to be dismissed, Sir?”

“Granted.  You better run if you are planning on making it to Mt. Santiago on time.”

But Edward was already sprinting from the office.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 11, 2013, 09:35:58 PM

Quote from: Blacknova on June 11, 2013, 09:31:35 PM

Why do you always time these for my busy periods? Dam YOU!

Shall I take a Sabbatical until you slow down?   :o

MA

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: shwagpo on June 11, 2013, 09:47:41 PM

Quote from: masterarminas on June 11, 2013, 09:35:58 PM

Quote from: Blacknova on June 11, 2013, 09:31:35 PM

Why do you always time these for my busy periods? Dam YOU!

Shall I take a Sabbatical until you slow down?   :o

MA

I think the KU can wait a little bit, am I right?

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Blacknova on June 11, 2013, 09:49:25 PM

Only if you don't feel like writing for six months.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 11, 2013, 11:13:23 PM

First Circuit of ComStar
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
October 11, 3025

“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY!” bellowed Julian Tiepolo, and Nicolas Cassnew—Precentor ROM—felt beads of sweat trickle down his neck.

“The Taurians appear to have found and salvaged a WarShip, Primus,” he repeated very softly. 

“Someone must pay for this,” Precentor Dieron spoke up in her acid voice.  “Someone failed in their Holy duties to Blake!”

“Is this vessel operational?” asked the Primus as he glared at the commander of ROM.

“For a given definition of operational—yes,” Nicholas answered.

Several of the First Circuit snorted at the evasive answer, and the Primus shook his head.  “Define operational for me, Nicholas,” Julian said very, very quietly.

“According to my source, the Kearny-Fuchida drive is not functional.”

“But the rest?”

Nicholas withered.  “Yes, Primus.”

“Where is this ship at the moment?”

Precentor ROM looked up at the man who had appointed him and he shivered.  “In orbit of Taurus itself.  Docked at one of their military stations and heavily defended, Primus.”

“But that isn’t the worst of the news, now is it?” asked Myndo Waterly as Precentor Dieron lowered her hood.

Damn that witch! Nicholas thought.  But he merely nodded.  “It has not been confirmed, but Demi-Precentor Taurus believes that the vessel contained a,” and Nicholas swallowed, “a Reunification War era Taurian Data Core.”

Utter silence hung over the First Circuit.

“ROM on station decided to risk an attack on what the Taurians believe was a data-core,” Nicholas continued.

“And was this attack successful, Nicholas?” asked the Primus.

“No, Primus, it was not.”

“I see,” Julian said quietly.  “What do you suggest we do next, Precentor ROM?”

“I-I,” Nicholas stuttered and then he hung his head.  “Primus, we must arrange for this ship and the core to be destroyed.”

“And how?  Without revealing our hands?”

“We leak information on the ship and core to Maximillian Liao.  He is desperate enough—and mad enough—to risk an assault on Taurus.  We give him our astrographic charts as well, showing him the undefended path into the Hyades—the one the Taurians call Back Door.”

“And if Max Liao doesn’t take the bait, Precentor ROM?”

“Then we arrange for . . . unknown raiders and pirates to attack in their place.  Our own Com Guard and Militia disguised as raiders and pirates.”

“Too little, too late,” Myndo spat.  “My sources indicate that the Liao, Janos Marik, Katrina Steiner, Takashi Kurita, and Hanse Davion have already been informed—or shortly will be so informed—of the existence of this ship.  “We must act now to stop this travesty from going any further.”

“How, Precentor Dieron?” asked the Primus.

“Send our WarShips out there to destroy this relic—and the Data Core.”

“You are speaking of an attack upon a populated world, Precentor!” another member of the First Circuit shouted.

“Better that Taurus dies in fire than the House Lords resurrect their technology, Precentor Sian,” Myndo spat.  “And I believe that Precentor ROM owes us a great deal of pain before his death.”

“Control yourself, Myndo,” the Primus said.  “Precentor ROM, you have several teams close by Taurus, do you not?”

“I do, Primus.”

“Very well.  You and I shall have a long conversation in private about your failings in this matter, Nicholas, but perhaps we can salvage something from this . . . disaster.”  The Primus paused.  “Precentor Hawke?”

“Yes, Primus,” the commander of ComStars small WarShip fleet answered.

“Prepare your ships—we may have need of them on the Taurian Rim—if all other options fail.”

“At once, Primus.”

“You are too lenient,” Myndo pushed from her podium.  “This one has failed—and you give him another opportunity.  He must be replaced.”

“Are you volunteering for the job, Myndo Waterly?” the Primus asked.

“You would have me give up my seat on the First Circuit?  Be demoted?”

“That would be a no, then,” the Primus answered himself.  “We shall meet again in six hours time,” and the Primus glared at each member of the First Circuit.  “At that time, I want ALL of the information we have on this ship and any communications passed to the various Lords of the Houses.  I also expect to have a plan of action,” he finished as he glared down on Nicholas again.  “Until then, we are in recess.  Precentor ROM—not you,” and his voice was as cold as ice.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 12, 2013, 01:04:02 PM

Celestial Palace
Forbidden City, Sian
Capellan Confederation
October 11, 3025

Maximillian Liao stroked his long mustache as he listened to the panicked voices of his advisors—of his younger daughter.  Even Pavel Ridzik, the Senior Colonel who commanded the Capellan Confederation Armed Forces in Maximillian’s name, even Pavel had succumbed to his fright.  The Chancellor frowned—perhaps I need to rethink certain assignments; perhaps it is time for dear Pavel to retire.  Permanently, he thought with a smile.

However, there was one present who was not chattering inanely; one who showed no signs of panic; one whose studied face was deeply in thought—and the Liao smiled.

“Silence,” he hissed.  And at his command, the chaos faded away, with all eyes upon the high Throne upon which the Liao sat.  Max stroked his mustache again and he frowned upon his court.  “So the Taurians have managed to locate and salvage a long-dead WarShip—and upon this news, my Court, my Advisors, my finest Military Professionals scamper like mice fraught with despair at the coming of a cat.”

No one spoke, but several looked down, ashamed.  That number did not include his daughter Romano, whose fear disappeared, replaced by anger.  Good.  “You should all be shamed by this—we are LIAO.  And if the Taurians now have a WarShip, it matters but little.  Candace, your thoughts?” he asked, and he smiled as Romano jerked in fury.

“Celestial Wisdom, the report from our merchant vessel indicates that this ship is at least partially active.  It jumped into the Taurus system and proceeded under its own power to orbit.  Now, whether the Taurians have the manpower to crew, and fight, such a leviathan—trained personnel who can learn to operate and maintain such ancient systems—that is another story.”

“Indeed.  And having consulted Our archives, this particular class of ship relies quite heavily upon munitions—munitions that are no longer produced anywhere in the Inner Sphere.  Or the Periphery States.  It is a threat, true, but not an existential threat to either the Confederation or the House of Liao.”

Max leaned back against his throne and he closed his eyes.  “The additional information from our agent, that this ship carried with it a complete Data Core,” and Maximillian smiled, “ah, but that is the more important of the two.”

“A Taurian Core,” muttered one of the Advisors.  “Periphery trash, nothing more.”

“So you believe, Colonel Sedgewick?” Max asked.  “Need I remind you that during the Age of War, the Taurians were a power with which to be reckoned—it required twenty years for the full might of the Star League to defeat.  They had, at that time, a Navy second only to that of the Terran Hegemony.  Consider what might be contained within that Core—and how the Confederation can make use of it.”

“Attack Taurus?” snapped Pavel.  “Celestial Wisdom, such an undertaking . . . ,”

“Where one can not attack directly and openly, Colonel Ridzik, it may indeed be possible to attack indirectly . . . and covertly,” interrupted the Chancellor.  “Major Riese?”

The commanding officer of the Death Commandoes smiled.  “At your command, Celestial Wisdom.”

“You will coordinate with Maskirovka assets—but you shall be in command.  You will infiltrate Taurus and you will secure for Us Our property which Thomas believes is his alone.  The resources of the Confederation are yours for this—use them wisely, Major Riese.”

“Understood, Celestial Wisdom,” the officer replied with a deep bow.  “If it proves impossible to recover Your Core, Sire?”

“If I cannot have that technology, then neither shall Thomas Calderon, Major Riese.  If you cannot obtain it for me, then destroy it.”

“And their vessel?”

Maximillian smiled.  “A secondary priority—concentrate on the Core, but if the opportunity presents itself, such a technological treasure trove would be more fitting in Sian orbit than cloistered within the distant Hyades.  Understand me, Major,” the Chancellor said firmly as he cast his gaze down on the officer, “the ship is nothing more than a toy—a sideshow.  Your first priority is the Data Core—that vessel is only a consolation prize in the grand scheme.”

“Understood.  If we have the opportunity to take or destroy it, however, . . .,” Riese began and the Liao smiled grimly once more.

“Yes.  If the opportunity arises and if you have acquired or destroyed the Core, then the WarShip itself you may retrieve—or render useless.  To that end, I shall grant you one of our special weapons.  Make certain it is put to good use, Major.”

Gasps arose from the Court—even Candace was shocked by the ease at which the Chancellor had just given permission to the Death Commando to utilize a nuclear weapon.  Maximillian Liao leaned back against his throne, and closing his eyes, he smiled as he slowly stroked his long and elegant mustache.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Dragon Cat on June 12, 2013, 02:44:39 PM

Mad Max being smart for a country minute then he gives a Commando a nuke...

I like how they all care little for the ship instead it's the Core they want makes a lot of sense

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on June 12, 2013, 04:05:06 PM

Good stuff Master Arminas! Anxiously awaiting more.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: lrose on June 12, 2013, 05:58:04 PM

Very good stuff- looking forward to more.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Kwic on June 12, 2013, 11:07:09 PM

Blacknova, sleep is highly over rated... you gets lots of sleep when you are dead.

MA!... write like the wind man... like the wind...

everyone else, quick get some chains to chain him to his computer!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: shwagpo on June 12, 2013, 11:11:37 PM

We tried that once.  Apparently a creative mind needs 'freedom' and 'inspiration' or some such ninny nonsense.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 13, 2013, 12:51:28 AM

The Palace of the First Prince
Avalon City, New Avalon
Federated Suns
October 12, 3025

“Christ,” whispered Hanse Davion as he stared at the image, “that is a Taurian Concordat Navy Calderon-class Battleship.”  He looked up at the two men seated before his desk and he gave them a wry grin.  “Please, tell me that this is archival footage; that this is some sick joke.”

“Unfortunately, Sire, it is neither.  A free trader who is rather . . . indebted to my agency,” Quintus Allard said with a grim chuckle, “managed to record that as he was leaving the Taurus system.  She’s real and she’s mobile—real-space, at least,” the Intelligence Minister cautioned, “but as she was on course from Gateway Point—the sole known jump-point into the interior of the Hyades, by the way—to Taurus orbit, it is a good bet she has a working K/F Core as well.”

“Never figured you for a historian, Hanse,” the third man said with a smile.  “But you recognized that ship quick enough—it took some digging before the two of us were able to identify it.”

“Ardan, that is because neither of you built the models of the Ships of the Reunification War that I did as a child.  I had them all, but I most especially loved the battleships—the Terran Hegemony Monsoon and Farragut, the Federated Suns Golden Lion, the Marik Atreus, the Kurita Mikasa, and the Taurian Concordat Samantha Calderon.  Truth be told, as much as my inner Davion denies it, the Taurians made a damn fine ship in those old battle-wagons—more aesthetically pleasing as well.”

The Prince’s Champion—Ardan Sortek—laughed, and even Quintus broached a smile, but then First Prince leaned back in his chair and he rocked as the smile on his face faded into a frown.

“First, that free trader is no longer indebted—his remaining sins are now forgiven, Quintus,” Hanse said bluntly, and Quintus nodded, making a note on his pad.  “Second, where the hell did they find that?  The histories that I read,” Hanse pointed out, “said that the Taurians scuttled every surviving Calderon at the end of the War—specifically to keep them out of the hands of my fore-fathers and the Star League.”

Quintus sighed.  “There have been rumors for four hundred years that the Taurians faked that scuttling, Sire.  An entire mythos has arisen about a hidden pirate point deep within the Nebula where the Last Taurian Fleet sleeps, waiting for a just ruler to find them.  No one has ever found anything, though, so pretty much we dismissed those rumors as wishful thinking.  Now?”  Quintus shrugged.  “The rumors may have been right—even if exaggerated.”

“I hope that they were exaggerated,” whispered Ardan.  “Because according to the story I read this morning, there are supposed to be four of those battleships in that cache, along with a baker's dozen of lighter vessels.”

Hanse held up one hand.  “We’ll panic if another ship suddenly arrives over Taurus—I presume that you have already arranged for near constant surveillance of Gateway?”

Quintus just smiled and Hanse nodded.  “If they salvaged her, that means they need a crew—trained JumpShip engineers and technicians, as well as specialists for weapons that no one has used in a century and a half.  She’s damaged,” Hanse pointed out as he replayed the tape again, “see those pockmarks on her port armor—that is the impact point of shells from a NAC-35,” and he smiled again, “if my memory serves me correct.  And she’s got hull burns from Naval Lasers and PPCs.  Odds are, she is going to take a lot of work to make serviceable—and I seem to recall that the Calderons are very dependent on munitions.  No one manufactures that type of munitions these days.”

“All true,” answered the Champion.  “But even so, this is a game-changer.”

“Is it?” asked Hanse.  “She is one ship, probably lacking ammo for her guns, that can be in one place at one time—and gentlemen, we all learned during the First Succession War that enough fighters armed with nuclear weapons can kill ANY unsupported WarShip.”

“She’s a morale boost, Hanse,” Ardan pressed on, shaking his head.  “With her in his possession, Thomas might just get more aggressive than he has any right to be.”

“Thomas Calderon is many things, Ardan,” answered Quintus, “but a fool is not one of them.  Hanse is right—the ship alone doesn’t change the balance of power on the Taurian Rim.  But this might.”  And with that the Intelligence Minister handed across a document folder stamped TOP SECRET—SPECIAL ACCESS.

Hanse took the folder and he began to read.  “My God,” he said a few moments later, and he looked up at Quintus.  “Is this confirmed?”

“Yes, Sire.  We have an agent on Taurus and he managed to get us this précis on what they are calling the Vickers Memory Core.”

“Who?”

Quintus winced.  “Sire, it endangers the life of these agents with every single person who is aware of their identity—even you.  One slip is all that it takes, and this man is dead.”

“Who, Quintus?”

“Three years ago, we were contacted by a middle-level TDF officer, Sire,” Quintus answered, shaking his head.  “Since then he has been a regular conduit for information on their government—not their military.  Information that has helped defuse tensions on a number of occasions.”

“Who, Quintus?” Hanse snapped.

“The personal bodyguard and military advisor to Edward Calderon—heir of Thomas Calderon.  Subaltern Jon Kincaide.”

“Bloody hell,” muttered Ardan, and Hanse slowly nodded.

“And you think that Kincaide is a middle-man for Edward—that Thomas’ heir is actively passing us information?”

“Edward Calderon is advocating—by all accounts—for a . . . normalization of relations between Taurus and New Avalon.  He has pushed for an end on the embargo against the sale of Taurian goods to our consumers—and for a free trade agreement between the Concordat and the Suns.  Sire, we do not know for certain if Edward Calderon is funneling us information—but if he is, then . . .,” and Hanse cut off Quintus.

“Yes.  And now I see exactly how sensitive this is.  If Thomas finds out, he will disown Edward; his paranoia will amplify if such a betrayal—and that is exactly how he will see it, gentlemen, a personal betrayal—comes to light.  Damn,” Hanse whispered as he shook his head.

The antique clock on the mantle slowly ticked and tocked as the two men waited on their Prince.  Hanse stood up and he nodded.  “We need to try and get a look at that Core, gentlemen—but I am not authorizing the invasion of Taurus to do so.”

“Thank God,” whispered Ardan.

Hanse glared at his Champion for a moment and then he chuckled.  “Don’t worry—I’m not going to feed the Heavy Guards into the nuclear maw of the Taurians at Gateway.  Quintus, can you and DMI get an MI4 team on the ground?”

“Already done,” Quintus said as he laughed.  “I’ve got MI4 teams on most capital worlds, Sire.”  MI4, the Covert Operations Division of the Department of Military Intelligence, was tasked with gathering what was once called ‘hum-int’; intelligence garnered from the real live traitors that every state had waiting in the wings, Quintus thought with a smile.  You just had to find them first.

“Good.  They may need some backup though—can you sneak in a team of the Rabid Foxes?”

Quintus winced.  MI6—Special Intelligence Operations—was known as the Rabid Foxes for a reason.  An elite commando force—one on par with Kurita’s DEST or Liao’s Death Commandos—the troopers of MI6 were renowned for accomplishing their mission . . . but the body counts they often left behind were considerable.  And Quintus much preferred . . . quieter means of gathering information.

“I do not advise that, Sire,” he answered quietly.

“MI4 will need backup on this, Quintus.  This is like . . . Takashi trying to sneak someone into the NAIS and make off with our data.  The Stealthy Foxes aren’t going to be able to do it alone.”

The Intelligence Minister sighed and then he nodded.  “I can get them in—getting them out might be a problem.”

“Volunteers only, Quintus,” Hanse ordered in a very somber voice.  “And make it clear to them, they cannot be taken alive.”

Ardan winced, but he nodded, and Quintus said, very quietly, “Yes, Sire.  They will understand.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 13, 2013, 02:10:53 AM

Humphreys Manor
River City, Andurien, Duchy of Andurien
Free Worlds League
October 13, 3025

“So,” Dame Catherine Humphreys, Duchess of Andurien, said simply to the woman who knelt in her presence.  “Did Kyalla send you?”

“The Magestrix grants this one leave to serve her without needing to approve my every action, Your Grace,” the woman replied.  “Much like your own Andurien Intelligence Agency benefited from our training in this regard—they are far more capable than your average SAFE agent.”

“Indeed they are,” mused Catherine.  “This information from Taurus—a trick?  A trap?”

“Unknown.  But it would behoove both our nations,” and the nameless woman smiled, “if we were to have access to this Core.”

“And the ship?”

“We cannot smuggle in the manpower to either steal it or destroy it—but why should we worry?  The Davions and Liaos will fight over it and wind up breaking the toy between them—each blaming the other.  So typically male.”

“Possibly—but they will be after the Core as well.”

“Yes.  But their best agents are men—men who while capable tend to still favor brawn over brains.  Our agents will take a different tack.  After all, Dame Catherine, we need only a few minutes of access to the Core in order to make a copy—perhaps a quarter, maybe one half an hour at most.  And knowing Taurus,” the woman smiled, “the vast majority of their guards will be male.  And therefore quite vulnerable to . . . shall we say, penetration?  By my agents.  Our agents.”

“Then let it be done.”

“And Janos?”

“He has SAFE, does he not?  In a decade or two they might realize there something worth pursuing on Taurus—until then, why bother the old man?”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on June 13, 2013, 06:33:11 AM

Poor SAFE.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 13, 2013, 12:44:45 PM

Sanctum of the Primus
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
October 13, 3025

“Tell me, Demi-Precentor,” Julian said as he sipped his tea, “what would keep the Taurians from seeing this weapon coming at them?”

The young Omega Division researcher lowered his head and then he looked the Primus directly in the eyes—even as Nicholas Cassnew felt fresh beads of sweat forming.  The six hour break had devolved into over two days, but maybe this was the solution that the Primus would favor, thought Precentor ROM.  Certainly, it might be enough to save his own neck.

Demi-Precentor Walter Manson sighed, “I cannot guarantee that they won’t detect it, Primus,” he said bluntly.  “However, they cannot watch ALL of their surrounding space.  The drive package that our engineers will attach to the asteroid will create a visible plume for a very short time as it accelerates—that is our window of vulnerability.  Afterwards, our chosen approach vector comes along a corridor where few asteroids originate.  I might add, this method will be completely deniable.”

“And will they NOT detect the drive plume?” Julian asked as he sat down the cut of tea and rubbed his jaw.

“They will . . . but there are so many small craft and mining vessels in the Taurus system that the odds of them zeroing in on this single plume—far from any of the known jump points AND identifying the asteroid upon which the drive section will be installed is very remote.”

Julian nodded and he continued to rub his jaw.  It was audacious; Manson had proposed selecting a nickel-iron asteroid some two hundred meters in diameter—and accelerating that piece of rock on a collision course for the Taurian WarShip.  It was elegant and brutal . . . and it might well work.

“This will take time, Demi-Precentor—what if the Taurians move the ship?”

“Unlikely, Primus.  For the next few months, their techs and engineers will be swarming over the vessel examining in a vain attempt to rediscover the secrets of that lost technology.  They will training crews, mapping out the ships systems and wiring, taking weapons apart to learn how to construct them.  And yes, it will take time—but so to will deploying our forces from here on Terra to Taurus in a raid that cannot be denied.”

“And if the asteroid misses?”

Manson and Nicholas exchanged a look, and then the Demi-Precentor shrugged.  “If we aim the Sledgehammer correctly, it will not—but there is a . . . possibility that Taurus itself will hit by fragments afterwards—fragments that will impact with the force of a fusion warhead.”

Julian waved off that concern.  “No one can make an omelet without breaking a few eggs, Demi-Precentor Mason.  And the Core, Nicholas?  What do you propose about that?”

Precentor ROM swallowed heavily.  “I have alerted all available ROM teams within a hundred light-years of Taurus.  We will find the Core—and destroy it.”

“Before they unlock it?”

“That is . . . unlikely, Primus,” Nicholas answered.  “Taurian Cores of this era were designed with great paranoia—if the wrong access codes are entered, the entire Core will wipe itself clean.  Destroying all data.  They have to search their . . . incomplete,” Nicholas said with a smile, “archives to find the correct codes for the specific core that they have—or the overrides; information which the Star League mostly destroyed.  It is possible that even possessing the Core, the Taurians may never be able to access it.”  And Nicholas held up a hand as the Primus began to interject.  “And it is possible, Primus, that they might—which means we must destroy it ourselves.  I believe that we have a good chance of success on both fronts with this plan.”

Julian frowned and he leaned back, lifted his cup and saucer and took another sip.  It was a complete plan of action—and far less risky to ComStar than attempting to use the Fleet.  But would it be enough?  He nodded his head.  All things were risk—he knew that well after climbing the ladder of ambition in these treacherous ranks.  The First Circuit would approve it—and Julian smirked, although Myndo would insist on using multiple rocks, probably to scour all life from the planetary surface.  She was that blood-thirsty; even so, she still had her uses.

“Very well, and I intend to turn up the heat on Protector Thomas myself.  Perhaps we can scare him into surrendering that vessel with the mere suggestion of an Interdiction.”

Nicholas winced.  “Thomas will not give up the ship, Primus.  He can’t, not even under that threat.”

“In that case, he will learn anew the lessons in a War where his enemies can communicate swiftly and his forces cannot.”  Julian nodded, a crooked smile on his face.  “Nicholas, I’m impressed—frankly, I thought you were a dead man two days ago.  Now, I see there might be some small benefit to salvaging you and your career.”

“Thank you, Primus,” Precentor ROM whispered.

“Don’t thank me yet—you still have to brief the First Circuit, including Precentor Dieron.  And she wants your head mounted on her wall—literally, Nicholas.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on June 13, 2013, 04:06:23 PM

Cause she is a nut bag

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Epoch Rooster on June 14, 2013, 02:22:27 AM

Hopefully, MA will put Myndo done like the rabid dog that she is.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 14, 2013, 12:51:20 PM

General Headquarters, Taurus Defense Force
Mount Santiago Defense Complex, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
October 15, 3025

“What the HELL happened with our security!” Thomas bellowed at the table of high-ranking military officers and civilian members of government that he stood before.  He slammed his fist down on the polished surface.  “I was asked—ASKED—by journalists this morning about rumors floating around not only concerning the WarShip docked in orbit, but the Memory Core as well!  If our journalists know about it, you can fucking well bet your collective asses that the Inner Sphere spies know it—and their leaders will know in short order!”

Thomas’ cybernetic eye whirred and clicked as he glared at the men and women before him, but then his head jerked up as one man began to laugh.

“They know because I deliberated leaked that information, Protector Calderon,” said Henri Jouett.

The Protector’s jaw dropped, he made an inarticulate growl, and his remaining natural eye bulged outwards—and the shocked expressions on the faces of everyone—except Edward—at the table mirrored his own.

“TREASON!” shouted Grover Shraplen after he regained his tongue. 

“Hardly treason, Governor,” answered Henri as Thomas still struggled to find his composure.  “It was necessary—and as the ancient saw says, it is easier to beg forgiveness than to ask permission.”

Thomas sat, and he shook his head, looking down at his shaking hands—shaking with rage and fury—and then he glared at his Intelligence Minister.  “I should have you shot, Henri.”

“My Lord, the information would have eventually leaked—it was inevitable.  The discovery is far too vital to the future of the Concordat for it not to have leaked.  Not to mention that every civilian ship within a million kilometers of Taurus has now seen the Saucy Sam for themselves—and some of them have spies for other powers onboard.  Denying this information in the light of what their own eyes and sensors see gains us nothing.”

“That might explain the ship—but not the FUCKING MEMORY CORE!” Thomas bellowed.

“Pop,” Edward whispered, and Thomas turned his attention to his son.  “Listen to Henri—I knew about this.  And I knew that you would never have allowed his plan . . . which is why I told him to go ahead without your okay.”

“Y-you told h-him,” Thomas stuttered and spat, and then he forced himself to relax.  He took a deep breath.  “This had better be good.”

“Thomas,” Henri said softly, “if you really think Edward and I are traitors to the Concordat, take us outside and have us shot.  Yes, I had the information leaked and it is probably in the hands of every leader of the Inner Sphere at this moment—well, SAFE might still be arguing about whether or not Janos Marik needs to see this, but every other leader in the Inner Sphere.”

Despite themselves, several of the men and women at the table chuckled at that.  The ineptitude of the Marik intelligence organizations had become the punch-line of jokes across the Inner Sphere—although, by and large, the agency as a whole was far better than most presumed.

“I leaked the information on the Vickers Core because it distracts them from the Saucy Sam, Thomas.  And it dilutes their efforts.  Make no mistake, they all want the ship and the core—well, that or to see them destroyed so that we don’t have them.  But now, they have two targets instead of one, and whereas smuggling in one team might possibly get past our security, multiple teams?  From multiple powers?  In a set time frame?  When we are expecting them to make a play?”

Henri snorted as Thomas slowly nodded his head. 

“Thomas,” Henri said seriously he leaned forward.  “If I had not leaked the information, it would have eventually come out—and they would make a play for the Core at a time of their choosing.  Now?  It’s a race.  They not only have to get through our security, but they also have to get to it before their opponents do.”

Murmurs of understanding circled the table, and Helena Vickers raised her cup of coffee in silent salute—Henri nodded, his hand over his heart.

“By way, did I mention that my leaks—which foreign intelligence agents will note that I am desperately attempting to quash—indicate that we salvaged that ship; a ship abandoned and derelict for four hundred years?”

“Oh, you tricky bastard,” muttered Helena.  “You want them to think that Sam is just barely operational, don’t you?”

“Exactly, Admiral Vickers.  That WarShip—obviously with battle damage as anyone can see in the visual records—must be in a perilous state of disrepair after drifting for so long.  And we have no one who understands those systems, knows how to work those system, repair those systems . . . to them, it appears that she is nothing more than a hanger-queen at this time.”

“But Helena Vickers and her crew . . . ,” protested Grover before Henri cut him off.

“You will note that I have held that particular piece of information rather tightly, my Lords—it hasn’t leaked.  Not to the best of my knowledge—so far, neither foreign nor domestic source yet knows about the gallant Admiral and her crew.”

Henri smiled.  “Furthermore, the leaks from my office lead one to believe that the Vickers Core is encrypted—and that we are moving heaven and earth to try and locate the decryption codes from archives four centuries old.  Archives that the Star League gutted during their occupation.”

“But we have the decryption keys,” Shraplen asked in a bewildered voice.  “Why . . .?”

“Governor Shraplen,” Edward said slowly and gently.  “Those who want the Core will believe that we cannot yet access it.  Taurian Cores of that period were routinely booby-trapped with explosives and even nerve gas,” and Henri nodded his approval at the young man, “and will wipe all their data if someone attempts to bypass the security systems.  Oh, it can be done, given enough time—but if they want the Core before we open it, then they must make a play soon.”

“Not to mention that the leaks place the Core in a TDF secure installation outside of Samantha City—a research station that is but lightly guarded,” Henri added.  “And we do have a duplicate Core module there . . . an empty one.  Well,” he laughed, “one filled with rather useless information that is quite thoroughly encrypted.”

“Where then is the real Vickers Core, Henri?” Thomas asked.

“Remember that loon who wanted to build an entire city under a mountain—named the bloody place Erebor after that old film?” Henri said with a smile.

Thomas winced.  “Ralston bankrupted his family for that project—you didn’t,” he said with a slowly expanding smile on his face.

“Oh, but we did.  He had dug out dozens of levels all buried under hundreds of meters of granite, Tom.  We’ve decided to build SCARS—and a city to support it—inside Erebor.  One way in, one way out—and it will be heavily defended.”  Henri snorted again.  "That bloody mountain will laugh at even nukes."

“So, the Inner Sphere will vie for a Core that is a fake—and they will assume that Samantha Calderon is crewed by trainees who haven’t a clue about what they are doing . . . with many of her systems possibly off-line.”

“Yes, my Lord.  And as we all know, assumption is the mother of all fuck-ups,” Henri added.

“If your plan works.”

“My plan depends only on human nature, Thomas.  And which is more believable—that we salvaged that ship or that it jumped across Time to arrive with a fully trained crew and an unlocked Memory Core?”  Henri smiled again.  “No, they will use Occam’s Razor to arrive at exactly the wrong conclusion; and gentlemen, ladies, when their teams make a play for the Core . . . well, they can report home that it was destroyed.  Their survivors can report, at least; the handful that we permit to escape off-world.”

Thomas nodded, and then he smiled.  But then the smile vanished.  “Next time, Henri, I want to be informed ahead of time—understood?”

Henri’s lips twitched at the phrase next time.  But he merely said, “Yes, my Protector.”

“Until then, what do you need to arm the jaws of your trap—and how are we going to play this with the media?  I need to answer them before the end of this day on this subject.”

And with that, Thomas and his government rolled up their sleeves and went to work.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on June 14, 2013, 04:37:51 PM

Plans within plans ;)

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on June 14, 2013, 10:51:07 PM

I feel as if I am reading a dune novel plans within plans within plans.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 15, 2013, 12:35:46 AM

Field Headquarters, Wolf’s Dragoons
Eisner Plateau, Capra
Draconis Combine
October 17, 3025

Jaime Wolf leaned on the balcony railing as he stared out at the distant stars.  Although well past sunset, the sounds of activity filled the mercenary compound.  After all, there were always jobs to see to; repairs to be made; personnel to be replaced.

And Jaime sighed.  Too many of his personnel had to be replaced over the years—far too many. 

“Okay, Colonel, what the hell is wrong now?” the worried voice of Natasha Kerensky snapped Jaime Wolf out of his reverie. 

“Not much, Natasha,” he said softly as he nodded at her and turned to look at the stars again.

“Like hell!  The staff pukes are avoiding you like the plague and you are up here—where you always go—commiserating with the stars instead of a bottle.”

“I am not that bad . . . am I?” asked Jaime in a bemused tone.

Natasha frowned and she looked left, then right, then up, then down.  Satisfied that no one was lurking in earshot, she cleared her throat and began to softly sing.  “Gloom, despair, and agony on me—deep dark depression, excessive misery.  If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all . . . gloom, despair, and agony on me,” she finished and cleared her throat again.  “That’s you in a nutshell tonight, Jaime.”

“That bad, eh?”

“That bad, boss.  So what’s got you looking towards home?”

And Jaime glared at Natasha, but the woman just smiled at him.  And Jaime Wolf sighed again.

“I had a meeting with Indrahar earlier today.”

“Thought so, I saw him and his retinue leaving the compound.  What did the good old half-fossilized Director of the ISF, Subhash Indrahar, want with you this time?”

“He was here on behalf on Takashi—to discuss a possible new raiding mission for the Dragoons.”

“Oh?” Natasha asked brightly.  “I’m game, as long as it is more challenging than Quentin was—what’s the target?”

“Challenging . . . definitely the right word.”

“Come on, old man—what’s the target?”

“Taurus.”

Natasha Kerensky blinked.  She opened her mouth and then she closed it again.  Then it opened, and still without a word, she closed it once more.  She blinked again.

“Taurus?  Taurus?  TAURUS?  As in the bloody damned capital of the Taurian Concordat, that Taurus?”

“The one, the same, Widowmaker,” Jaime said, his lips twisted in a grim smile.

“Is Takashi absolutely insane?” she blurted.

“No, and someone has given him coordinates to an undefended jump point in the Taurus system . . . three guesses who, ‘Tasha.”

“Don’t need them.  The not-so-local phone company, am I right, Colonel Sir?”

“That’s what WolfNet believes.  And no, he’s not crazy; he’s actually . . . concerned, Natasha.  Seems like the Taurians have hit the jackpot—they found and salvaged one of their Reunification War era Calderon-class Battleships; it jumped into Taurus sixteen days ago.”

Natasha sputtered.  “I’ll bet ComStar is having FITS right now!”

“No wager, ‘Tasha.  Everyone wants that ship—or at least wants to be sure if they can’t have that no one else does either.  To make matters worse, the Taurians also have recovered a Memory Core from the same era.”

Natasha stepped up beside Jaime and leaned on the rail as she nodded.  “That . . . might make carrying out Kerlin’s orders a bit easier, Jaime.  Depending on what information is stored away inside there.”

“According to Indrahar:  an idiot’s guide for building pre-Reunification Wars WarShips—the Taurian edition; among other things.”

The Black Widow exhaled sharply.  “Damn.  Look, Jaime, I know I said I wanted something more challenging, but . . .,” she was interrupted by Jaime Wolf.

“I told him no.  Then he asked about using the Kommando along with DEST in a run at the Core and I said again NO.  He didn’t care for that.  I do not expect that he hears that word used too often in his presence.”

“Yeah, I kinda of doubt it too,” she paused and then grinned.  “Jaime.  You know . . . we haven’t yet taken a contract with a Periphery state—I’m thinking Taurus is kind of lovely in the late spring/early summer months.”

“We already have a contract with the Dragon, Captain Kerensky.”

“Like they haven’t already given us a dozen reasons to invoke our escape clause; if we stick around, Samsonov is going to try and own us—damn me if he isn’t dumb enough to try it.”

Jaime snorted in agreement.

“You know,” Natasha said impishly, “if we were still sending reports back home, the Snow Ravens would go ape over the chance to fight a real-live Taurian battleship.”

“Yeah, until the Taurians break out their nuclear stockpile—then the Ravens would go absolutely berserk.”

“There is that,” Natasha said with a smile.  “Why don’t people just like a good fight anymore?”

“Because most people are saner than you or I, Natasha.”

“True,” she answered with a smile.  “Come on, Jaime, let’s go get drunk.  And then we can go kill something—I don’t care what or who, just something!”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 16, 2013, 01:10:47 PM

Chapter One

Taurian Concordat Navy DropShip Black Bull
Samantha City Spaceport, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
October 22, 3025

Space Master Anton Lefebvre stood as his passenger entered the compact bridge of the DropShip reserved for the use of the Protector of the Taurian Concordat.  “Lord Calderon,” he greeted the young man with a salute.  “The Protector wishes to speak with you before departure."

“Thank you, Space Master,” Edward replied with a nod—not saluting in return since he was (technically) not acting in his role as a TDF officer today.  No, for today and the duration of this assignment, he was instead the Protector’s Heir and designated Special Ambassador to the Federated Suns.  “Open a channel, if you please.”

Anton nodded and snapped his fingers—the highly experienced crew was already anticipating the order and in short order the image of Thomas Calderon appeared on several monitors.

“Ah, Edward,” he said as he saw Edward’s image appear on an identical screen within the palace.  “I-I,” he stuttered and then paused, and Edward blinked. 

“It’s okay, Pop,” he said softly.  “I know how far go I’m allowed to go in the negotiations—and you’ve given me the best pack of bodyguards in the Concordat.  We’ll do you proud—we’ll do the Concordat proud.”  Indeed, the old Fortress-class vessel was filled to capacity with a two companies of the elite First Battalion of the Taurian Guards, one ‘Mech and one Armored, supported by ninety of the finest infantry troopers that the Concordat could fill.  Plus, one of the Concordat’s rare Union-class marine assault carriers—the ‘Mech carrier heavily refitted to carry eight Aerospace Fighters, four small craft, and a company of zero-G Marines—was assigned as escort.

Thomas swallowed and then he nodded.  “I know you will, son,” he whispered.  “God speed—and good hunting.”  Thomas paused again and then he shook his head.  “Lord knows, I told myself I wouldn’t mass a fuss over this—but you come back, understand?  You come back home after this is done, boy.  And in one piece.”

“That’s the plan,” Edward whispered as he swallowed a lump in his throat, and Thomas nodded, his one organic eye shining with unshed tears.  Then the image abruptly ended as the Protector cut the transmission.

“Space Master Lefebvre,” the young man said after a moment.  “I will return to my quarters—you are authorized to lift at your convenience for transit to Gateway and docking with the JumpShip Auroch.”

“Sir,” the veteran officer said simply as he remained standing until Edward Calderon had been escorted from the bridge.  “Comm, inform Taurus Flight Control that we are ready for boost to orbit—confirm that our flight-space is clear and our escort is standing by.”

“Flight confirms we are go for launch, Sir—Onslaught is holding in planetary orbit to match vectors and velocity.”

Anton nodded crisply as he sat down and secured his safety straps about him.  “Sound acceleration warning and begin sixty-second countdown to main engine ignition.”

A loud WHOOP, WHOOP, WHOOP echoed through the ship as the klaxon wailed its message; alerting all of those onboard that take-off was imminent.  “All hands, we are at T minus fifty-five seconds until launch—stand-by for acceleration boost to orbit,” the Comms rating broadcast.

Black Bull shuddered as fuel pumps began to circulate the fuel prior to ignition; Anton looked down at his instruments and he nodded.

“T minus thirty seconds,” the intercom broadcast.

“Power, life support, and comm umbilicals have been retracted,” reported a rating from the engineering station.  “We are on internal power and comms—all systems green for launch.”

“T minus twenty seconds.”

“Set laser igniters for automatic firing,” Anton ordered, “fuel flow to maximum.”

“Aye, Sir, igniters to automatic, fuel flow to maximum.”

“T minus ten seconds.  Nine.  Eight.  Seven.  Six.  Five.”

“Ignition!” screamed a voice from engineering as the fusion drives lit off and the DropShip shook.

“Four.  Three.  Two.  One.  Lift-off!”

The building thrust from the drive pods began to lift the six thousand tons of metal and alloys, slowly at first, but increasing exponentially every fraction of a second.  The ship shuddered and shook and rattled, but it lifted on columns of fire and streaked away toward the distant sky.

“Passing fifteen thousand,” the maneuvering officer reported.  “All engines at max thrust.”

“Taurus Flight reports we are in the corridor and looking good,” said comms.

“Approaching Max-Q,” engineering snapped as Anton watched the altimeter climbing faster-and-faster.  The most dangerous portion of any ascent, max-Q was when the dynamic aerodynamic stresses on the DropShip reached their maximum—a failure of the any system at this point could be catastrophic.

“Stand by to reduce main engine thrust to 60% power at Max-Q,” Anton ordered, “in three . . . two . . . one . . . MAX-Q!”

“Powering down to 60% on mains One through Five, skipper,” maneuvering barked.  “All systems still green—passing forty-five thousand and still climbing!”

The thundering of the drives roared through the ship, but ahead of them, through the viewports, Anton could see the sky fading away to the deep black of space.  And he released a breath he hadn’t quite realized he was holding.

“Approaching MECO,” engineering reported as the DropShip near the moment for main-engine cut-off and a stable orbit.  “In three . . . two . . . one . . . MECO!”

And with that, the roar of the engines died and Black Bull coasted along in orbit above Taurus. 

“Comm, signal Onslaught that we will await them to match vector and velocity before we begin transit to Gateway,” Anton ordered.

“Aye, Sir.  Onslaught reports they will come alongside in two minutes.”

“Outstanding, people,” the DropShip commander said warmly.  Now, we just have to protect the Heir all the frigging way to New Avalon—seventeen jumps.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 16, 2013, 02:31:01 PM

Taurian Concordat Navy GuardShip Titan
Local Space, Taurus System
Taurian Concordat
October 24, 3025

“Most impressive,” Helena Vickers commented to Space Master Liam Zahra as the tour of the twenty-five thousand ton Assault DropShip came to a close.  “But I understand that there are just two of them in the entire TCN?  Is that correct?”

“Yes, Marshal Vickers,” Liam replied crisply.  “Several years ago we captured two Behemoth-class cargo ships from pirates,” and the Space Master smiled as he patted one of the structural bulkheads.  “We can’t produce those ships—but we know how to work welders and cutting torches.  Our engineers sliced this thing down to size and managed to make it the most heavily armed DropShip known to exist today,” then he sighed.  “But, as you said, there are just two of them and we can’t make any more.  I reckon, though, that they will provide your WarShip with sufficient protection until we get you fixed up.”

Helena shook her head, at both the audacity of the ship she was aboard and her newly bestowed rank of Marshal—she had always been a fighting officer, and those promoted to Marshal were mostly stuck behind desks.  But Thomas had insisted—and now she was the senior officer of the entire Taurian Concordat Navy.  What little there was of it.

“Forty-eight Class Two autocannons?” blurted Daniel Stiles.  “Why in God’s name would you do that?”

Liam laughed.  “You still aren’t getting the loss of technology we suffered—for this time, the Class Two AC is the longest-ranged weapon system available.  Does a pittance of damage, but forty-eight of will still give ASF fits—and tear apart the armor of any DropShip out there.  And that is the just the long-range ballistic guns, Commander.  We also carry four ASF of our own, plus eighteen Class Five ACs, a dozen Class Tens, a half-dozen Class Twenty, a dozen LRM launcher, twenty-four PPCs and Large Lasers, eighteen Medium Lasers, a dozen SRM launchers; not to mention the thirty Small Lasers and forty-eight Machine-Guns installed for point-defense!”

“Exactly,” said Helena.  “They did the best they could, Dan—and it is a remarkable piece of engineering.  6-G’s max thrust, you said?”

“Yes, Marshal, slimming this girl down to twenty-five thousand tons from one hundred made her one of the fastest ships in space—and left enough room to give her as much armor as many a Star League cruiser!”

“And you’ve still got your docking gear?” Helena asked.

Liam grinned broadly.  “Aye.  And according to the Protector, both Titan and Goliath are going to be assigned to the Saucy Sam when she gets all of repairs done; after all, after detaching the Red Hand, you’ve got two free collars.”

“They’re assault boats from Hell, ma’am,” Stiles muttered.  “Damn, what I would have given for a dozen of these during the War.”

Helena nodded with a grim smile.  So many things were so different today—the backwards technology and ideas of limited warfare . . . but then there were exceptions.  The TCN of her day would never have spent funds on a 25,000 ton displacement DropShip—not when it needed raw ship numbers.  But this design had definite possibilities.  And those Hyper-Pulse Generators that she had been told were run by ComStar . . . she winced as she thought of the wacky pseudo-religion that had sprung up in the fall of the Star League.  In her day, there had been no FTL comm; just what a courier ship could jump.  What might have Marshal Santos been able to accomplish if he had these HPGs?  And a government willing to carve up and rebuild entire DropShips to suit their needs instead of trying to build them from the ground up—lacking the knowledge to make the necessary drive systems?

Still, she thought to herself.  I don’t like the idea of someone else handling our mail—it was far too tempting to imagine that they didn’t read it.  Human nature being what it was, she would have been shocked if this ComStar actually did pass along messages without sneaking a peek—but she was certain that they took that peek.  The biggest question was, though . . . what did they do with that information?

Information was power—and ComStar had a tremendous amount of power at its fingertips.  What’s their game, she thought?

“Marshal Vickers?  Space Master Zahra?” the GuardShips XO interrupted.  “There is priority request from Samantha City for the Marshal and her staff to return immediately to the surface.  From the Office of the Protector to be exact,” he concluded.

“Very well, prep my shuttle for immediate launch,” Helena ordered.  “Space Master Zahra—an excellent inspection.  I cannot wait to see this ship and her sister in action.”

“Thank you, Marshal.  I’ll pass that along to my crew.”

“Dan?”

“Yes, ma’am,” her XO and chief of staff said as he held open the hatch to the bridge.



The Goliath-class GuardShip (http://www.solaris7.com/TRO/Spaceship/ShipInfo.asp?ID=1384) is one of the designs that I have made.  It is based on the Behemoth-class DropShip and is ALL level 1 tech.  (i.e., 3025-era tech).

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on June 16, 2013, 07:52:53 PM

Very nice, those GuardShips put the A Team vehicles to shame.  ;)

May I make a suggestion? Promote Vickers to Fleet Marshal. Yes it Starship Trooperish but it denotes her special status and gives her title to the entire Taurian Navy.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: XaosGorilla on June 17, 2013, 01:28:04 AM

Takiro makes an interesting suggestion, but I would worry about whether Vickers would instinctively understand the current Rules Of Engagement (ROE).  Plus, there is the chance that if she were too high a rank that she might get a little too much limelight, and be recognized by someone in a foreign intel service... 

Didn't you use the Goliath somewhere else MA? I know I've seen it before...

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 17, 2013, 11:36:30 AM

I've posted the design here, but so far haven't used it in a story.  Until now.

MA

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 17, 2013, 01:33:38 PM

General Headquarters, Taurus Defense Force
Mount Santiago Defense Complex, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
October 24, 3025

Helena Vickers trotted into the War Room buried deep in the labyrinth of the Headquarters of the Taurian Defense Force, Dan Stiles trailing in her wake.  She steeled herself upon seeing the shocked faces of ranking officers, some of whom stood, others sat—a few with their faces cradled in their hands in expressions of utter disbelief.  Oh, shit, she thought.  What now?

As she scanned the room, she realized that they were still awaiting the Protector, and she drew in a deep breath to still her racing heart.

“Marshal Vickers?” an attractive woman—barely in her mid-30’s—whispered to her.  “Glad that you have arrived—Thomas should be here in a moment . . . and we are waiting for one more besides the Protector to join us.”

“What’s happened, Marshal Calderon?” Helena asked, but before Brenda could reply, the doors opened again and every officer rose to his feet as Thomas entered the room, followed by a hustling—and white-faced—Grover Shraplen.

“Be seated, gentlemen, ladies,” Thomas said bluntly.  “Six hours ago, the First Battalion of the Pleiades Hussars, under the command of Brigadier Boris Tharn, attacked the ComStar compound on Jansen’s Hold in the planetary capital of Theo,” he snapped—and Helena came to the realization that this was what utter and absolute fury looked like on the face of Thomas Calderon.

“We are aware of this only because ComStar has informed us of these actions—we do not at this time have Brigadier Tharn’s version of the events that occurred in Theo.  This is what we know, however—the Hussars, under the command of Tharn, surrounded the ComStar compound with ‘Mechs, tanks, and infantry.  They then demanded that two recent converts to ComStar be surrendered immediately, citing evidence that they were in fact Davion agents working to undermine our defenses on Jansen’s Hold.  When the local ComStar Demi-Precentor refused to surrender them, Tharn assaulted the compound and seized one of the two suspected spies—the second, along with eighty-seven other members of ComStar, died in the assault.”

Stunned silence filled the room, broken only by a low groan from several officers.  Thomas nodded.  “I have been summoned to the Alpha station on Taurus—summoned!” he bellowed.  “In two hours time, I will be asked to explain this in a real-time HPG communication with the Primus of ComStar himself!  Grover,” he barked, turning towards his friend and long-time ally.  “He’s your man—you pressured me, against the advice of my senior officers, to give him a Battalion.  Has he gone insane or has he always been this incompetent?”

“It has to be a lie, Thomas!  Boris Tharn is a loyal Taurian officer—he would never do such a thing,” and Grover shuddered, “unless it was to defend your realm.”

“DEFEND IT?  THAT SON-OF-A-BITCH MIGHT HAVE JUST DESTROYED IT!” Thomas thundered.  Then the Protector drew in a deep breath and clenched his fists together; he leaned forward on the table.  “The word interdiction was used in the communication from Terra, ladies and gentlemen.  Interdiction!  Have you no clue as to what that might entail for the Concordat, Governor Shraplen?”

Helena cleared her throat, and Thomas jerked his head around with a scowl on his face, but then he calmed himself and nodded.

“Will ComStar allow us to speak directly with Brigadier Tharn?” she asked.  “To assess his version of the events?”

“That is quite impossible, Marshal Vickers,” answered Henri Jouett.  “As Brigadier Tharn died in the assault on the ComStar compound—his Ostroc suffered a direct hit to the cockpit that penetrated the armor and killed him instantly.  Strangely enough, his executive officer and all three company commanders were also killed—the only casualties inflicted on the Hussars was to their officers.”

Henri paused and then he shook his head.  “Such . . . rather implausible . . . targeting aside, I have to wonder just how Boris Tharn knew that the two men he was pursuing were in fact Davion agents?  Considering that information was far above his need-to-know, and closely held by this very assembly here on Taurus.  Perhaps the good Governor can shed some light on this matter—bearing in mind that my office will be launching a full investigation.”

“Grover?” growled Thomas.

The skin of civilian from MacLeod’s Land blazed red and he shook his head.  “They were Davion agents, Thomas!  I was working to protect your Realm—that smug ass,” he said pointing to Henri, “would have done nothing but watch them!  We needed to send a message—but I had no idea that Boris would violate ComStar neutrality!” he bleated.

Thomas glared at Grover until his friend wilted and then the Protector sighed.  “We will discuss this later in private—you and I, and it will be discussed in full, Grover,” and then Thomas sat down heavily and he rubbed his unruly hair with both hands.  “This is one hell of a problem that we didn’t need—not now.  I want options, people.”

“One, we make a public apology to ComStar and pay restitution—in whatever amount—they demand,” said Henri.  “Which possibly includes handing over all surviving members of the First Pleiades Hussars for trial and execution by ComStar on Terra,” and officers around the table winced.

“The second option is accepting the interdiction, Protector Calderon.  ComStar has proven notoriously consistent in the past with such incidents—whether it is a Concordat wide interdiction or not, . . . ,” Henri shrugged.

“There is a third option,” mused Helena quietly.

“Well, this should be good,” interrupted Henri.  “And what, pray tell, is this third option?”

“We go all in—seize every ComStar compound and HPG in the Concordat,” Helena said bluntly.

“MY GOD!” someone shouted as chaos erupted around the table.

“Mademoiselle Vickers,” Henri spoke slowly—as if to a child, “even if we were successful in seizing their compounds and the HPGs, we do not know how to operate them.”

Helena shrugged.  “The ComStar adepts and acolytes do—and they will talk given sufficient persuasion.”

“Torture,” muttered another officer.  “We are better than that.”

“Bullshit,” said Helena bluntly.  “We are human—that means we do what we have to do.  We do things horrendous when necessary in order to survive.  I thought that Taurians learned that along with their mother’s milk?”

“When necessary,” snapped Thomas.  “It is not—in my mind—necessary . . . yet.”  He shook his head.  “No.  We—the Protectors before me—gave our word that ComStar could operate here in safety.  I will not throw aside that to take what does not belong to Taurus.  To the Concordat—we are not thieves, Marshal.”

“My apologies, Protector,” Helena said, not sounding all that apologetic, “but you did ask for options—and that is one option.”

“So I did,” he said.  “And if it becomes necessary, we may revisit your third option, Marshal Vickers.  But until then . . . how much can the Treasury scrounge up?”

“Barely enough to rebuild a Class B station, Sire,” the Exchequer sighed.  “In hard currency, at least.  Between the Far Seekers and the money you are throwing into Erebor and the diversionary Core—you and Henri, that is, Sire—we are all but tapped out for this quarter.  If ComStar insists on hard currency . . .,” he looked down at his hands and then directly into the Protector’s eyes.  “We may not have it.  Not enough.”

Thomas sighed.  “We will cross that bridge once I speak with the Primus—for now,” he said softly, but with an iron core that no one at the table mistook.  “For now, I want readiness orders for a possible Concordat-wide interdiction issued to every unit on a world with an HPG—and I want a courier ship taking those same orders to EVERY SINGLE WORLD—HPG or no—of our Concordat within the hour.  Henri, Brenda, and I have been digging through the contingencies, and Case Vermillion is the one in question.  Inform all commands that they may have to act independently and without confirmation from Taurus.”

He paused.  “DEFENSIVE OPERATIONS ONLY, gentlemen, ladies.  I will hang any officer from the nearest light post that decides to go a’viking—is that understood?”

A chorus of voices answered in the affirmative.  “Good.  Now get cracking and get those orders issued immediately—and God help us all.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 17, 2013, 05:05:29 PM

ComStar Class A HPG Station
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
October 24, 3025

Thomas gritted his teeth as the robed figures searched him—physically patted him down!  But he endured the indignity without a word as the Adepts and Acolytes completed the check for weapons, and their leader nodded.

“Your guards—they are not needed within the confines of this Holy Structure,” the man spoke from behind the folds of his hood.  “Only you have authorization to pass this point, Protector Calderon.”

John MacLeod—the head of his security detail—bristled, but Thomas held up one hand.  “Taurian law requires that the Protector be escorted, Adept.”

“Taurian law does not apply here within the Sanctum, Protector Calderon—only the Holy Writ of Blake and the will of the Primus.  They shall remain at this juncture or you shall all be required to depart.”

Thomas glared at the man, but he forced himself to swallow the first answer that boiled to the surface of his brain.  Telling the man to have intercourse with himself would not, after all, be in the best interests of the Concordat.

“Agent MacLeod,” he said at last, “you and the detail will remain here until my return—that is a direct order!”

“Yes, my Lord,” the body-guard answered through gritted teeth of his own.

“Then if you will follow me, please, Protector Calderon,” the Adept said with a wave of his arm.

The Adept led, and Thomas followed, trailed by three beefy looking fellows, who—despite their robes—obviously were security.  Winding passageways led them deep within the domed structure that stood in the center of the ComStar compound—and Thomas inhaled deeply at the sight before him.  A massive piece of machinery being swarmed over by Adepts and Acolytes, chanting lines of liturgy as they made adjustments to the control systems, filled the room to capacity; one long arm—resembling nothing else so much as a cannon of some sort—almost touching the hemi-spherical ceiling high above. 

“That is the Hyper-Pulse Generator?” he asked.

“Indeed . . . it is the Sanctified and Divine Device through which communications is made possible—designed by the Blessed Blake as he wrote down his teachings which guide us to this day.”

Thomas stood there, and he gawked—until one of the three beefy men behind him pushed him forward.  The Adept lowered his hood and he shook his head.  “None of that, Acolyte—the Protector is a guest.  Still, guests must abide by the restrictions their hosts place upon them.  You are no Servant of the Blessed Blake, Protector Calderon—the Engines of his Magnificence and Holy Power are not yours to observe; you have had sufficient privilege to cast a merest glance upon them.  This way,” he said, pointing towards a chamber set to one side.

The chamber was dim and the Adept ushered him within—to where Precentor Taurus stood waiting.  “Ah, Protector Thomas; thank you for answering our request to attend us at this hour.”

“It was an offer that I literally could not refuse, Precentor,” Thomas answered slowly.

“Of course, you could have—if you wished to sign the death warrant of the Concordat,” the leader of the Taurus A Station replied with a smile.  “If you will stand there,” and the Precentor indicated a circle upon the floor, “we are ready to proceed.”

Thomas stepped into the circle and the lights dimmed still more—then a light began to emerge from the darkness.  It coalesced into the image of a man dressed in the purest of white robes—Julian Tiepolo, the Primus of ComStar.

“Thomas Calderon, I greet you in the Name of the Blessed Blake.  Peace be upon your House this day.”

“Primus,” Thomas said simply with a bow of his head.

“Ah, you are almost a stereotype of Taurian intransigence and refusal to bow down to anyone.  It has been too long since I have personally experienced such, Thomas.”  And then the Primus’ face grew cold and somber.  “But that is not what we are here to discuss this day, is it?”

“No, Primus, it is not.  I can assure you that no orders originated on Taurus calling for an attack on the Jansen’s Hold compound—further, all those responsible will be identified and they will be punished for their actions; severely, I might add.”

“It is good to know that you take your responsibilities so gravely, Thomas—however, ComStar cannot allow such an affront to take place without . . . retribution.”

“We are prepared to offer restitution to ComStar for the facility and the loss of life,” Thomas said through jaws almost locked into place by his tense muscles.

“What value do you place upon a soul, Thomas?  Eighty-eight of my people perished—eighty-eight souls who might have accomplished miracles in the future; now all have been cut short.  Our neutrality has been violated, our territory intruded upon, our blood has been spilled.  What price would you place on such?”

“That is for you to determine, Primus; we will, of course, offer to share all of our investigative findings with you on this matter.”

“Too little, too late,” Julian said with a grim smile.  “My own advisors on the First Circuit tell me that you threaten the balance of power within Known Space, Thomas—combined with this attack, whose order most definitely originated from Taurus,” and Thomas hissed in shock, “these two together make Us question as to whether or not you desire to see peace . . . or if you are as blind as your fore-fathers and only want to see the Inner Sphere in flames?”

“This order—I did not authorize any such thing,” Thomas growled.

“Thomas, your name was not upon it; but I doubt that anyone would have dared to authorize such an action without your approval.  Still, a Holy Interdiction of the Taurian Concordat will cause great pain and suffering to your people.  Especially as we inform your neighbors that you are under Interdiction for Crimes waged against this Holy Order.  Liao and Davion and the pirates of Tortuga will have a field day—and your forces will be isolated and alone; easy prey as they fall one world after the next.”

Thomas bit his tongue and he nodded.  “What price do you demand as a starting point?”

“Am I a merchant to haggle, Thomas?  No.  I am PRIMUS of ComStar.  You will pay full restitution for the reconstruction of the Class B HPG station on Jansen’s Hold—and pay full cost for the construction of a new Class B facility on another world.  You will compensate the families of the dead for all of the future efforts which those Holy Servants were capable of making—and you will surrender unto US this WarShip which draws unto you greedy Successor Lords like flies drawn to honey.”

Thomas clenched his jaw.  “The ship is ours—it belonged to Taurus before, it belongs to us now.”

“The ship will be the cause of your destruction, Thomas—I seek only to spare you and your people.  ComStar does not desire this vessel for ourselves; indeed, we intend to cast it into your sun at the center of the Taurus system—to destroy it and remove from you the instrument which your enemies so greatly desire.  With it gone, Peace shall have a renewed chance to flourish.  Retain it . . . and you shall have more War and Pestilence and Famine,” and Julian smiled again, “and Death, oh, yes, Death; you shall have more of these things than you can possibly imagine, Thomas.”

The Protector swallowed and Julian raised his hood.  “It is great burden, leading the Taurian people, Thomas.  And it is difficult for you to accept that this must be done—but it must.  And it shall be.  If it is not, then a Holy Interdiction shall I declare upon your people and your worlds.  Still, it is a shock to you, after all.  I give you . . . four days—ninety-six hours in which to make your decision.  I trust that you will come to the realization that only one course is the correct one—the true one; the one which will preserve the lives of your people, Thomas.  Precentor Taurus will remain here to put you in contact with me at any time before the expiration of that dead-line.  But my patience is not finite, Thomas—come the passing of that dead-line and Excommunicated from all messages you shall be.”

The image flickered and then it winked out.  Thomas blinked, and he glared at Precentor Taurus, who just smirked—SMIRKED—at him.  “Escort him out of this Holy Sanctum.”

Thomas didn’t say a word when he rejoined his guard detail; he didn’t say a word as they walked across the flag-stone lanes of the manicured ground; he didn’t say a word until after the ground car was sealed and swept for bugs and driving quickly away.  When he did speak, it was but a single sentence, and then Thomas sat gazing out upon the capital city of his realm as the car traveled to home.

“Assemble the War Council—make certain that Helena Vickers and her people are present.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on June 17, 2013, 06:48:34 PM

We are going to war!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 17, 2013, 07:54:05 PM

ComStar HPG Station Prime
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
October 24, 3025

“And now we wait,” said the Primus as the transmission ended and the lights slowly brightened in the central hub of the HPG network.  “Your thoughts, Precentor ROM?”

Nicholas sighed.  “I am worried that we went too far—pushed Thomas too much.  You all but admitted to him that we are reading their mail, Primus!”

“In a conversation which he has no proof of—no copies, no data.  Just his word against that of ComStar . . . following an incident in which his troops slaughtered our people.”  Julian smiled.  “That was nicely done, by the way, Nicholas—how long have you had Boris Tharn on our payroll?”

“A few years, now, Primus,” Precentor ROM answered with a grateful bow.  “Although he wasn’t expecting the retirement package he received—still,” Nicholas mused, “it would not have been possible if you had not altered Shraplen’s message to push him into attacking the facility.  Certainly his troops would have not have followed him without that order.”

Julian smiled.  And then the smile faded as another—bitter—voice spoke up.

“Yet, you did not address the Data Core,” Myndo Waterly spat.  “We could have wrapped up this entire operation in one fell swoop had you insisted upon that as well.”

“THAT would have pushed Thomas over the edge, Precentor Dieron,” Julian snapped back.  “And it would have risked revealing to the entire human race that we—ComStar—are engaged in stopping technological progress of all of the Houses both Great and Minor alike!  ROM will destroy the Core, preventing the dissemination of technology—demanding that it be surrendered would have been one demand too many, yes?”

“I disagree,” Myndo said as she shook her head.  “We are talking about the Taurians here—a minor power with little, if any, ability to defy you.  A Great House—perhaps.  Perhaps, a Great House would have stood against you, but Thomas Calderon?  A broken man leading a broken people, clinging to delusions of greatness from four centuries ago?  No.  He would have complied with your demands because he knows that is the only way he can preserve his Concordat.”

“They fought the Star League for twenty years when all they had to do to stop the conflict was to join the League, Precentor Dieron,” Nicholas said.  Myndo Waterly spun around, and she sneered.

“I did not ask for your opinion, Precentor ROM—speak when you are spoken to!  Unless you wish that tongue removed!”

“I am pleased with Nicholas at this moment, Precentor Dieron,” Julian snapped again. “In fact, I would hear more—Nicholas?”

Nicholas swallowed and he nodded and then composed his thoughts.  “Thomas might be no Nicoletta or Henry or Mitchell . . . but he is a Calderon.  If we push him too far, too fast, there is a good chance that he will simply say ‘fuck it’, and strike back at us—the consequences be damned.  Threatening an Interdiction against a Great House with four or five hundred star systems is one thing—the Concordat has just twenty-eight inhabited star systems outside of the Hyades Nebula.  Twenty-eight, Primus, Precentor Dieron.  Half of those lack HPG Stations to begin with.  Because of that, Thomas already maintains a courier system in place—inefficient, yes.  But he has enough JumpShips that he can keep one or two stationed at every system.  I fear that our Interdiction threat might not be received in the same light as a Great House where you can cut the communications lifeline on ten or twenty times as many worlds.”

“You fear too much, Precentor ROM,” Myndo sneered.  “Thomas will be cowed by this threat—and even if he is not, his friend Grover was certainly . . . vocal enough about his displeasure over Thomas’ brat and his covert mission to New Avalon.  Though I do wish that he had complained about the specifics more to Tharn—still, it is enough to know that Edward Calderon is en route.  If Interdiction will not deter Thomas, then perhaps holding his eldest son and heir as hostage will,” she mused.

Nicholas winced.  “Precentor—Primus.  My personnel are already occupied with planning operations against that ship and the Data Core—adding another high-risk mission . . .,” he began.

“I wasn’t asking for your personnel, Nicholas,” Myndo cooed.  “I am handling this particular tangent myself.  With the permission of the Primus, of course.”

“Of course,” Julian answered with a slight frown.  “Alive, Myndo,” he enunciated very slowly.  “Alive and unharmed—Thomas Calderon is already unstable, and I doubt that news of the death of his eldest son and heir at our hands would result in a change of this situation to our liking.”

“Oh, do not worry, Primus,” Myndo answered with a smile.  “Soon enough he will be in our clutches—and then, whether or not Thomas chooses to cooperate, we can . . . instruct Edward.  Make him believe in Blake and the supremacy of ComStar.”

“Brainwash him,” muttered Nicholas.  “Not a reliable technique.”

“Where is your faith, Precentor ROM?” Myndo hissed.  “Once we have Edward and he is one of us, then we have little need of Thomas should he prove . . . intransigent, I believe was the word that you used, Primus.”

Julian nodded.  “We have many arrows in our quiver—best to use them all to make certain that this Memory Core does not spur a technological renaissance.”  He sighed.  “Very well, Myndo.  Edward is yours to toy with—do not make me regret this.”

“Why, never, Primus,” she chuckled, and then left the two men behind her.  For a moment there was silence, and then the Primus said a single word.

“Nicholas?”

Precentor ROM sighed.  “Yes Primus.  I will have my people watch hers—closely.”

“Good, Nicholas.”

“I remain concerned about the ultimatum you delivered, Primus,” Nicholas pressed on.  “I’d like permission to increase the threat alert of all of our operations in the Concordat—just in case.”

Julian considered.  “You think Thomas might—in truth—attack ComStar, Nicholas?”

The younger man sighed.  “I don’t know—and that scares me.  He can’t run the HPG stations—but he can certainly abduct our people and tear their knowledge from their bodies before dumping their corpses in the nearest star.  Damn, I’d feel better if we had a few battalions of the ComGuard and Militia out there.”

The Primus nodded, frowning.  “Do it.  Put all of them on alert—but without being able to work the HPGs, I think we can discount an all-out attack.  Your other idea—that sounds like Thomas to me.  And no, we can’t deploy the CGM so quickly, but . . .,” the voice of the Primus trailed off.  “We have hired mercenaries in the past to defend our installations.  And there are some out there who would jump at such a safe contract.  I will contact them, myself.”

“Yes, Primus,” Nicholas said with a bow as the Primus turned to go, but the older man stopped and stood in the entrance way.

“And despite what Myndo wants, Nicholas—I believe that we will leave the pot alone to cook for a while.  We have too many spoons in the pudding as it is.  Too many cooks arguing about the recipe.  Time to leave it alone and trust our agents to do their jobs.”

“Yes, Primus—by your command.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Warclaw on June 17, 2013, 08:00:10 PM

And about now Thomas has to be thinking about the strong possibility that the whole incident was engineered entirely by Com-Star for the specific purpose of backing the Concordat into a corner with regards to the Ship.

You know, for an organization that prides itself on being both the last remnant of the Star League, and a haven of lost knowledge, it is surprising that they don't actually LEARN from that knowledge. 

Is it so hard to crack open a history textbook?  I mean, surely they have a few records of what happened the last time somebody put the Taurian's backs to the wall?

So, Primus, you wish to play hardball?  Best you read up on the local rules.  This area might not be the Major Leagues, but if you want to play street-ball, bring it!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 17, 2013, 08:57:23 PM

General Headquarters, Taurus Defense Force
Mount Santiago Defense Complex, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
October 24, 3025

“They want MY ship?  They want to send MY ship into the fucking sun?!?” snarled Helena Vickers.  “I’ll shoot a fucking nuclear warhead right up his god-damned ass, if you let me, Protector Calderon!”

“Aside from the small matter that Sam cannot leave this system at the moment, Marshal Vickers,” interjected Henri, “we also have a dead-line on this ultimatum.  And confirmation that they are reading our mail—is there anything out there that I need to know about, ladies and gentlemen?”

“No,” growled Thomas. “I have made certain that nothing about Edward’s mission was spoken of over HPG—and none of our people are stupid enough to leak any information on the Core . . . yourself excepted, Henri.” 

“Thought of as lazy and stupid—just the cover us intelligence types dream of, my Protector,” Henri said with a laugh.

“On the dead-line—we do have a contingency for this already prepared.  CASE CYAN,” Brenda Calderon said bluntly.  “We can dust it off and update it; be ready to go in . . . thirty-six hours,” she said after a moment of consideration.

“Odds of success?” asked Thomas.

Brenda shrugged.  “We’ll take the compounds—ComStar doesn’t have shit to keep my boys and girls out.  And with a little bit of luck we’ll do it before they wreck the machinery too bad.”  She sighed.  “We’ve planned this for quite some time—over a hundred years, Marshal Vickers, Protector Thomas.  But the plan requires lethal force—you might not have that many survivors to put the question.”

“Jack?” Helena asked.

The chief engineering officer from TCS Samantha Calderon shrugged.  “I can’t make promises on equipment I’ve never seen—or read about.  But, my boys and girls are the absolute friggin’ best at what they do.  If anyone can make it work, we can.  It would help to know what the blasted thing is supposed to look like, but I don’t expect the archives have any pictures, do they?  Or even better, an Operator’s Manual?”

Nervous laughter erupted from the table, but Thomas Calderon just smiled.  “John,” he summoned his body-guard over to the table with a wave.  “I can’t do it myself—I just can’t.”

“Understood, Sire,” the man said as he took out a cord; the table grew quiet as Thomas held up held and the guard held it steady with one arm—and then inserted the plug at the end into Thomas’ cybernetic eye.  “That’s got it,” he said as he attached the second end of the cable into a slot on the table—and a holographic image arose.

“That’s the HPG itself, Commander Fletcher,” the Protector said.  “I’ll download the data and Henri here can distribute the pictures—he’s the one who installed the video camera and dedicated memory after all.”

“I was hoping that they wouldn’t remove your artificial eye—even paranoids have limits, my Protector,” the Intelligence Chief laughed.


“So they do,” answered Thomas as he nodded.  “Done, John.”

The body-guard removed the plug and there was a CLICK as the hidden port in the eye closed once more.  Thomas shuddered.  “Will that suffice, Commander Fletcher?” he asked—but the engineer from the past was staring at the hologram, zooming in on various components.

“SON OF A BITCH!” he yelled.  “That’s a heavily modified miniature Kearny-Fuchida projector—not a drive, but a fucking projector!”

“WHAT?” shouts rose from the table.

“Jack,” Helena said gently, “you can’t operate a K/F system in a gravity well—what makes you think this is one?”

“Not and transport ships, skipper,” Jack Fletcher said in an awed voice.  “This was theorized ever since Kearny and Fuchida made their first equations.  Think back to Jump Engineering 101—Artificial jump points, skipper.  Artificial jump points,” he continued in an awed voice.

Vickers frowned.  “I remember that from the Academy—but the energy costs were too high; it would require the total power output of this planet to create one large enough to send a ship through.”  And then the light bulb went off.  “Oh, bloody hell.  How big a bubble do you have to create to send a burst transmission?”

“A few centimeters in diameter?  Perhaps even a millimeter?” Jack shook his head.  “Protector, you don’t need the technical shit—get me in there, and I’ll make that son-of-a-bitch work!”

Thomas snarled.  “That confident, are you Commander?  Good; because we are going to get you in there.  The Primus of ComStar wants to threaten me?  He wants to threaten the Concordat?  I think he has already declared WAR on us, ladies and gentlemen—and that he was behind the Hussars attacking Jansen’s Hold.  I would put money on it—that smirking bastard Precentor Taurus, he knows something.  That one, I want alive.”

He exhaled deeply.  “ComStar wants a war?  Well, they’ve got one.  CYAN is approved, Marshal Calderon.  Marshal Vickers, mind if we borrow Commander Fletcher for a bit?”

“Will I get a chance to blow a very nasty, very big hole in Julian Tiepolo?”

“Doubtful at the present time, Marshal—but if he and his continues to piss me off, once we get your ship repaired, I might let you nuke Hilton Head Island on Terra.”

Helena Vickers laughed.  “I’d hock my soul for that chance, Protector Thomas!  You’ve got a deal.”

“Good.  Understand me, ladies and gentlemen, as of this moment—WE ARE AT WAR.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: lrose on June 17, 2013, 11:50:00 PM

All right it's time to call up the Concordat Volunteers.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 17, 2013, 11:54:32 PM

Shraplen Estate
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
October 25, 3025

“House arrest!  I cannot believe that Thomas thinks I deliberately had anything to do with this attack, Henri—you must tell him.  You must convince him,” Grover begged to the head of Taurian Intelligence.

“You misunderstand the reason for this visit, Governor Shraplen,” Henri said very quietly.  “I have already questioned your men—and they have been most revealing.  About how you raged at Thomas when he told you that he was seeking an accommodation with Hanse Davion.”

“We can’t trust the Davions—Thomas should never trust the Davions!  They stole our worlds!  They took from us our strength!  Without them, the Star League wouldn’t have come for us!”

Henri shook his head.  “Governor Shraplen, you are wrong on so many levels that it is not even funny—you believe that Maximillian Liao would be a better choice for an ally?  The Liao do not have allies . . . they have servants and enemies.”

Grover began to reply, but then he shut his mouth.  “You cannot prove anything.”

The Intelligence Chief chuckled.  “In Wartime, Governor Shraplen, Special Intelligence and Operations has special . . . authority.  And yesterday, the Protector declared WAR.  On ComStar.”

“ComStar?” Grover spat.  “He will destroy the Concordat when our communications are sundered and Hanse Davion invades!  We should regain our worlds, now—ally with the Capellans, and make restitution to Terra!”

“Such a noble son of Taurus, Governor Shraplen—how long have you been taking money from Maximillian Liao?” Henri asked, and Grover’s face went white.

“Aren’t a good poker player, are you?  As I said, in wartime, my office has special authority.  Over the past decade—at least that far—you have received quite a bit of funding from Sian.  Quite a bit.  Now, that doesn’t—exactly—make you a traitor, Grover, although it does make you stupid . . . but Thomas will not be at all pleased with you all the same.”

“Damn you,” Grover whispered.

“I want to know one thing, Grover.  One little thing,” Henri paused.  “You see, I have spoken to Thomas’s valet—the one that you suggested he hire because of his qualifications.  And the valet told me that he . . . informed you that Edward Calderon was leaving the Concordat secretly.  Travelling into the Federated Suns to start talks with Hanse Davion.”

Grover snarled, but Henri just shook his head and he drew his pistol—Grover stared at the man in shock.

“Did you share that information with Boris Tharn?  With anyone else by HPG, Governor Shraplen?  HPGs run by ComStar—whom we are now at war with . . . and who read our mail.  Did you?” Henri smiled.  “Before you answer, consider that by this time tomorrow the Samantha City ComStar Compound will be taken by force and I will have access to their archives—lie to me, and you will not survive the week.”

“I-I,” Grove sputtered, and then he swallowed heavily.  “I might have mentioned it to Boris—not who he was meeting, but that he was travelling incognito to New Avalon.”

“Incognito?  Did you mention his heavily armed escorts?”

“No.”

“You are certain of that?”

“YES!”

“Good,” Henri said as he stood and holstered the pistol.  “Our interview is at an end, Mister Shraplen—I believe that Thomas will probably strip from you your title and your world for your selling of information to Max Liao.  Such a pity that is—a stain upon your name, and it alerts Max to the fact that we knew about you.”  Henri sighed.  “Of course, you are too much the coward to take the honorable exit—so I am doing it for you.”

“WHAT!” shouted Grover as two of Henri’s men stepped forward and grabbed the powerful nobleman.  A third unzipped a leather case and extracted a syringe and a vial; the powerful drug concoction sprayed into the air after he loaded the syringe.

“You CAN’T!  I have RIGHTS!” Grover shouted as Henri rolled up the man’s sleeve and his agent fixed a rubber tourniquet around his bicep.  Finding the vein, he inserted the needle—and the overdose of the illegal narcotics within.  Grover twitched as the tourniquet was released, then he spat and began to spasm—before he collapsed, bubbles foaming at his mouth and nose amid the blood. 

Henri nodded and the agent bent down and placed Grover’s hand and fingers on the syringe, and then the three gathered their gear and left.

“Good-bye and good riddance, Grover,” Henri said as he placed his hat on his head and exited through the servant’s wing of Shraplen’s empty manse.


TCOSIO Headquarters
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
October 25, 3025

Henri worked quickly and alone as he slowly encoded the message that simply had to be sent before the attack.  The code used was old—but it had never before been used for communication.  He shrugged as he double-checked it; not even ComStar could be expected to break this—not without additional samples, not on the first use ever.

Satisfied, he finished the message form and then he pushed the buzzer on his desk.  Summoned by the shrill noise, his secretary entered his office.

“Amanda,” he said as he passed the document across to her.  "I need this sent to,” and he checked his file again, “one Riva Allard on New Avalon—by a courier not associated with this office.  Immediately, I am afraid—can we squeeze this one in?”

The middle-aged woman smiled.  “Consider it done, Chief.  Standard or priority?”

“Oh, priority.  And use Governor Shraplen’s account codes—no sense in depleting our own.  He won’t be missing them.”

“Yes, Sir.  Will you working late again, Sir?”

“Unfortunately, yes, Amanda.”

“Well, remember to eat—it isn’t healthy to miss too many meals,” she chided as she left the office with the document case.


The Palace of the First Prince
Avalon City, New Avalon
Federated Suns
October 26, 3025

“Not bad news, one hopes?” Hanse Davion asked after the guards left, leaving Quintus Allard and the First Prince alone—Allard had insisted.

“Incredible news, my Lord,” the Intelligence Minister answered.  And then he sighed.  “My daughter received this communication this morning—and she recognized the first line.  Knowing my work, she then delivered it into my hands.”

Hanse frowned, and he picked up the piece of paper.  “Go tell the Spartans, stranger passing by, that here obedient to their laws we lie.”

“It is a code phrase that Henri Jouett and I agreed upon when we met for the first and only time ten years ago,” Quintus said simply.  “It means that we need to talk—the body of the message was thoroughly encrypted.  But I have the decryption key,” he smiled as he handed Hanse a second sheet.

The First Prince began to read—and then he looked up in shock.  Quintus nodded, and Hanse resumed—he started from the beginning, not once, not twice, but three times.  And when he was finished, he sat down the paper and he stood, beginning to pace.

“Thomas Calderon is sending Edward Calderon here—to negotiate with me over the price for a copy of the Vickers Core.  Did I read that right?”

“You did.”

“And he is—probably at this very moment—attacking ComStar facilities across the Concordat and is about to suffer an Interdiction?  I read that right—that isn’t code, is it?”

“No, Sire.  You read it correctly, Sire.”

“And this—Henri Jouett—that runs their intelligence believes that ComStar is going to try to kidnap or kill Edward . . . and he wants me to protect him.”

“In return, Prince Hanse, for the secrets of HPG operation—which he claims the Concordat has available.”

Hanse nodded and he walked over to his wet bar and poured an amber liquid in a crystal glass before he downed it.  Then he poured another.

“Is this real, Quintus—or am I dreaming?”

“I’m not wearing the French maid outfit again, am I, my Prince?” Quintus answered with a laugh.  “If not, this is real—if I am, you are dreaming.”

Hanse snorted.  “I’d be picturing Melissa Steiner in a French maid outfit, not you, old friend,” and then he sighed.  “If this is real . . .,” and his voice trailed off.

“Yes.”

“Pass the word—NOW.  Before the interdiction begins—abort all operations in the Taurian Concordat.  MI4 is to observe only—the Rabid Foxes are to return to base immediately.”

“And Edward?”

“We need to get Ardan in on this,” Hanse said with a smile.  “It seems that this is tradition he is establishing of rescuing heirs to the throne.”  He took another swallow and then he grabbed a second glass and the bottle and set it on his desk.  Pouring another for himself and one for Quintus, he raised the crystal again.  “If this isn’t a dream . . . then we have a chance to damn those bastards to hell, Quintus.”

“Amen, my Prince,” Quintus answered as he clicked his glass against that of his sovereign and both men drank deep.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: drakensis on June 18, 2013, 01:59:19 AM

Well this has had a lot of of positive commentary in the IRC channel for Another Periphery Lords game.

One minor gripe:

Quote

Grover began to reply, but then he shut his mouth.  “You cannot prove anything.”

Having him shut his mouth and then having him obviously speaking doesn't flow well. Something about him biting back the first response and instead saying that (childish as they are) might work better - or simply have him look at Henri with an implied 'you can't prove a thing'.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on June 18, 2013, 06:28:50 AM

Looking forward to more!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 18, 2013, 09:49:27 AM

ComStar Class A HPG Station
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
October 27, 3025

“Hey, Bob,” one of the guards called out to his companion, who sighed.

“Look, Jeremy—Chief Waters is going to have both our asses if you keep talking when you are supposed to be standing post.  What?”

“You ever seen one of those before?” the relatively new ComStar recruit pointed at the ‘Mechs moving along the boulevard—a late night exercise, according to the TDF.  Nothing to worry about, the guard thought.  The Taurians often conducted exercises of tanks and ‘Mechs and infantry at odd hours—even here in the core of the capital.

“They’re ‘Mechs, Waters,” he said . . . but then he actually looked at them.  And he frowned.  They were ‘Mechs, to be certain, but of a design he had never before seen.  And the Battalion marching by . . . every last one of the ‘Mech were that same unfamiliar design.  What the hell?  No one fielded entire battalions of the same BattleMech—not since the Fall of the League, at least.  And that insignia—Robert Grey knew the shoulder flash of every TDF unit on Taurus, but he had never before seen that flash . . . and his eyes grew wide.  Not outside of a museum, the cold realization came bubbling up from the depths of his memory.

He reached down and placed his hand on the phone—and that was when the line of ‘Mechs and tanks and infantry carriers suddenly wheeled and began advancing on the compound.  “SHIT!” he screamed—but the incoming PPC bolt tore apart the guard shack before he had the opportunity to trigger the alarm.

Of course, the explosions and weapons fire was more than enough to alert the men and women who called the ComStar compound home.

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

“What is happening?” Precentor Taurus screamed as he entered the control center—he was still pulling on his robes of station.

“Thomas has gone mad—I do believe that this is his answer to the Primus,” the ROM Chief of Station said bitterly.  “He’s attacking the facility.”

The ComStar leader blanched . . . and then he cursed.  “The HPG—I’ve got to get to the HPG,” he said.  “Can you hold them off?”

“How long do you need?” the ROM officer asked with a grimace—and both men ducked as an outlying structure erupted in a fireball . . . and hundreds of Taurian infantry darted in through the breaks in the compound walls.

“Five minutes minimum—ten would be better.”

“My boys can give you three—maybe four.  May I suggest you implement the Omega Protocol, Precentor?”

Precentor Taurus nodded.  He inserted a key into one of the computer stations of the command center; entered a short code, and then he turned the key.  “Omega Protocol activated,” he said.  But the ROM Agent was already gone, leading the men and women of the security force in trying to hold back tanks and ‘Mechs and infantry with only small arms.

Damn you, Thomas Calderon.  You have condemned the entire Concordat to death with this action, he thought as he knelt in the entrance—looking at the twenty meters that separated him from the entrance to the communications dome at the center of the compound.  Twenty meters—just twenty meters.  However, it was twenty meters filled with weapons fire.  Gritting his teeth, Precentor Taurus dashed out, zigging and zagging as he rushed toward the entrance of the dome.  He never saw the Taurian paratrooper drifting down from above who fired a burst into his back as he sprinted across the open courtyard.

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

The outer compound was child’s play to secure—but the dome itself featured multiple levels, many beneath the city streets.  And the tight quarters, plus fear of causing damage to the invaluable HPG restricted the weapons that Corporal Mueller and his maniple could carry to light-weight SMGs and pistols, along with a handful of flame incinerator units.

Say what you want about their beliefs, he thought, the robes were throwing up heavy resistance in his path.  And that made him wonder—why does a religion that preaches peace need to have so many well-trained and heavily-armed people?  He stopped next to a corridor junction and then he nodded at one of his men—the one carrying the flamer.  The trooper gritted his teeth and he stepped forward, extending his arms around the bend and squeezing the trigger . . . and screams began to fill the corridor, along with a few initial gunshots.

“Go,” Mueller ordered, and the maniple of ten troopers rounded the corner—firing single shots into the burning figures ahead of them.  It was a mercy, really, he thought.  Better than letting the fire finish its work.

A single pistol shot snapped ahead of him, and Mueller crouched—but he didn’t hear the passage of the bullet.  And then another.  And a third.

He broke into a run and entered the HPG chamber itself, and without thinking he raised his SMG to his shoulder and fired three bursts into the back of the security officer who was casually shooting the technicians in the head.  Shooting his own people in the fucking head, Mueller thought as he swore.

The next tech in line, the one that the ROM agent had been about to execute, sobbed.  “Thank Blake,” he cried.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Mueller and his men spread out and they searched the chamber—but the security man with the pistol had been the last line of defense.  “Bravo Three-Two,” he broadcast.  “HPG secure—we have live prisoners,” and then Mueller frowned as he saw the red flashing lights on one console.  That can’t be good, he thought.  Then he blanched.  “Central, they’ve set their reactor on overload—we have . . . three minutes to core detonation.”

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

“I thought you were the best, Harper?” the sergeant growled at the Explosive Ordnance Disposal tech.  “Disarm the bloody thing right quick, now!”

“It ain’t a bomb, Sarge!  It’s a bloody damned fusion reactor!  And the controls are locked!” Patricia Harper snapped as she wiggled her way into the wire-filled outer containment vessel. 

“Just turn the damn thing off!” the Sergeant bellowed again.  Already, the Taurians were evacuating the troops above—and the civilians in nearby residential sections.  If this thing blew . . . well, several thousand people would have a very bad morning.  Pat crawled through the outer containment vessel and then she found what she was looking for.

“Got it!” she snarled.  “Time to core overload?”

“Forty seconds,” the radio squawked. 

“It’s all about the fuel,” she said as she worked.  “These things can’t sustain a reaction without the fuel feed—cut the lines and avert the overload.”

“Can’t be that simple, can it?” asked the Sergeant.

“Making a bomb is easy, Sarge—making one that will go off on a moments notice and NOT blow up when someone bumps into on a daily basis; well, that’s a bit more difficult.  But they don’t need to use a bomb, not when they can overload this generator.”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Problem is, unlike a bomb, it takes time to build up to detonation—and a LOT of fuel.  Cut,” she grunted as she finished wrapping the det cord, “the fuel lines and the whole thing goes cold.”

“Unless you breach containment—you are right up against the interior vessel, Harper.”

“Twenty seconds.”

“Teach your grandmother to suck eggs, Sarge.  I’ve got it—backing out now,” and she began to crawl away from the fuel lines . . . and then she cursed.

“Fuck,” she whispered as she tried to move—but she was caught on the wiring, hung up good.

“Ten seconds,” the radio whispered.

“Get out of there, Harper!” the Sergeant yelled.

“No time, Sarge,” she whispered as she lifted the trigger for the detonator.  “No time,” and she closed her eyes as she hit the clacker twice.  The explosion tore apart the fuel lines—and the reactor’s safeties automatically shut off the fuel flow as sensors indicated a leak in the outer containment vessel.  Without the fuel, the fusion reactor in the INNER vessel slowly weakened and dissipated.

She had saved thousands of lives—at the cost of her own.  And she was only one of hundreds of Taurians who sacrificed themselves for their Protector, their nation, their people that day.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 18, 2013, 10:59:48 AM

ComStar Class A HPG Station
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
October 27, 3025

Thomas stepped gingerly through the rubble of the formerly immaculate courtyard in what had once upon a time been the premier ComStar installation on Taurus.  Despite protests from his security—and Brenda Calderon, and Helena Vickers, and Henri Jouett—he had insisted on seeing this with his own eyes.  Well, his own eye, he thought with a slight snicker.

But the amusement faded away as he saw the lines of dead being respectfully covered and the wounded being tended.

“How many, Brenda?” he asked.

“Ours or theirs?”

“Fuck theirs—how many of ours?”

“Fifty-three dead, three times that wounded.  Primarily in the infantry—ComStar didn’t give up without a fight.”

“Could have been worse,” muttered Henri Jouett.

“It would have been worse if not for Tech-Corporal Harper,” Brenda Calderon said with a sigh.  “She saved a lot of civilians—and a lot of our people, not to mention the HPG itself.”

“John,” Thomas said to his body-guard, “made a note that I want to see her family myself—at the Chateau, when they have had time to grieve.”  He nodded to himself.  “Ask them if they are willing to accept the Standard of Taurus on her behalf.”

“Yes, Protector,” the body guard said with a bow, and Brenda nodded her agreement. 

Conversation came to a halt as Thomas knelt down next to a wounded soldier, and spoke with him quietly, then he moved on to the next, and then the next.  Finally, the Protector left the wounded men and women and the group moved on.

“Has your Commander Fletcher had any luck in figuring that thing out?”

Helena snorted.  “He’s happier than a pig covered in slop, Protector Thomas—as soon as the reactor is repaired, he thinks that he can bring the HPG on-line.” She chuckled.  “Of course, having several live technicians from ComStar helps; and the fact that their own security was trying to kill before we took over has rather . . . inspired some of them.”

Thomas nodded and he frowned.  It was amazing how much finding out that your own people wanted you dead could focus one’s attention—the surviving techs, most of them Alpha Division, had (for the most part) experienced a conversion experience in the maelstrom of that assault.  Some were cooperating—others, not so much.  But some of them, shocked beyond belief that ComStar lacked any trust in their ability to keep silent, that the organization would rather kill these men and women themselves than risk their secrets emerging . . . ah.  It rather warmed Thomas’ heart that a few of these had their eyes opened.

And then he smiled grimly as he came upon another stretcher.

“Precentor Taurus—did you receive my answer on this morning?” Thomas asked the wounded man as he was being carried past.

“You are a dead man, Thomas Calderon,” the ComStar leader whispered.  “ROM will not rest until you and all your heirs are dead—until the Concordat is history, lifeless and depopulated.  You have started a war that you cannot imagine—and you will pay for it with all that you hold dear.”

Thomas knelt and his smile faded.  “If the Primus of ComStar wants a war, then a war he has, Precentor.  As for you—well, there are many secrets that need to be extracted from that skull of yours.  And even if you die before saying a word, Precentor, I promise you that death will be long in coming—and pain will fill every last moment of your life until the end.”  Thomas stood.  “Maybe I’ll send the Primus your head—as an example of what ComStar can expect if they interfere with the Concordat.”

“You’ve damned yourself beyond all redemption,” the Precentor whispered.  “Blake will devour your soul.”

“My dear Precentor,” Thomas said gently, “Blake was just a man.  Not a god—a man.  I know—it was my own ancestor that nominated him to be the last Director of the Star League Communications Division.  Your fraudulent mysticism and fabricated beliefs do not frighten me.”

“You will learn to fear the Word of Blake before your end, Thomas Calderon,” the Precentor spat, and then he grimaced at the pain from his wounds.

“Not likely, charlatan,” Thomas whispered in the ear of the man.  “See to it that his wounds are treated—I want him healthy when he is questioned,” the Protector ordered the medics.

“Helena,” he continued to the Marshal.  “Light a fire under your man—I’ve got a message to send to the Primus . . . one that will make him sit and take notice.”

“Of course, Protector Calderon,” she answered quietly as Thomas continued his tour of the damaged compound, speaking with the people who earned this victory.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on June 18, 2013, 04:13:44 PM

Can't wait to see how ComStar reacts to this.  ;)

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on June 19, 2013, 01:09:24 AM

Fanatics always make that one mistake. When you push a good man against the wall and he thinks he has nothing to lose. How far he is willing to go for REVENGE!!!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 19, 2013, 12:50:57 PM

ComStar Class A HPG Station
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
October 28, 3025

“Jack,” Helena growled.  “You said you could get this to work—what’s the hold up?”

The engineer crawled out of an access hatch on the side of the HPG, and he sighed.  “Boss, I don’t know what half of this gear is supposed to do.  Typical piece of Terran shit with a dozen components where any sensible engineer would use one!  Everything is cross-connected the Nth degree—it’s like they deliberately designed a Rube Goldberg machine specifically to spite anyone who ever got their hands on it!  I’ve got power flows all the place here, leading to circuits that don’t do anything!  But if I cut out those circuits, the whole frigging thing goes dead!”

Helena glared down at the engineer—and the team of scientists assembled from those embarked on Saucy Sam, and the surviving ComStar Adepts and Acolytes who had agreed to cooperate. 

“Damn it, Jack,” she snapped.  “I’m not asking you to rebuild the blasted thing—just make it work!”

“Boss, I . . .,” and seeing the look on Helena’s face, he sighed and rubbed a greasy hand through his hair.  “Fine.  But if we are going to be using this-this . . . piece of sh- . . .,” he winced as Thomas walked over and quickly adjusted his word choice, “junk, then we need to understand what each of these components are supposed to do—and right now, I don’t.  Know.  What.  Purpose.  Half.  Of.  Them.  Have.”

“Understand it later,” Thomas commanded.  “Right now, I need this on-line—can you do it, Commander?”

Jack sighed again and he began to mutter.  “Blood paranoid Terrans, none of these technicians know anything other the SINGLE system component they were assigned to run.  The only ones with a complete knowledge were killed by ComStar security.”

“ROM,” corrected Henri Jouett as he smiled.  “And Precentor Taurus probably knows—but he will take some . . . persuasion to reveal his knowledge.”

“Did you know they don’t have a single manual of operations?  They memorize their tasks—rote memorization without understanding the basic theory of how it works!” Jack whined.

“JACK!”

“Okay, okay, okay,” he muttered.  “We may burn out half of the circuits that I don’t know what they do, but okay.”  He steeled himself and he stood up from the floor and turned to the senior Adept that had changed sides—Dennis Frasier.  “Is the generator aligned?”

“On target, Pre-,” the man blushed.  “Commander.  HPG is on target and auto-stabilized.”

“Charge capacitors and prepare to establish communications wormhole.”

Dennis nodded and the team of former ComStar personnel began to sing out the litany as they worked the dials and pressed the keys.

“I fucking hate Gregorian chants,” he said as the machinery hummed to life.  “Ready to record and transmit—if I am reading this board right,” and he crossed his fingers.

“Then let us begin,” said Thomas.


ComStar First Circuit
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
October 28, 3025

“. . . and the Pronouncement of Interdiction has been distributed across the HPG Network, Primus,” the Adept reported.  “As of two hours ago, the Taurian Concordat has been officially Interdicted as per your command.”  Then he paused, and he swallowed heavily.  “I must report, however, that the Taurus ‘A’ Station has missed its past four transmission windows—and we have no confirmation from Taurus that the Interdiction has begun.”

Julian frowned, even as the members of the First Circuit started to whisper among themselves.  It wasn’t unheard of for an ‘A’ Station to temporarily go off the air—but the timing was . . . worrisome.  “Contact directly one of the Concordat ‘B’ Stations—have them confirm and see if we can determine what is wrong with the Taurus HPG.”

“Primus,” the sweating Adept said with a deep bow, “we did so six hours ago—none have replied to our transmissions.”

“It takes time to realign the HPG,” one of the Precentors of the First Circuit began, “and ‘B’ Stations are limited . . . perhaps their response is just delayed.”

“Even a ‘B’ Station should be able to respond to a priority transmission from the First Circuit in less than two hours,” snapped Myndo Waterly.  “Unless the Precentor in command is incompetent—did we send all of our fools to Taurus?”

Before anyone could reply, the sound of pounding feet came from a corridor and an Acolyte ran into the First Circuit.  Ignoring the Primus and the circle of Precentors both, he whispered to the Adept, even as Julian ground his teeth.  The Adept jerked, and his head snapped around to stare with horror at the Primus—and his jaw dropped, leaving his mouth open.

“Pri-primus,” he stuttered.  “We have received a transmission from Taurus—relayed here.  I-I,” his voice trailed off.

“CONTROL YOURSELF!” Julian snapped.  “Play the transmission.”

The Adept swayed.  “Pri-primus . . .,”

“Did you not hear the instruction of the Primus?” Myndo asked smoothly.  “PLAY IT,” she commanded.

The Adept bowed low and he walked over to a system control and adjusted the lights.  A holo-projector in the center of the floor activated; the image was shaky, filled with static, and slightly out of focus.  Julian frowned.

“Adept,” he said softly.  “Are we experiencing technical difficulties?”

“N-no, Primus—the transmission from Taurus was not precisely attuned,” he answered with an audible swallow of the lump in his throat.  “The computers are processing and cleaning the transmission as . . . we . . . speak,” and he grew quiet as the image solidified—the color base still slightly off and shaky, but it was not the image of Precentor Taurus.  No, the image that stood in front of the First Circuit was that of Thomas Calderon.

Sharp intakes of air came as several of the Precentors gasped, and Julian grabbed the sides of his podium in grips so tight that his knuckles faded to white.

“Primus,” the image spoke as it wavered.  “I have received your . . . ultimatum and carefully considered a reply.  In the words of General Anthony McAuliffe during the Siege of Bastogne in Terra’s Second World War—NUTS!  Or, if you aren’t a fan of history, then a simple PISS OFF is our answer to you.  Part of our answer, anyways,” he said with a chuckle.  “I believe you recognize the chamber I am in?  Your own ‘A’ Station on Taurus?  It is mine now; it belongs to the Concordat.”

Horrified—and furious—voices began to echo around the chamber, but the transmission continued.

“As you might notice, your Precentor Taurus is not present—he is under arrest and the evidence is damning.  I have been assured that he will be sentenced to death for his crimes against the Concordat.  My forces have seized not only the ‘A’ Station on Taurus, but every ‘B’ Station within the Taurian Concordat—and we are operating this station now to send you this message.”  Thomas paused and canted his head as he smiled.  “Seriously, you did not think that the sons and daughters of Samantha Calderon could figure out how to operate this technology?  If so, Primus, you are a fool.”

“We here in the Periphery have much experience with the perfidy of Terrans, Primus Tiepolo.  Your demands were unacceptable to us—and your actions in causing the incident upon which you based those demands were unconscionable.”

Julian’s face went white, and the image sneered at him.  “That’s right—we have access to your archives here on Taurus.  And it was orders from Terra that instructed Precentor Taurus to alter Grover Shraplen’s message to Brigadier Tharn of the Pleiades Hussars.  Those altered orders and communications which resulted in the attack on your facility on Jansen’s Hold; without them, it would have never occurred.  I don’t know what is more contemptible, Tiepolo—your callous sacrifice of men and women who served you or your greed over what the Concordat possesses.”

“But that is now over.  I hereby declare ComStar an outlawed organization within the territory of the Taurian Concordat—all who owe it allegiance will leave immediately under pain of death for defiance of this order.  I hereby nationalize your HPG stations—we Taurians will operate them ourselves, for our own good.”

“Of course, we will consider handing them back to you—in exchange for the head of one Julian Tiepolo.  Nothing attached—just the head,” Thomas said with a grim smile.  “There is an old expression, Primus, which you should have considered before this gambit began—fuck with the Bull and you get the horns.  Don’t push us into going further, or by the Horns, you will regret those actions forever.”

The transmission flickered again, and then it abruptly ended.  And utter chaos descended on the Chamber of the First Circuit.

Julian swayed and he tried to speak, but he couldn’t draw breath—and then he staggered as the pain in his chest exploded.  He collapsed onto the floor.

“PRIMUS!” someone shouted, but Julian couldn’t see his face—his voice seemed so very far away.  “GET A DOCTOR IN HERE!”  And everything faded to black.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on June 19, 2013, 04:05:37 PM

Sounds like someone needs a heart doctor.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Kwic on June 19, 2013, 04:21:15 PM

At least his head is easier to remove this way

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Dragon Cat on June 20, 2013, 08:14:29 AM

Quote from: Kwic on June 19, 2013, 04:21:15 PM

At least his head is easier to remove this way

Had the exact same initial thought

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 20, 2013, 12:41:28 PM

ComStar First Circuit
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
October 28, 3025

“So, to repeat,” the physician-Adept from Kappa Division reported, “the Primus remains unconscious in critical condition . . . but we anticipate a full physical recovery from the cardiac event that he suffered.”

“And mentally?” asked Myndo.

“Treatment was provided within minutes—there should be no permanent mental impairments,” the doctor answered.

“Very well,” Myndo snapped.  “With the Primus incapacitated, it falls upon us of the First Circuit to respond to this travesty on Taurus.  I believe that my fellow Precentors now see the need to act decisively to eliminate this threat to our very existence.”

“How?” snapped Precentor Sian.  “He has at least one HPG under his control and he has made a broadcast!  Once the Great Houses learn of this, they will . . .,” but she didn’t finish the sentence.

“One broadcast—possibly using traitors within ComStar forced to work the machinery at gun-point,” Myndo interrupted.  “He doesn’t under the technology—and he cannot replace any of the parts.  Only we, here on Terra, can do that.  And we all saw that message—he cannot even work the HPG properly!”  Myndo paused and she nodded.  “The Concordat already lies under interdiction—if he broadcasts again, the message will be stopped at Stations loyal to us.  Now is the time to respond to this affront—to make certain that Taurus regrets the day it lifted a hand against those who are faithful to the Word of Blake!”

“And what do you suggest, Precentor Dieron?  That we send the Fleet?  If we do that—and the Great Houses learn of it—we are done,” Precentor Tharkad bluntly asked.

“Taurus is their economic, military, industrial, and spiritual heart, Precentor Tharkad,” Myndo said with a grim smile.  “The Station which they took by force lies there, in Samantha City.  Where the Protector and his family reside.  Where their military and intelligence commands are headquartered.  Where their most prestigious universities and service academies are located.  Where their industrial strength is concentrated.”

She paused and smiled at the members of the First Circuit.

“I submit that this city which is home to Thomas Calderon is a cancer which must be removed—doing so will cripple the Concordat and show the Taurians that not even on Taurus behind their asteroid defenses and their nebula are they safe.”

“Destroying their capital city?” Nicholas asked into the silence.  “Are you mad, Myndo?  We are speaking of ten million civilians living an area the size of Greater London.  Even with Backdoor allowing our Fleet to bypass the asteroids and enter the Taurus system without engaging their main defenses, what makes you think they will survive to enter orbit?  We all know how the Taurians will respond to three WarShips entering THAT system—their fighters will be carrying nuclear weapons; the Concordat has a tremendous stockpile of tactical devices that they will not hesitate to use.”

“Precisely, Precentor ROM,” Myndo snarled.  “I do believe that you have at least one agent in place in the facility which produces their tactical weapons—Fission Utilities, Consolidated and Unlimited?  That is the name, yes?”

Nicholas sighed.  “I do have an agent there.  But those are small—TACTICAL—devices, of about 35 kilotons each, Precentor Dieron.  Even if I sent my agent an order to detonate one, it wouldn’t destroy the entire city.”

“No, one device will not suffice.  Nor will multiple devices concentrated in a single location,” Myndo mused.  “But, if I am remembering your reports correctly, the Taurian Defense Force must regularly replace their existing warheads with new ones—half-life being such a bitch for these . . . primitive weapons.”

“Yes,” Nicholas whispered.

“And this Foo-Coo does so in bulk, yes?”

“Fuck you,” Nicholas said with a hint of a smile.

The Chamber went silent as the blood drained from Myndo’s face—she began to snarl, but Nicholas raised one hand.  “It is pronounced ‘fuck-you’, not ‘foo-coo’, Precentor Dieron—although many in the TDF and those who work there refer to the facility as ‘Nukes ‘R Us’.”

The silence dragged on as Myndo struggled to compose herself, but then at last she nodded.  “Thank you for that correction, Precentor ROM,” she snarled.  “They produce replacement warheads in bulk, do they not?”

“Yes.”

“And they ship them in blocks of one hundred, yes?”

“That is a typical delivery—one hundred warheads, once every two months,” answered Nicholas.

“You agent will supply other ROM teams with the next scheduled delivery—and they will appropriate it.  A single 35-kiloton detonation will not achieve our goals—but one hundred?  Distributed throughout Samantha City?  And I do believe that these Taurian weapons—being intended for use in space—leave massive amounts of lingering radiation behind, yes?”

Nicholas nodded, but he set his jaw.  “Do you believe that the Taurians will not move heaven and earth once they realize that someone has stolen one hundred nuclear warheads?”

“Are you saying that ROM cannot accomplish this, Precentor ROM?” Myndo asked sweetly.

“We can accomplish this—if the Primus orders it.  You are not Primus, Myndo Waterly.”

“The Primus is . . . unavailable, Precentor ROM,” she answered in a sharp voice.  “And if the First Circuit commands it—you will act.  Or you will be replaced.”  She paused.  “To the rest of humanity it will appear as if the Taurian obsession with these weapons of mass destruction resulted in a tragic accident that took the lives of so many millions of their own civilians.  I dare say, we might be able to convince the Great Houses to begin reducing their own stockpiles—for if this can happen to the Taurians, it might happen to them.”

“Any analysis of the blast patterns will indicate . . .,” began Protector Atreus.

“They will analyze information that passes through our HPGs—we will give them the data that conforms to our story.  It’s not like Hanse Davion or Takashi Kurita or Maximillian Liao will visit Taurus to confirm the story with their own eyes.  We control the flow of information—and through it, we WILL control humanity,” Myndo snapped.  And then she glared at the members of the First Circuit.  “Which is why we must end this Taurian Crisis NOW.  Before the situation grows out of control.”

One by one, the voting members of the First Circuit slowly nodded their agreement, and Nicholas sighed.

Myndo . . . glowed with delight, and she nodded as well.  “And in the wake of this . . . tragedy . . . we must begin to look to our own defenses in the Outer Worlds.  Perhaps it is time to address deploying the ComGuard and Militia to defend our compounds—slowly, of course.”

She turned her gaze back to Nicholas.  “One final matter,” she said.  “Have an intermediary pass along to Maximillian Liao and Michael Hasek ALL of our information on the latest deployments of the TDF—border defenses, what units are present.  EVERYTHING.  With an Interdiction already in place, I doubt very much that those two can resist the . . . opportunity to wrest a dozen or so worlds away from the Concordat.”

She paused again, and smiled.  “When our Great Work is finished, we will have completed the job that the Star League began—and the Taurian Concordat will no longer be a thorn in our side.”  She waited until the voting members nodded their agreement.  “Then we are in recess—Blessed be Blake!  May his Word bring Peace to all Humanity.  United under our rule—of course.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 20, 2013, 01:19:17 PM

ROM Command Center
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
October 28, 3025

“This is madness, Charles,” Nicholas muttered quietly to his aide.  “Killing individuals is one thing—we are going to be slaughtering millions here.  Between the detonations and the radioactive fallout . . . I will personally be responsible for my very own Kentares Massacre.”

Charles Seneca grimaced and he sighed.  “She doesn’t understand the meaning the words discretion or subtlety, does she?”

“No.  But if I balk, the First Circuit will replace me with someone who will carry out their orders without question—probably with that asshole Harriman.”

Charles winched again.  “It’s all so pointless—if they would LET us do our jobs, we could go in an eliminate the captured personnel and all of the Taurian scientists who MIGHT understand how to make it work.  Hell, we could take out Thomas Calderon and his family, if that is what the First Circuit wants—if they don’t interfere or micro-manage.”

“HAH.  They want absolutely control over everything—and heaven forbid if you tell them the sky is blue when they think it should be pink,” Nicholas fumed.

Charles looked around the room and then he swallowed heavily.  He leaned in close to his superior and began to whisper.  “There is another option, Nicholas—one that doesn’t require you to become a mass-murderer.”

“Oh?” Precentor ROM answered just as quietly.  “What are you suggesting, Adept?”

“With the Primus incapacitated, you control the security apparatus—except for the details assigned to each of the First Circuit.  But they are lightly armed . . . we have two thousand loyal agents here on Hilton Head that answer only to you—and the Primus.”

“They answer to me as long as I am Precentor ROM, Charles.  As soon as the First Circuit sees fit, they are going to replace me—I know that is what Myndo wants.”

Charles swallowed and he looked around the room again.  “They can’t replace you if they are dead, Precentor ROM.”

Precentor ROM’s head jerked up and his eyes grew wide.  He began to speak—and then he closed his mouth.

“Myndo is a threat to the Order, boss,” Charles continued.  “That is the precisely the reason we were formed in the first place—to eliminate threats to ComStar.  That she holds a seat on the First Circuit shouldn’t have any bearing on our duty.”

Nicholas licked his lips which had gone dry, but still he said nothing.

With a sigh, Charles made one final effort.  “How long do you think the Primus will live if Myndo gets a taste of wielding his power—he’s helpless in the hospital right now, boss.  She’ll smother him herself—if you don’t stop her.”

At last, Nicholas nodded.  Reluctantly, but he nodded.  “We have to take them all at once—the voting members.  We cannot risk a schism because we missed one or two.”

“Just give the order, boss—give the order and you will be in charge until the Primus wakes up.”

Nicholas closed his eyes and then he nodded.  “Do it.  Today.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on June 20, 2013, 04:03:11 PM

This is a real coup!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on June 20, 2013, 11:52:49 PM

Finally some one who thinks

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 24, 2013, 12:08:39 PM

Evacuation Tunnel Alpha
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
October 28, 3025

Myndo cursed as her guards pressed her back against the wall; the Acolyte who led them into the passageway staggered as his body absorbed the hail-storm of bullets emerging from the side corridor that connected to the evacuation tunnel.

“DAMN HIM,” she snarled.  Who would have thought that Nicholas Cassnew would have dared such an action?  That he would have the audacity to attempt to overthrow the First Circuit itself!  “When are our reinforcements arriving?” she asked her security chief.

The Adept shook his head.  “Precentor Dieron,” he said slowly, “the ComGuard and Militia has declared itself neutral in this conflict—they refuse to support either side; we have no reinforcements coming.”

“Options?” she asked.  Of all of the members of the First Circuit—the ones that mattered, the ones with a vote and a power base—she was the sole survivor.  If—IF—she could get out of this trap which Nicholas had transformed Hilton Head into, then she was certain that ComStar would rally to her cause.  But it all depended on getting free of Hilton Head Island and the massive facility built beneath the surface of the land and sea.

“ROM is coming for us, Precentor—we have no way out,” the security man paused.  “It is time to consider a negotiated end to this be-. . .,”

“NEGOTIATE?  Nicholas is the one that has spilt blood here on Holy Ground, Adept!  HE is the one who has abandoned all that Blake commanded of us—there can be no negotiation!  Do we still have communications with the outside world?”

“No, Precentor.”  Comms had been among the first thing that Nicholas had severed with powerful jamming devices blocking almost all signals.  Only the land-lines and optical cables had not been affected—but now, even those had been cut.

“Toyama foretold that this day would come,” Myndo snarled.  “When those who deny the Word of Blake attempt to seize the power of Terra and plunge humanity back into chaos and confusion—only through Blake can we know Peace.”  She sighed.  “Can we get to the Device of Last Resort?”

Her security chief winced as his men exchanged fire with the ROM agents loyal to Nicholas—and then he nodded.  “Perhaps, Precentor.  If he has not anticipated us attempting to trigger the device.”

“Blake will grant us a way, Adept—lead us there; leave half of your men here to cover our passage.  Their deaths will give us time to initiate the self-destruct of this compound.”

“You would kill every member of the Order here on this island, Precentor?” asked the shocked voice of Myndo’s aide-de-camp.  “Destroy this facility completely and leave ComStar leaderless and adrift?”

“Precentor ROM has already done that!” Myndo barked.  “If they follow Nicholas Cassnew and fail to abide by the Word of Blake, then those who fight us are heretics—apostates!  A new First Circuit will arise from the ashes, one which will lead us into a Golden Age.”  Myndo smiled.  “Besides, Sharilar,” she said.  “There is an evacuation pod accessed in the device’s chamber—we shall make our escape and rebuild the First Circuit—as Toyama and Blake intended.”

Myndo paused.  “And then we will deal with the Taurians once and for all time.”  She smiled.  “They were the cause of the downfall of the League and they seek to do the same to ComStar—we will implement a final solution to the Taurian problem.  Never again will they threaten humanity!”

Sharilar Mori just shook her head in disbelief at first, and then as the gunfire in the corridor increased, she drew a pistol from the folds of her robes.  “As the Primus orders,” she whispered.

Myndo Waterly smiled broadly.  “Yes.  You see the Truth, Sharilar.  I am the true Primus of Com . . . PUT DOWN THAT PIS- . . . !” she began to yell, her eyes growing wide as her aide raised the barrel aligned with the chest of Precentor Dieron—the guards moved fast, but not fast enough.  None had expected such a betrayal here, among the inner circle of Myndo’s chosen—and that gave Sharilar time enough to steady the weapon and squeeze the trigger.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on June 24, 2013, 12:27:16 PM

Hope it is a kill shot. I would say aim for the heart but the b**** does not have one.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 24, 2013, 01:03:36 PM

TCJS (Taurian Concordat JumpShip) Patrick Flannagan
The Gateway, Hyades Cluster
Taurian Concordat
November 1, 3025

Aramis Hall sighed as he considered the meager number of ships at his command—a mere dozen.  He had been assigned just twelve JumpShips to search for the Lost Exiles of Taurus in the trackless wastes of deep space beyond the Taurian Rim.  “You are certain that this is the intended route that they took?”

Helena shrugged on the monitor screen.  “It was the planned course, Master Hall—whether or not the Flotilla followed that plan . . .,” she shrugged again, “c’est la vie.  Still,” she continued, “unless circumstances forced a radical change, “they should have proceeded along this route—with the intended destination of this small cluster of stars here, one thousand, five hundred and fifty-four light-years beyond our borders.  Analysis of those stars indicated there should be at least three—perhaps four—planetary bodies capable of supporting human life.  And being so far distant, we doubted that even the Star League would pursue us so far.”

“Fifty-two jumps minimum,” Hall mused, “it will take a full year just to get there—another to return.”

“And you have supplies and fuel for three years,” Helena added.  “Look on the bright side, Master Hall—you will go farther than any recorded expedition in the history of the Concordat.  The data that you return with should establish jump coordinates for many systems rather closer for your Far Lookers to begin a colonization effort.”

“If we survive this Interdiction,” Aramis sighed again.  “Still, you are correct.  One way or another, we will make history on this expedition,” he straightened up and saluted the older woman—after all, like the majority of Far Lookers, Aramis maintained a Reserve commission in the Taurian Concordat Navy.  “Request permission for the Task Force to depart, Marshal Vickers.”

“Permission granted, Master Hall—good hunting,” she replied as she returned the salute.  “And vayo con dios.”

“Gracias, senora Vickers,” Aramis answered in the Third Language of the Concordat—after English and French.  Helena nodded and the image faded from the screen.

“All vessels—prepare to make Jump One.  Set and confirm coordinates and make certain everyone has been to the bathroom and has all their luggage,” Aramis ordered with a grin.  “We aren’t coming back because someone forgot their teddy bear—or something more important.”

One by one, each of the eleven other ships reported in and the board slowly turned green.  “Initiate Jump Number One in . . . thirty seconds . . . MARK!” Aramis commanded, and then he sat back in his leather-clad command chair.  And so it begins, he thought.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on June 24, 2013, 02:07:42 PM

What now the Vorlons are here

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Ice Hellion on June 24, 2013, 03:16:43 PM

Gracias, señora  ;)

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 24, 2013, 03:45:33 PM

General Headquarters, McCarron’s Armored Cavalry
Douala, Menke
Capellan Confederation
November 2, 3025

“Audacious, Duchess Liao,” Archibald McCarron said as he closed the manila folder atop of his desk and turned his gaze to the youngest child of Maximillian Liao.  “I do not, however, see your father’s seal upon those orders—could there be a reason for that?”

“Father does not wish to be seen as overly aggressive, Colonel McCarron,” Romano answered in a bitter tone—she did not care for being questioned, Archibald thought.  Not one whit.  “That no longer matters; we have been given an opportunity here—the Concordat lies under Interdiction and we have the current Taurian Defense Force deployments.”

“And today, my Armored Cavalry is present on Menke in full strength—which gives you an opportunity to show that you are Candace’s equal, at least, in the realm of military operations . . . am I right, Your Grace?” Archibald drawled with a narrow smile on his face.

“Laconis and MacLeod’s Land lies defenseless before us, Colonel McCarron!” she snapped.  “Only their Constabulary and a handful of Noble’s Regiments stand against restoring these worlds to their legitimate Liao rule.”

“Legitimate?” the mercenary laughed.  “Your Grace, those worlds NEVER belonged to the Confederation.”

“History is written by the victors, Colonel,” Romano answered coldly.  “They will become Liao worlds in truth—the Home Guard, the Maskirovka, and our police forces stand ready to aid you; they will garrison the worlds once you conquer them.  And then we can turn our attention to the two largest prizes outside of the Hyades—Pinard and New Vandenberg.”

Archie inhaled deeply.  “Those worlds are not undefended, Your Grace.  Or even lightly defended.  And I will guaren-fucking-tee-you that the Taurians will fight tooth and nail for both of them.”

“Which is why the 5th Reserve Cavalry will be supporting your operations on Pinard as will Warrior House Fujita on New Vandenberg.”

“And the rumors that the Bulls have managed to salvage an honest-to-god WarShip, Your Grace?  What happens if that thing manages to crawl into orbit above a pair of my Regiments?”

Romano smiled.  “This operation will give our operatives a better chance to either . . . secure that vessel for ourselves or see it destroyed.  Of course,” she said with a sniff, “I can always let it be known that Archibald McCarron has become too cautious and unwilling to assume risks of war.  Jaime Wolf might well favor a new contract with the Liao, after all.”

“Don’t push me,” Archie growled, and he nodded as Romano drew back in sudden fright at his expression.  “You might well be the child of Maximillian Liao, but you are a LONG way from home, girl—and on this world, I make the rules.  So stop trying to play me,” he barked, and then he looked at the map and the closed folder and he sighed.  “Triple pay—no less, and we get 100% salvage.  Plus command rights over the entire operation.”

“THAT IS OBSCENE!” Romano howled.

“Then get your FATHER to affix his SEAL OF STATE to that order, girl!  Triple pay, ALL OF THE FUCKING SALVAGE, and TOTAL COMMAND RIGHTS, or you can get your ass on that DropShip and run back home to DADDY!”

Romano’s eyes flashed, but then she nodded.  “Fine,” she spat.  “I will remember this, McCarron.”

“See that you do, girl—and bear in mind, so will I.”

The youngest child of Maximillian Liao turned on her heel and she strode—almost ran—from the office.  Archie stood there for a moment and then he nodded.  He lifted the phone.  “Brett?” he asked as a voice on the far end answered.  “Leadership meeting—all five regiments—thirty minutes, in the main briefing hall.  And upload all of our maps on Laconis, MacLeod’s Land, Pinard, and New Vandenberg.”  He winced as the voice on the far end came through much louder.  “Yeah, the Taurian Concordat—load them!” Archie ordered and then he slammed down the phone.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: barbarossa rotbart on June 24, 2013, 04:04:45 PM

What the hell is McCarron planning?
I really doubt that he will follow Romano's "orders".

(And with the Dragoons on their way to the Concordat and the FedSuns planning to ally themselves with the Concordat, it looks as the the Fourth Succession War starts soon than the Fox has planned.)

BTW what are the Lyrans doing?

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Shadow_Wraith on June 24, 2013, 04:18:31 PM

 :)  very nice update! 

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 24, 2013, 05:01:51 PM

The Obsidian Fortress
Sosa, New Syrtis
Federated Suns
November 2, 3025

“Hanse will blow a blood vessel!” sputtered Tamara Hasek, the commanding Marshal of the 5th Syrtis Fusiliers RCT.  “Michael, he will demand your head if you go off half-cocked!”

Michael Hasek-Davion smiled.  “Will he?  New Ganymede is THE major source of Taurian germanium.  Taking that system will ensure that our yards at Panpour and Galax will have ample reserves—our information shows that only Taurian militia are garrisoning that world,” Michael snorted.  “Between your 5th, Tamara, and Robert’s 1st Capellan Dragoons, you should have no problem taking and holding New Ganymede.”  Colonel Robert Johnstadt nodded his agreement.

“True enough, cousin,” muttered Iona Hasek, “but New Vallis is a Corps Headquarters for the TDF!  They have almost two regiments of regulars and mercs there, PLUS all of those Constabulary and militia units.  I know that with the 6th and 8th going in there together, we should have enough to take the system but . . .,” she winced, “Michael, what if the Bulls break out their nukes?”

“New Vallis and New Ganymede are valuable—but not that valuable.  Now, if this was New Vandenberg or—God forbid—Taurus, yeah, I’d lay even odds that the nukes would fly.  But not even Thomas is crazy enough to nuke his own people if WE don’t start atrocities,” Michael said with a grim smile.

Colonel Stephan Cooper shook his head.  “And then you want ME to move the Assault Guards—on my own authority, no less—and hit Jansen’s Hold?  Your Grace, I know that Marshal Ashley is on leave, but you can’t think that I would be willing to launch an attack without authorization from New Avalon!”

“Coop,” Michael said fondly, “of course you wouldn’t do any such thing.  Just as, if I had in my possession . . . audio and video recordings of . . . certain behaviors made by prominent officers assigned to the Davion Brigade of Guards,” Michael smiled as the regimental commanders face drained of blood, “such as the dreadful things that the said officer enjoys doing to prostitutes of Capellan origin and the lengths he goes to make certain that their . . . tongues will never render testimony against him.”  Michael tsk-tsked at the man.  “If I had such, then I would turn them over to the High Command of the AFFS at once!  Certainly, Hanse’s reaction to one of his own chosen few being such a . . . perverted and criminal soul,” and Michael bared his teeth as Cooper wilted, “would be rather . . . extreme?”

No one spoke for several moments, and then Michael nodded.  “You do have the authority to order the Assault Guards RCT to move—if you deem it necessary for the Federated Suns, Colonel.  I suggest you discover that this move to Jansen’s Hold is necessary.  Otherwise, who knows what information will wind up in the hands of Quintus Allard.”  Michael paused, and then when Cooper slowly nodded, he smiled.  “The New Syrtis March Militia will hit Jansen’s Hold alongside your Guards, Cooper—this first wave should take and hold all three worlds from any possible counter-attack which the Taurians can organize while under Interdiction.”

“FIRST WAVE?” blurted Stephan Cooper.

“It all depends, Coop,” Michael said with a chuckle.  “On how weak the Taurians actually are; if we CAN go farther—say to Sterope or Illiushin or Perdition—then I might just do that.  But I might not.  New Ganymede is the prize here—and a valuable one it is.  New Vallis and Jansen’s Hold will protect the flanks of our new system, and if that is as far as we dare push, then I will be satisfied.  Once the First Prince learns of it, he will have no choice but to support me—he won’t dare make me hand it back to the Taurians.”

“What about the Cappies?” asked Cooper.  “We are out here to watch them, not to invade the Concordat.”

“I imagine they will be busy gobbling up systems of their own—but knowing Max and his spawn as I do,” Michael smiled again, “they will go directly for Pinard and New Vandenberg.  No, the CCAF will be embroiled in a fight that I wouldn’t wish on Takashi Kurita for those two systems.  We can safely count them out of this.”

“But it all depends on us attacking before the First Prince can shut this down,” Tamara pointed out.  “Just one agent reporting to Quintus and this is over, Your Grace.”

“Oh, dear,” Michael said in a hurt voice, “did I forget to mention that Precentor New Syrtis has been kind enough to schedule the HPG here on planet for a major overhaul?  We cannot receive or transmit orders for the next ten days—luckily, I have all of your regiments present here now.  You lift tonight—you will avoid all systems with HPGs and you will take your objectives before any such order can arrive to stop you.  Is that understood?” Michael asked.

One-by-one, each of the Marshals and Colonels nodded, and Michael smiled again.  “Good.  Then, ladies, gentlemen—a toast!  Victory!”

“VICTORY!”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on June 24, 2013, 05:52:19 PM

What a great summer read!

Myndo dead, thank Blake! Couldn’t happen to a nicer person. Looks like Mori has secured a seat on the new First Circuit. I wouldn’t be surprised if one or two of the original Circuit backed ROMs move and/or was captured only to see the light.

The search for the Lost Taurians begun. Did you have a destination in mind MA? Like one appearing on the maps in ISP3??

Big Mac attack the Concordat. I don’t know if things don’t go just right the Capellans will disavow the entire operation. It wouldn’t surprise me.

There goes Michael being an ass again. So much for an alliance if this boob attacks.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on June 24, 2013, 05:58:46 PM

I hope Hanse sticks Michael's head on a pike for this.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 24, 2013, 07:24:37 PM

General Headquarters, Taurus Defense Force
Mount Santiago Defense Complex, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 4, 3025

Thomas Calderon leaned over the table-sized map showing the systems of the Taurian Concordat and those which surrounded them; he leaned and he frowned.  “You are leaving the entire eastern-half of the Concordat virtually undefended!” he bellowed.  “Only Perdition and Sterope have been provided with any of our BattleMech forces!”

“Yet every single one of your worlds has at least one battalion of armor and more than a regiment of infantry—some of those worlds have divisions of tanks, Protector Calderon, and entire corps of infantry, supported by artillery and conventional aircraft.  Plus the Constabulary units,” Helena said.  “Right now, at this moment, the entire TDF BattleMech reserve—including mercenary units—consists of forty battalions.  Forty.  Sure, our battalions are larger—but we still have just forty of them.”  She paused as Thomas glared at her, and then she sighed.  “Protector,” she said, “just what does those systems out towards Badlands have that Davion wants?  Other than Perdition and Sterope and their factories?”

Thomas stood silently as he fumed and considered the map, and Helena nodded.  “Exactly.  They have nothing that Hanse Davion wants or desires—NOTHING.  The prize that our enemies desire is HERE,” she said as she pounded the western-half of the table.  “Pinard.  New Vandenberg.  The mines at New Ganymede.  The Hyades.  If we lose New Vandenberg alone, we will have lost more people and industry than Amber Grove, Sterope, Euschelus, Perdition, Grossbach, Logan's Land, Norman's World, Dicallus, Celentaro, Organo, Cyrton, and Althea's Choice combined.”  She paused as the military officers at the table slowly began to nod their heads.

"Flaum, Burton, Illiushin, Renfield, and Camadeierre are too far distant from Davion or Liao to be of great concern, and they are lightly populated with little industry of any note," Helena continued.  "That leaves us with Mithron, Atreus Prime, New Ganymede, New Vallis, Jansen's Hold, MacLeod's Land, Laconis, Brisbane, Pinard, New Vandenberg, and Landmark . . . plus the worlds here in the Hyades."

She took a deep breath.  "Atreus Prime and Landmark are close enough for a deep-strike to hit . . . but they have little of value.  And Brisbane, while home to rather stunning waters and beaches, has little industry to offer a conqueror.  We have EIGHT systems, plus the Hyades to concentrate our forces on.  That will allow us to put four battalions each on New Ganymede, New Vallis, Jansen's Hold, MacLeod's Land, Laconis, Pinard, and New Vandenberg, with three more on Mithron—an unlikely target, but one we can still cover—and that accounts for thirty-one battalions with two more in the eastern sectors . . . leaving seven battalions in reserve here on Taurus for rapid deployment anywhere we need them.  And ALL of deployments are within one or two jumps of the capital.  So if we HAVE to, we can shift troops quickly and in CONCENTRATED FORCE."

Helena sighed as Thomas still glared at her and shook his head defiantly.  Cursing under her breath, she circled the table and grabbed his jaw, jerking his head up and around to stare directly in his one natural eye.  “Listen to me, Protector Calderon!  We cannot be strong everywhere!  We made that mistake in the first decade of the Reunification War—and we fucking LOST because of it!  Yes, the eastern systems are extremely vulnerable, but that is the price we have to pay to hold onto what we have!”  She stepped back and released Thomas as astonished Marshals and Colonels just stared at her—and a shocked Thomas Calderon sputtered and gawked, unable to form words.

“If necessary to make the point, I will hand you my resignation, Protector Calderon, effective as of this moment,” she said, laying her baton upon the table and letting it roll.  “This deployment scheme—arrived at by your officers and my staff—gives us absolutely the best damned chance of stopping any invasion of our CRUCIAL systems dead cold!  If you insist on defending everything, everywhere, we WILL lose it all—and Sir, I won’t watch that happen again.  I won’t.”

Henri licked dry lips and he began to open his mouth—at the same time as Brenda Calderon; but both were interrupted as Thomas Calderon began to laugh.  He laughed and he slammed an open palm upon the table.

“THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is how you fucking tell me NO when I am wrong.  All right, Marshal Vickers—issue the orders for redeployment.”

Helena smiled.  “The couriers left three days ago, Sire,” she said, and Thomas began to chuckle again.

“You and I—we have got to play some poker together one afternoon, Marshal,” the Protector said.

“Poker?  What’s that?  A game?  I love trying new games,” Helena asked innocently as she batted her eyelids, and the senior military officials of the Concordat began to laugh.

“Very well,” Thomas said after a moment, when he finished laughing and shaking a finger at Helena Vickers.  “I don’t like it—but as Marshal Vickers points out, we don’t have all that many options,” he finished sourly.  “Approved.  And gentlemen?  Ladies?  Let your Brigadiers know that if an invasion comes I don’t want a single one of those son-of-a-bitches to get away.  Not one.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 24, 2013, 10:02:41 PM

General Headquarters, Taurus Defense Force
Mount Santiago Defense Complex, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 4, 3025

“Marshal Vickers,” Henri said with a smile as the other officers followed the Protector from the room—leaving Helena alone with the Intelligence Minister of the Taurian Concordat and Marshal Brenda Calderon.  “May I say again, how much I appreciate your blunt character?”

Helena’s nose flared and she shook her head.  “Quit blowing smoke up my ass, Messer Jouett,” she hissed.  “I would appreciate instead if the two of you—and those ‘officers’ who just left—would start doing your jobs.”

“Now wait just a damn minute, Helena,” Brenda snapped.  “You don’t understa-. . .,”

“I don’t understand?  Marshal Calderon, I was in this room on the day that Mitchell Calderon was told about Forlough’s attack on New Vandenberg—three hundred and seventy four million Taurian citizens died when that fiend rendered an entire continent lifeless!  I stood right here when David Santos had to tell the Protector that we simply no longer had the strength to launch a counter-attack—when the Protector was so furious that he was ready to fire EVERY single officer in this room.”

“That’s not fair!” Brenda said hotly.  “It was our damn plan!”

“Yes, yes it was,” agreed Helena.  “But not a damn one of your officers was willing to tell Thomas Calderon—they were frightened of being fired.  He isn’t almighty God, Marshal Calderon; he is just a mortal man—who happens to be our Protector.  Protectors make mistakes, they make the wrong decisions, because they are only human.  That man,” she said, pointing her finger in the direction of the door where Thomas had exited the room, “just as much as Mitchell Calderon.  He needs officers who will tell him the truth—regardless of whether or not he wants to hear it.  That is your job, Brenda Calderon.  It is your job, Henri Jouett.  It shouldn’t have to be mine.”

“We tell Thomas the truth, Helena,” Henri said quietly, “we just don’t pull him up as short as you did in public.”

“That wasn’t public, Messer Jouett,” Helena answered.  “It was supposed to the senior officers of this realm giving that man—who is under more pressure than any ONE of us—the best possible advice we can.  Instead, you people just stood there—and depended on me to hammer home to Thomas that he needs to let go of the illusion that he can protect EVERYONE.  He can’t.  And he needs to realize that before it drives him mad.”

“Helena,” began Henri Jouett, but Brenda Calderon held up her hand.  Henri closed his mouth and sighed.

“Different times,” Brenda whispered, “and we haven’t been through the twenty years of hell that you have.  Alright, I’ll light a fire under my people—and make damn sure that they start acting like Taurian officers of old.  But you have to understand this isn’t the Reunification Wars we are fighting again, Helena.  Today—in this day and age—we have rules that are followed very strictly.  And if you don’t, I’ll fire your ass.  Comprende?”

Helena chuckled.  “Si.  And that’s how I expect a Taurian officer to act, Brenda.  Take no shit from anyone—and do your damn job, regardless of the consequences.”

And with that, the old woman turned and she walked out of the room.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on June 24, 2013, 11:48:11 PM

I love her. That is an officer that my clan would love.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on June 25, 2013, 07:21:33 AM

You always create such wonderful characters MA, great story so far. Keep it going.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on June 25, 2013, 07:24:33 AM

MORE MORE MORE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 26, 2013, 12:15:12 AM

Quartermaine Hotel
Sosa, New Syrtis
Federated Suns
November 2, 3025

The agent of MI4 sighed as he gazed out of the glass doors which had a spectacular view of the distant space-port.  He would have been on the balcony—had it not been thirty degrees below zero outside, and he snorted.  One by one, dozens—scores—of DropShips began to lift into the sky and the agent sipped a cup of hot cocoa.  Then he turned his back on the glass panels and sat down at his desk.

Opening a case, he removed a key-board and a cable and then set the case aside.  Grunting with effort, he lifted another piece of luggage and set it upon the desk; he slid his thumb across a concealed panel and it opened—he plugged the cable into the outlet and unlocked the four latches before lifting the lid.

Except for a monitor screen, the interior of the case was consumed by a single metal object—ebon in hue and constructed from thick armor plating.  It was marred only two buttons, one red and one green; he depressed the red button and the machine began to hum . . . the monitor flashed to life, showing an empty screen and a flashing cursor.

Opening a file, he drug down a priority message form and began to type.

QUINTUS.

MHD HAS LAUNCHED INVASION OF TAURIAN CONCORDAT.

NEW SYRTIS CMM, 5TH, 6TH, 8TH SYRTIS FUSILIERS, DAVION ASSAULT GUARDS, 1ST CAPELLAN DRAGOONS EN ROUTE TO TARGETS.

MHD ACCOMPANING 6TH FUSILIERS, DESTINATION NEW VALLIS.  OTHER TARGETS INCLUDE NEW GANYMEDE & JANSEN’S HOLD.

ARE WE AT WAR AND DID YOU FORGET TO TELL THOSE OF US IN THE FIELD?

REQUEST INSTRUCTIONS. ASAP.

JOHN

And with that, John pressed the green button and the humming increased in volume—then the screen blanked and the words MESSAGE ENCODED AND TRANSMITTED appeared.  John pressed the red button again and the humming died; he disconnected the cables and keyboard and closed the case before he picked up his cocoa . . . and then with a shrug, poured whiskey into the cup as he stood at the glass doors and continued to watch.  And sip.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on June 26, 2013, 01:41:24 AM

More and Clarify

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on June 26, 2013, 06:17:27 AM

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

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 28, 2013, 12:18:18 AM

The Palace of the First Prince
Avalon City, New Avalon
Federated Suns
November 4, 3025

“I . . . I . . . I . . .,” Hanse sputtered after reading the dispatch.  Quintus just nodded his agreement.

“Our agent on Kaitangata received the encrypted message and used a one-time pad to retransmit via HPG Priority Dispatch straight to us,” he said as Hanse collected himself slowly.  “We have two days before those DropShips arrive at the New Syrtis jump point—after that, if Michael has any brains at all, they won’t go NEAR a system with an HPG . . . at least not until they fall upon three Taurian border worlds.”

“Does he,” and Quintus needed no explanation of whom the word he referred to, “believe that I will hail him as a conquering hero in the event that he captures New Ganymede?” Hanse growled through clenched jaws—and Quintus winced as he could hear the molars in Hanse’s jaw grating against each other.

“The mineral output from New Ganymede is quite impressive—especially the Germanium recovery.  And if he can take away three Taurian worlds there will be a LOT of the nobility asking why the First Prince isn’t taking advantage of the Interdiction to add to THEIR domains.  All for the glory of the Federated Suns, of course.”

“Of course,” Hanse answered sourly.  Then he cocked his head at Quintus.  “Can you get a message there before they can depart New Syrtis?  And have you an agent on Michael’s staff?”

“It will be close—and yes, my Prince.”

“Good.  The 2nd Ceti Hussars are still on Frazer, correct?”

“They are, my Prince,” Quintus said with a nod.  The Assault Guards were en route to Frazer to replace the 2nd Ceti on the frontier as that unit rotated back to the Crucis March for a long overdue period of repairs to their machines and integrating replacements.

“Transmit this to Marshal Cline as well as to your people on New Syrtis—tell Alan that I want the 2nd to take up station along Michael’s invasion route.  He is to MAKE those idiots hear my words if we miss them at New Syrtis,” Hanse paused, but it wasn’t to reconsider—it was to make certain that Quintus Allard understood his next orders fully.  “And if Michael doesn’t back down—if he attempts to continue on, I authorize Marshal Cline to have his aerospace wing employ Alamos against Michael and any JumpShip and docked DropShips that follow him.  That includes my Assault Guards, Quintus—if they decline to follow my orders to the letter.”

Quintus blinked as he stood there.  The Alamo missiles carried a 5 kiloton warhead—more than ample enough to kill any JumpShip ever constructed.  And Hanse nodded grimly.  “I’ll give my brother-in-law one chance to back off, Quintus—but if getting our hands on a copy of that Core means nuking the hell out of Michael Hasek-Davion and five or six RCTs . . . yeah, I’ll do that.”

“Sire,” Quintus said with a bow.  “And if Michael doesn’t take one of the routes that Marshal Cline will be picketing?”

“Get that message out, Quintus,” Hanse whispered.  “We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.”


NOTE:  The previous section (as stated in the DATE) was on November 2nd.  And it SHOULD have come before the Taurian meeting of the War Council on November 4th.  Sorry about that, but functionally nothing in the story changes; I just got those three sections out of sequence.--MA

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 28, 2013, 12:32:38 PM

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.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on June 28, 2013, 04:58:45 PM

Can't wait for more!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on June 29, 2013, 12:18:11 AM

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?”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on June 29, 2013, 06:16:55 AM

Its a nuke fest

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 01, 2013, 03:00:48 PM

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.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 01, 2013, 03:36:12 PM

Oh yeah somebody is going to get nuked.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Warclaw on July 01, 2013, 05:08:33 PM

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.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: XaosGorilla on July 01, 2013, 05:14:26 PM

You're presuming that Hanse doesn't decide to seize all Michaels' assets (gotta use something to pay for access to that core....) and leave him (Michael) to the tender mercies of the Taurians...

Liking the story.  Good work MA.  TY for writing and posting.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 01, 2013, 05:33:00 PM

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

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 01, 2013, 06:28:14 PM

Any incursion by a Davion unit into Taurian territory will destroy everything.  The 6th has to be stopped or all could still be lost. Looking forward to more.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 01, 2013, 08:58:57 PM

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.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 01, 2013, 10:07:41 PM

The Palace of the First Prince
Avalon City, New Avalon
Federated Suns
November 6, 3025

“If I sign this, I am sentencing nearly ten thousand men and women to death—slandering them and their reputations for all time . . . for following orders that, as much as I hate to say this, Michael had every lawful right to issue,” whispered Hanse Davion, as he took another gulp from the glass half-filled with potent whiskey.  The glass that a moment before had been almost full.

“The decision is yours and yours alone, my Prince,” said Quintus softly.  “The same would happen if Michael runs into Cline’s Hussars—and he refuses to stand down.  You have already given those orders.”

“Because I had to, Quintus.  But this?  I am telling the families of these men and women that their sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers deserted the Federated Suns—that they mutinied.  Abandoned their oaths and turned pirate.  Their families will be denied all benefits that those soldiers earned—many will be reduced to poverty.”

“Yes.  Is this Core worth that price, my Prince?”

Hanse lifted the glass and he exhaled sharply before he drank deep again, and then he nodded.  “It is.  It is worth ten times this cost.”

Quintus simply sat and he waited; he waited for several minutes until Hanse set the now empty glass on his desk and lifted his pen.  The Fox signed the document, and then applied his seal over the signature.  Standing, he closed the folder and handed it to Quintus, who also stood, accepted the papers and bowed low.

“It goes out today, Quintus,” Hanse whispered as he lifted the crystal decanter and refilled his glass.  “See to it, would you?”

“Of course, my Prince,” the Minister of Intelligence answered as he walked to the door and closed it behind him; leaving Hanse Davion alone with the bottle of liquor.  And his conscience.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 01, 2013, 11:00:16 PM

I'm not entirely sure the Taurians will buy this. I like the Foxhounds though and it is a tough decision for Hanse to make.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Warclaw on July 01, 2013, 11:19:11 PM

Oh, everyone above a certain level will know it's complete BS, BUT it's a load of BS that'll allow Protector Calderon enough latitude with his people that he can make the best decisions going forward.

Otherwise, he'll be forced into certain steps that are neither wise, nor desired.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Dragon Cat on July 01, 2013, 11:31:34 PM

If the Protector didn't then it would be war with the Federated Suns and probably everyone else

If he does and Liao/ComStar or anyone else attacks then the Taurians potentially have an ally

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 02, 2013, 12:58:21 AM

Shraplen Imports Warehouse #23B
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 9, 3025

Major Julius Riese examined the photographs taken by the Maskirovka agents and he frowned.  “This is where they keeping the Core?” he demanded.

“It makes some sense, Major,” another of the Death Commandoes said with a shrug.  “According to the briefing the University of Taurus is home to one of the most modern main-frame computers in existence—if they have to brute-force decrypt the Core, this is the place to do it.”

“Yes,” added one of the Mask agents—a man known to the Capellan covert operations troopers as Agent V.  “Security on the grounds was dramatically increased immediately after that warship came into orbit—which matches up well with the Taurians bringing the Core planet-side.  It may appear to be lightly defended, but look here and here,” he said pointing to other visual images.  “Not only has the TDF provided 24/7 guard details from one of their best-trained and drilled infantry units to the actual facility itself, they reactivated these two old bases—Fort Snowden houses an entire Taurian hover armor battalion with a company of VTOLs, and all of their vehicles carry a maniple of infantry . . . ten troopers.  Fifty-four tanks, eighteen VTOLs, and seven hundred twenty infantry just two kilometers away.  Fort Gaines to the South houses an entire battalion of BattleMechs—the third battalion of their Taurian Velites, with forty-eight BattleMechs and eight Aerospace Fighters.  It’s twice as far away, but . . .,” the agent’s voice trailed off as he shrugged his shoulders.

Riese nodded.  Four kilometers was nothing to ‘Mechs—they could be on top of the facility in minutes at the most . . . and they would be.

He tapped the photographs again.  “Getting in isn’t a problem, people—it’s grabbing the Core and getting out.  The campus and this facility are outside of the city proper, so blending in with the crowds isn’t going to work.  And with their external security perimeter of ‘Mechs and armor, we aren’t crowding in a van and speeding away to safety.  The moment we take out the guards, their alarms will sound—and that leaves us just a minute, maybe less, to find the Core, grab it, deactivate their booby-traps,” Riese snorted, “and don’t think that the damn Taurians won’t have them on the device—they will.  And make our exit.  I hope one of you sees something I’ve missed—because right now, I don’t have a clue how the hell we can get in.”

“Grabbing the Core is good, boss, but the Chancellor himself said we could destroy it if we can’t move it.”

“Suicide team?” asked Riese.  “You volunteering?”

“If I need to, Sir,” the commando answered.  “I’ll carry the warhead myself if necessary.”

“Good—that is mission one, gentlemen.  Now, that damned WarShip.”

“All civilian traffic to Station Three has been curtailed,” answered V.  “Only personnel approved by the highest levels of government are allowed access—and only aboard TDF shuttles and buses.  A full company of SASF has been embarked on both the station and WarShip—and ALL transport on a vector towards the station is escorted and visually inspected.”  V shook his head.  “They are even inspecting waste dumps on a vector that approaches Station Three.”

“Taking that ship was always going to be one feat too many,” Riese mused.  “I believe that means we need to get our second special weapon up there in order to destroy her.”

“Good luck with that,” V said sourly.  “Every cargo pod is searched—every single one.  All searches are conducted by rotating teams of three that are randomly chosen each day to prevent a single team from being . . . influenced by people like us.  Not to mention, all flights to and from the station originate in the heart of the military space-port—where none of us have access.”

“Actually, we do,” Riese said with a grim smile.  “Our late, unlamented friend had friends of his own—some of whom are quick peeved at the sudden fatal turn their leader took.  We will have access.”

“Not for long,” cautioned V.  “And even if you can get that weapon aboard, there is a second check at the station itself—or aboard ship.  It will be found.”

“As long as the shuttle docks with that WarShip, it’s close enough—I’ll need a volunteer to be triggerman on that detail as well,” he told his commandos . . . and all of them stepped forward.

He smiled again.  “And after that, we pack up and go home.”

“The Taurians aren’t dumb, Major,” V warned.  “They will run a full analysis of the bomb debris and when they find it came from Capellan weapon plants? I don’t want to be here on Taurus when that happens—and I don’t even look Capellan.  Using sunshine-in-a-can on the Taurians doesn’t strike me as all that healthy a decision.”

Riese snorted.  “We are using Davion fissile material, Agent V—not our own.  Got our hands on enough for two warheads a few years back; so when the Taurians run their analysis . . . well . . .,” Riese shrugged.

“It will be their enemies of old striking at them—very nice,” finished V.  Then he shook his head.  “IDs and cash in the bag along with the safe houses you requested.  Make sure you have everything you need, gentlemen, because after today you will never see me again.”

“You heard the man—I want a full check on everything before we move to a more secure location,” barked Riese.  “And then we start on planning the exact details for Boom One and Boom Two.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 02, 2013, 05:10:20 AM

Sneaky Sneaky Sneaky

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 02, 2013, 07:32:50 AM

Just for the record I'm not stepping forward and volunteering ;)

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 02, 2013, 12:51:33 PM

Ivan Patrice Computer Sciences Center, University of Taurus
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 9, 3025

“Doctor Mosley . . . .,” the guard dressed in the uniform of the Taurian Defense Force muttered as he scrolled through a computer pad.  “I’m sorry, sir—you aren’t on the authorized list for entry.”

Karl Mosley gritted his teeth and bit back his initial reaction; the myrmidon was just one of five stationed at the main doors of the PCSC, all of whom were armed with battle rifles and wearing combat armor.  “My office is inside this building, son,” the doctor sputtered.  “What do you mean I can’t go in?”

“Sir, this area is off-limits for all but authorized personnel—and you are not on my list.”

“This is ridiculous!” Karl snapped, as the new pair of female post-graduate assistants that trailed after him exchanged glances between them.  “I go to Jamestown at the request of the government to examine the artifacts we recovered from that SLDF cache on . . .,” Karl paused, and he managed to recover his composure.  The Celano cache was classified, and he had almost blurted out its actual location.  “Never mind.  Call Doctor Snyder.  He will correct this misunderstanding.”

“Yes, sir; Dr. Snyder is on his way down,” the guard answered as the main doors buzzed, and then opened, and another tall man wearing a lab coat exited the building.

“Karl?  What are you doing back here?  My god, it is good to see you again—you’ve got to see what we are working on!”

“Matt,” Karl snarled, “these idiot guards are saying that I don’t have authorization to enter my office!  Or even the building!”

Matt Snyder blushed and he nodded.  “We thought you were going to be on Jamestown for the next two weeks—I’ll get everything cleared,” he answered as he turned to the guard.  “Put Dr. Mosley on the list—my authority.”

“Sir,” the guard began.

“He’s one of the foremost experts on pre-Star League computer technology in the Hyades, Corporal!” Matt barked.  “If he hadn’t been on Jamestown when our new project arrived, he would have been the one we assigned to unlock its secrets.”

“Unlock?  Matt, did you people recover a Core?”

Matt grinned.  “That ain’t the half of it, old friend.  We have a Data Core—an intact Data Core—from 2596; untampered with and chock full of information that we have to decrypt.”

“The fail-safes?”

“Bomb disposal has deactivated all three of the explosive charges and we have drained the cylinder of war gas—we think we got them all.  It’s a Mark XI . . . a Naval Core, Karl.”

“Mark XI, hmmmmm,” the scientist pursed his lips.  “There should be one more fail-safe—a second pressurized reservoir containing a chemical agent.  We have to disarm that one before we can begin trying to break the encryption—I don’t suppose we were lucky enough to recover the keys?”

“No, not that lucky, but the government has given this top prior-. . .,” Matt Snyder began.

“Doctors, please.  This is not a secure area for this conversation,” the guard snapped.

“Sorry, Corporal,” Matt said as he blushed again.  “Get Karl cleared—I want him to start his examination of the Core immediately.”

“And my assistants,” Karl muttered.  “And get my luggage moved to my offices at once—there are some fragile things in there, so handle them with care.”

“I can admit Dr. Mosley on your authority, sir, but protocol says the post-grads stay out here—along with the luggage until we do a full security scan.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Matt.  “Corporal, people who work for the PCSC have already been cleared by the government; I know Karl, and if he says he needs those two women, he needs those two women.  And his bags.  Get them to his office and put all three of them on the cleared list—my authority.”  Matt paused.  “Unless you want me to contact Colonel Lopez?”

“No, sir,” the guard said as he snapped to attention and saluted.  He then lifted a phone.  “I need . . . three security and a carryall at the main entrance,” he ordered after appraising the pile of luggage.  He racked the phone.  “If I can scan your IDs, sir?  Madames?”

Karl passed over his University ID, followed by the two very lovely women, and the Corporal uploaded them into his computer.  “Wear your ID at all times—you will be detained if you are not wearing your ID in plain view or if you misplace it,” he warned, then he shrugged and stepped back, opening the doors.

“Picked up two new assistants on Jamestown, eh, Karl?” Matt whispered as they entered the building.  “Easy on the eyes—but can they actually read and write?”

“Oh, they are bright girls, Matt.  Very bright—and very motivated to secure a letter of recommendation from me when they move on to their own careers and research,” Karl said just as quietly with a smile on his face.  “I cannot believe they were working for Paterson just cataloguing the Celano artifacts—wasted they were, working for that hack.”

“Paterson is a serious researcher, Karl,” Matt chuckled, “and he doesn’t fool around with his post-grads.  Which is why he is in charge of the Jamestown Institute and you still work for me.”

“Politics,” Karl spat.  “If there was any justice in the world, I’d have your job and you’d be slaving away for me.”

“No, it’s not politics, Karl; it’s you thinking with your zipper.  I’m not going to have any complaints from these two, am I?”

“I didn’t make the first move—they came on to me, Matt.”

“I hope you are right, Karl,” the administer of the research facility said.  “God knows, I can’t save your ass if one of them decides to file a complaint—you’ve had too many of those in the past decade as it is.”

“No worries this time, Doctor Snyder,” the scientist answered.  “Now when can I see this Core?”

“Soon as we get you settled and you go through decon—I’m not taking any chances of someone wrecking the artifact before we get that information.”

“Good enough—you think this one is the Grail?”

“Karl, I believe this one is the Grail, the One True Cross, the Spear of Destiny, and the Ark of the Covenant all rolled up into one technological prize.  If the précis on the contents are correct, this is the motherlode of all discoveries.”

Karl smiled as he pulled off his suit jacket.  “Then let’s get to work—girls?”

The two nodded, one of them taking the jacket and the other handing Karl his lab-coat.  And they followed behind the two scientists, exchanging another glance with each other. 

“The guards are in better shape,” one whispered.  “At least they are not fat and entirely unskilled like that buffoon.”

“Yes, but the guards can’t get us direct access to the Core, Sandra.  This buffoon can—and you’ve had worse.”

“Don’t remind me,” the second agent from MIM drawled.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 02, 2013, 04:39:50 PM

Pathetic security!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 02, 2013, 04:46:20 PM

Quick Pick Convenience Store #1173
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 9, 3025

“What the hell is a taquito?” Phil Sheridan, field agent for MI-4 muttered to himself as he watched the long crispy-appearing cylinders rotate over a heating element.  It looked like a stick of rolled tortillas—and just about as hard, but a pureed filling leaked out from the ends, the scent of beef, beans, and spices filling the air.

He grabbed a pair of tongs and lifted one—and he took a sniff.  He winced.  But then he sighed and he opened a bag and put the nasty greasy item inside, followed by another dozen.  Along with all four of the sausages that had rolled on the machine beside them.  He put several packets of salsa and more of sour cream into the bag as well and set in within the shopping basket he carried, and then he walked over to the chillers containing cold drinks.

Energy drinks in a dozen flavors all in metal cans, cans of distilled water, canned iced coffee, canned sweat tea (cans, what the hell was it with Taurians and cans?) . . . but almost no carbonated beverages.  And the few imports that were present were three times the price a drink would normally be worth in the heart of the Federated Suns.  But liquor?  Beer?  Wine?  That covered three-quarters of the wall . . . along with an entire freezer just containing glass bottles of MILK.  Almost the only item NOT in a can, at least, Phil thought with a shudder.

Sighing, he began to put an assortment of the multi-hued cans into his basket—not even looking at the labels—and then he froze.  Son of a . . . !

Standing four feet away from him (and looking just as shocked) was Victor Li . . . a Maskirovka agent with whom Phil had often sparred in the worlds of the Capellan March and the St. Ives thumb.  Both men reached for their waist-bands—for the concealed weapons each carried under their jackets—but then they stopped at the same time.

Victor shook his head.  “Long time, Phil,” he said.  “What brings you to sunny Taurus?  The food?” he said, pointing to the basket.  “I’ve got to warn you—those are a bit spicy.”

“I’m on vacation,” Phil answered.  “Yourself?”

“Strangely enough, so am I,” Victor replied with a smile.  “I heard that the fishing is good off-shore.”

“Fishing?  I’ll have to look into that.”

“Never know what you can catch if you spend an afternoon just casting lines, eh?”

“Right,” Phil answered, glancing to his left and right—and noting that Victor was doing the same.  The store wasn’t—quite—full, but it was far from empty . . . and Phil nodded.  Starting a gun-fight here and now would just bring the local Constabulary down on their asses—and pose questions that Phil really didn’t want to answer.  Nor did Victor, it seemed, because he nodded and slowly lowered his gun-hand; Phil did so as well.

“Another time, eh, Phil?” the Capellan asked with a grin.

“Be seeing you around, Victor.”

“Not if I see you fir- . . . SHIT,” the expletive was not shouted, but was heartfelt all the same as Phil felt the barrel of a gun prod him in the back.

“Okay, both of you—why are you two on Taurus?” a harsh voice asked.

“Who are you?” asked Victor.

“I’m asking the questions here, Cappie,” the man spat in a thick Marik accent.

“Wait just a damn minute,” Phil said as he half-turned in recognition of the voice, and then sighed.  “Victor Li, meet Walter Krogh—the SAFE liaison at the Marik embassy on Taurus.”

“SAFE?  SAFE?” Victor asked in disbelief.  “What are you planning to do, Mister Krogh?  Shoot us down in the full view of the customers of this store?”  Some of which were beginning to notice the whispers—and drawn gun—and began to back off, a few dialing numbers in their mobile phones.

“Both of you are coming back to the Embassy with me to answer questions,” Walter answered.  “If you try to run, I’ll shoot him dead.”

Victor laughed, and Phil groaned.  “Did you just tell me—a Capellan—that if I run, you will, as means to stop me, shoot a Davion?”

Krogh didn’t answer, he just jerked his head to one side.  “Let’s go.”

“Excuse me, are you paying for those?” a woman asked.

“What?” Krogh said as he half-turned—and grunted as a petite red-haired woman swung a fist clad in brass knuckles into his jaw.  The SAFE agent dropped like a sack of bricks, and the customers began to applaud—two even gave wolf-whistles.

“That’ll teach you for trying to rob my boy-friends!” the girl shouted, and she winked at Victor and Phil before lowering her voice to a whisper.  “Time to run, boys.”

“WHAT THE HELL?” hissed Phil—and then he saw Victor cradle his face in both hands. 

“Phil Sheridan, meet Nicky Kirkland—of the Magistracy Intelligence Ministry.”

“MIM?  Oh could this cluster-fuck get any worse?” moaned Phil.

A siren sounded outside and flashing blue and red lights began to dance off of the glass.

“You had to ask?” said Victor.

“There’s an exit in the rear,” Nicky said.

“I’ll bet there’s an entrance too,” Phil muttered, drawing a harsh glare from the Magistracy agent as the three of them left the Marik spy unconscious on the floor and headed into the backroom.

“HEY!  YOU HAVE TO PAY FOR THAT!” the clerk shouted.  Phil threw a wad of 20-Bull notes into the air in answer—and the crowded store erupted as people started to grab money.

The fire-door opened to an alley way—and a spot-light illuminated the faces of the three agents.

“HALT!  SAMANTHA CITY PD—HANDS IN THE AIR!” a voice amplified by a loud-speaker called out.

“Well isn’t this lovely?” asked Phil—and then five gun-shots rang out and the spotlight died away, leaving two officers bleeding out on the ground next to their car.

Phil, Victor, and Nicky drew their weapons—but none of them fired as a fourth man exited the shadows.  “I’d advise you to run; they’ve got your faces on video,” the stranger said, lowering his hood.

“Oh the shit has hit the fan,” muttered Phil.  “ROM.  Victor, Nicky, meet Adept Robert West—what the hell did you shoot them for?”

The ROM agent smiled.  “Because they have your pictures—not mine.  And while they are chasing you, they aren’t chasing me.  But I do believe,” he said stepping back into the shadows and into a doorway set in the wall of the alley, “their fellow officers are rushing through the store to get back here to the sound of those shots.”  He then closed the door and locked it.  “Good night and good luck,” Phil faintly heard after the lock clicked.

“Suggestions?” he asked.

“Running sounds good,” replied Victor as he put his words into action.

“Yeah, don’t have to outrun the local cops, FedRat,” Nicky said as she took off, “just have to outrun you.”

Damn it all, Phil thought as he too began to run into the night—and I still didn’t get any food!

Title: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: AlexiDrake on July 02, 2013, 05:03:13 PM

Spy vs Spy vs Spy vs Spy vs Spy!!!!

Loved this scene.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 02, 2013, 06:56:09 PM

Sneaky ROM

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 02, 2013, 07:55:16 PM

General Headquarters, Taurus Defense Force
Mount Santiago Defense Complex, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 10, 3025

“Henri, I think your plan to dangle irresistible bait in front of everyone has managed to work rather too well,” Thomas Calderon growled after his Minister of Intelligence completed the briefing on the incident just off-campus of the University last evening.  “We have ROM agents still unaccounted for on Taurus, and now you’ve got teams from the Maskirovka, MI-4, MIM, and SAFE running around shooting officers of the law and trying to kill each other in a public store!  All we are missing is LIC and the ISF.”

“Actually, we’ve identified the Lyran Intelligence Corps team—they are taking the slow and methodical, but traditional, approach of attempting to bribe several of our senior research scientists.  And I am quite convinced that an ISF is present . . . we just haven’t seen them yet, Protector Calderon.  And you left out the Outworlders,” Henri finished with a smile.

Thomas buried his face in his hands.  “We have a team of spies from the Outworlds Alliance that are trying to get to the Core as well?”

“Two of their agents—Fitz-Hume and Milbarge—landed on Taurus three days ago.  Right now, they are convinced that the facility at the University is a decoy and that we are actually hiding the Core in the Calderon Nature Preserve on Gamma Continent.”

Thomas blinked.  “The preserve is uninhabited and untouched—there aren’t any people living there!”

“Yes, and they are convinced the entire Nature Preserve is a cover to shield a secret facility dedicated to recovering lost technological secrets—I believe that they are in the process of hiring a boat to carry them across.”

The Protector groaned.  “Henri, I want them all identified—we’ve got dead Taurians on our hands and I want these teams shut down hard.”

“If we do that, my Lord, then they will be back—and we will not have as much of an opportunity to identify them ahead of time.  Last night’s incident was not planned—that much I am certain of.  Messer Krogh was the triggering catalyst, but he is the SAFE liaison to the Marik Embassy—not a part of their team.  After speaking with Messer Krogh for some hours last night, I am convinced that his own people shut him out of the loop, leaving him to try and abduct one of his competitors to find out what is going on in his backyard.”

“Henri,” Thomas growled, but he quieted as Henri held up one hand and bowed his head.

“If you insist, Protector Thomas, I will comply.  However, none of these teams have yet made a run at the Core.  I would suggest that we wait—perhaps even allow one of the teams to be ‘successful’ in their attempt—until they are convinced that one of the others has succeeded or the Core has been destroyed.”

Thomas grunted as he slowly shook his head.  “I’d rather see them hung.”

“We can arrange that if you wish, Protector Calderon,” Henri answered with a laugh.  “Starting with Messer Krogh.”

“Erebor?” asked Thomas.

“Quiet as a mouse—that information has not leaked.  And our teams report that they have finished making the first copy of the Core’s data.”  Henri shook his head.  “The amount of information is staggering, Thomas.  It will be years before we manage to process it all—if not decades.”

For several moments neither man said a word, and then Thomas sighed.  “I’m not happy with this, Henri.  Taurian citizens are dying—I’m not happy one bit.  But for now—for now—we will play it your way.  How’s Commander Fletcher coming with the HPG?”

Henri smiled broadly.  “He is cursing all Terrans ever born, my Protector.  But he believes that by tonight, he should have the HPG on Taurus fully operational,” Henri paused.  “Not to the quality standard that ComStar had, perhaps, but good enough.  In fact, last week he dispatched a team to New Vandenberg to rebuild their HPG as well—if both of the modifications prove workable, we can begin to restore communications between our worlds that possess an HPG—without relying on an outside source that will read our mail.”

“Good.  The sooner we get reliable communications back up and running the better I will sleep at night,” Thomas said in a tired voice.  “Any word from Ed- . . .,” but the Protector was interrupted by a stream of officers flooding into the room.  “What is it, Brenda?” Thomas asked.

“Protector Calderon.  Commander Fletcher’s rebuilt HPGs apparently work—we have just received a transmission from New Vandenberg . . . courier ships from Laconis and MacLeod’s Land have reported that those systems are under attack by forces of the Capellan Confederation—multiple regiments of McCarron’s Armored Cavalry, supported by a handful of Capellan House troops.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 02, 2013, 08:14:00 PM

Doctor. Doctor.

Glad I'm not sick.

 ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D



Fantastic stuff MA, looking forward to a Big Mac chapter.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: lrose on July 02, 2013, 08:15:20 PM

Fitz-hume and Milbarge- I would think they would be working for the LC, not the OWA....

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 02, 2013, 08:32:47 PM

Actually the Taurian authorities have tape of their insertion and encounter with a team of DEST commandos.

Taurian Security Vid 07022013 (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a13WXB5Bq7Y)

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: shwagpo on July 02, 2013, 08:41:16 PM

That, sir, is classic

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 02, 2013, 09:02:50 PM

DropShip Vixen
Inbound to Atmospheric Entry, MacLeod’s Land
Taurian Concordat
November 10, 3025

Archibald McCarron frowned as he considered the data scrolling on the monitor screen within the cockpit of his GHR-5H Grasshopper.  His pilots had cleared him a path to the planet—but at a high cost.  Too high.  The intelligence that Romano had provided—the intelligence that he had on hand as well—none of that indicated this level of defenses.  Forty aerospace fighters and sixteen gunboats had met his Regiments on the way in—and that was far too many ASF for the perennially weak TDF to deploy here.  Unless those fighters had been attached to ‘Mech units below.

Which meant, Archie thought with a silent curse, that instead of facing off just against militia and armor and infantry, the Taurians had at least four battalions of ‘Mechs beneath the clouds ahead of him.  And with their larger battalions, that meant he was facing somewhere in the neighborhood of one hundred and eighty to two hundred ‘Mechs.  But then he smiled.  Fuck the Taurians.  Even if they had two hundred ‘Mechs on the surface, he had the Nightriders, the Wild Ones, and Rob’s Renegades with him—three hundred and twenty-two BattleMechs of his own . . . plus the first wave of Home Guard armor and infantry units.

More enemy ‘Mechs just meant more salvage, he thought with a nod.  “This is Mac,” he broadcast.  “Throw out the game plan, boys and girls—looks like we are going to have a real fight after all.  Primary target is Dougal—we take the capital and the Pinard lines there, and they are going have to come to us to take it back.  Expect heavy resistance,” and he paused, “and throw out the rules of engagement.  If it shoots at you—or looks like its thinking about shooting at you, kill it.”

“DROP IN ONE MINUTE!” blared the loud-speakers.  Archie tightened his straps and pulled his leather gloves taut, and then as the LCD display slowly counted down, he took a thick cigar, placed it in his mouth, lit it, and began to puff as he returned his hands to the controls.

“Last one down buys the beer,” he growled around the smoking cigar and then the bay doors slammed open, the drop light turned green, and Archibald McCarron was flying through the sky towards the surface—straight into a veritable wall of flak.  Above him he could see the Overlord-class DropShip stagger as anti-aircraft artillery slammed into her armored flanks—and he cursed. 

Breathing smoke around the cigar, he chopped his jets and the Grasshopper fell like a rock—he plunged down through the atmosphere and stood on jump jets just before passing through the minimum safe altitude.  The jets roared amid the winds and the storm clouds; his cockpit was plastered with drops of rain and ice, but then he broke through the ceiling and hit the ground running, the rest of the Nightriders following in his wake.


NOTE:  I couldn’t remember what ‘Mech Archie piloted in canon and it isn’t on Sarna.net.  I can’t find my MAC sourcebook right now, so I went with the much unappreciated Grasshopper.  One of my personal favorites of 3025.--MA

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 02, 2013, 11:33:36 PM

Command Lance, 2nd Battalion, Red Chasseurs
Dougal, MacLeod’s Land
Taurian Concordat
November 10, 3025

Brigadier Michael Griswald reached down and armed the control panel located on the right arm of his ejection seat.  He could not see the long lines of the heavy-weight ‘Mechs of McCarron’s Regiments advancing through the blowing storm with his eyes, but his sensors detected them just fine.  Such storms were common here on MacLeod’s Land—that was why most of the planet’s structures were built under-ground; and those few necessary above-ground structures were heavily reinforced against the violent weather. 

Structures like Port Caine, the main space-port complex serving the capital that Griswald now defended—the first objective that McCarron had to secure before he moved on to the capital itself.  He held the Pinard Protectorates Limited factories outside the city, true, but Archie McCarron would need this space-port if he wanted to land more troops—or leave MacLeod’s Land.  And the extensive air-defense of Port Caine meant that if Archie wanted the port, he had to take it the hard way.

Wonderful things, these storms, Michael thought.  Our air support may well be grounded (or it would be if it still existed)—but so is theirs.  Missiles were almost useless in these winds—and artillery was even more haphazard than normal, he thought with a snort.  No, this fight would be up-close and personal . . . and Michael smiled.  For the Second Chasseurs were not alone.  No, the nobles of MacLeod’s Land had turned out their forces and an assortment of tanks, infantry, and some few ‘Mechs stood with him.

Behind him, the regular TDF armor and infantry manned the fortifications and bunkers that surrounded Dougal; well, most of them.  A few of the furthest formations had been left to secure less vital cities . . . and while Michael might miss their firepower today, he fully understood the need to keep McCarron’s Regiments outside of the densely populated capital—even though most of the population was underground, heavy battles could collapse the subterranean structures.  So it was imperative to keep these Capellan mercenary scum as far away as possible.

Michael smiled.  They think we Taurians aren’t ready for an attack?  Well, we’ve got a few surprises for you, Archie.  Including Gordon’s Armored Cavalry—all three battalions of the Regiment turned out in the Taurian style at four companies apiece, plus a command company.  And if my Bright Flame troopers aren’t as skilled as yours, Nicholas Gordon’s soldiers sure as hell are—and they have a bone to pick with those who willingly follow Mad Max Liao.

Colonel Gordon was out there now, somewhere, swinging deep around the invaders—the hammer to Michael’s anvil.  The console he armed began to beep and the Taurian Brigadier looked down and he smiled.  “Bright Flame Two,” he broadcast, “attached auxiliaries.  Time to earn our princely salaries, gentlemen.”  He triggered the first band of command-detonated mines over which McCarron’s Regiments were advancing—and a thousand individual mines erupted in plumes of smoke and soil . . . and dozens of shattered ‘Mechs.

The mercs began to trot forward, still not at full speed, and Michael triggered the second band—and more mines detonated.  Now, the enemy was running at full tilt and he hit the final trigger, and the last band exploded—but half of these mines were infernos and 'Mechs covered in blazing streams of flowing ignited gel entered range at last..

“BRIGHT FLAME!” he yelled out, swinging the arm of his Centurion forward.  “CHARGE!”

Outnumbered six-to-one, Michael Griswald led his battalion in the teeth of McCarron’s Regiments, supported by fire from a hundred tanks and crew-served guns manning the parapets that surrounded the oh-so-vital tarmac and hangers.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 03, 2013, 12:38:51 AM

I may say many unflattering things about the Taurians. The one thing I will NEVER EVER SAY IS THAT THEY LACK COURAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Dragon Cat on July 03, 2013, 03:49:58 AM

Quote from: Gabriel on July 03, 2013, 12:38:51 AM

I may say many unflattering things about the Taurians. The one thing I will NEVER EVER SAY IS THAT THEY LACK COURAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Indeed and if Archie McCarron survives this fight he'll be wanting words with Romano and a new employer...  One good thing though if Edward makes good his deals with Hanse Davion the Federated Suns is looking at a perfect opportunity to hit the Confederation while its back is turned

It's like the old Periphery book said the Periphery survives because if the Great Houses turn on them individually it will cost them just enough and they will be attacked by the other Houses

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Blacknova on July 03, 2013, 04:00:23 AM

One question - Where are Wolfs Dragoons now...?

They have been quiet since their last mention.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Epoch Rooster on July 03, 2013, 04:50:31 AM

It's long trip from the DC to the TC and all of it through hostile (FedRat) space

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 03, 2013, 10:44:32 AM

Command Lance, McCarron’s Armored Cavalry
Dougal, MacLeod’s Land
Taurian Concordat
November 12, 3025

“WHAT THE HELL!” a panicked voice suddenly shouted over the command circuit—and Archie McCarron spat out his cigar in disbelief.  Forty meters to his right, Olivia Sanchez and her Banshee was engulfed in a sheet of brilliant flame and smoke as an explosive geyser literally erupted from the ground beneath her.  Dear GOD, Archie thought as the ground shook, rattling his ‘Mech even at this distance and a column of fire tore into the sky; the shocked MechWarrior and her 95-ton assault ‘Mech propelled into the air by the force of the blast.

It rose for one hundred and ten meters—both legs sheared off by the tremendous concussion—and then gravity held sway once more.  The blackened and burnt shell of a ruin, shattered by the force of man-made volcano, paused at its apogee—and Olivia triggered her ejection system as it began to fall back towards the ground.

“HOLY SHI-!” the pilot of a Valkyrie screamed in shocked disbelief and abject fear as the mangled Banshee tumbled out of the sky and slammed down atop the light-weight ‘Mech, crushing it to the ground in a pile of twisted scrap.

How much damn explosives did these Taurians have? Archie thought with a curse under his breath.  He had never encountered a target this fortified—and it was only the space-port; his scouts reported that at least eight battalions of tanks (and a dozen regiments of infantry) manned interlocking bunkers defending the capital city itself.  All while the Wild Ones were tangling with that regiment of Taurian mercs—the traitors that had defected from the Confederation a few years back led by Nicholas Gordon—that were trying to get to the handful of his supply DropShips that had managed to make planet-fall.

DAMN ROMANO!  And damn me for listening to her, Archie thought rather more soberly.  This wasn’t worth triple pay—hell, it wasn’t worth five times normal pay!  And the five DropShips—three Unions and two Leopards—he had lost to the grim determination of the Taurian fighter pilots and unending artillery flak just added salt to the wounds.

But he was winning—even if it was almost pyrrhic in nature.  And even if it had had taken almost forty-eight hours to accomplish.  The survivors of the Red Chasseurs had been forced to withdraw, leaving his units to fight dug-in tanks and infantry for the space-port tarmac . . . and the hangers, supply depots, and underground fuel bunkers.  And still, the scum didn’t seem to know when they were beaten—armor and infantry stood their ground and they died in numbers that would have made an Inner Sphere commander blanch . . . but they fought back instead of running and their own fire was tearing into Rob’s Renegades as that regiment cleared the Port of all hostiles.

He was winning . . . and the storm had almost broken.  Already his air support was on the way back down into the atmosphere since the winds had died down—for how long, Archie didn’t know.  But in the meantime, the bomb-laden fighters would be here supporting him . . . and extracting revenge upon the Taurians for their fanatical defense.

“Mac,” the radio crackled with static, “Fallen Angels inbound with heavy ordnance—confirm target?”

Archie snarled.  “Dougal,” he spat.

“Roger that, Mac.  Be advised, we are carrying a mixed load of HE, cluster, and inferno.”

“Good—bust them up, burn them out, and make them pay, Fallen Angels.”

“Mac,” the exhausted voice of Frank Bronson—the XO of the Nightriders—burst from the speakers.

“Go, Frank.”

“Artillery is finally down and deployed, Mac; where you want the guns to support?”

“Hammer that city, Frank—I want these fuckers to learn what it means to fight the Big Mac.”

Archie walked his Grasshopper to the top of a slight ridge and he snarled as the first flight of aerospace fighters passed by far overhead—oblong shapes tumbling down and down and down into city where they exploded in flame and fury.

“Boss,” the radio broadcast with the exhausted voice of Colonel Robert Heptig.  “We’ve secured Port Caine—and captured two Unions intact.”

“Two?  I thought we identified four?” Mac asked.

“Yeah, the others were manned and decided to fight—they aren’t lifting again . . . ever.”

“Good job, Rob,” Archie said with a tired sigh.  “Get the rest of our Droppers down here—we need resupply before we go in there and make those bastards in Dougal surrender.  Have the Wild Ones finished off Gordon yet?”

“Negative, Mac,” Heptig answered.  “Gordon is damn good—he is withdrawing in good order and remains a threat to our landing zone.”

“Tell Linda to get her thumb of her ass!  She out-masses Gordon and has more firepower—CRUSH THAT SON-OF-A-BITCH!”

“She’s got the firepower, but Gordon’s command is faster—he’s fencing with her, Boss, not engaging in a slugging match . . . and he is drawing her further and further afield.  But if she lets him go . . .,” and Archie could picture Heptig shrugging.  “We lose contact with that man and he can reappear almost anywhere.”  Rob chuckled.  “We should have hired that son-of-a-bitch ourselves five years ago.”

“Water under the bridge, Rob.  I don’t want to be fighting Gordon here for weeks or months—tell Linda to get the job done or I’ll find an officer who can—understood?”

“Understood, Mac,” the voice paused.  “First DropShips on final approach—our supplies are almost he- . . .,” the radio screeched and then went silent.  Archie looked up, and then a distant BOOM sounded and he cringed at the massive fireballs rising into the air.  From the Port—that damned Taurian Port.

“ROB!” he yelled into the microphone.  “Any Renegade—REPORT, DAMN IT!”

The radio crackled, and then a shaken voice came on the net.  “The Taurians detonated their fuel storage bunkers—and their munitions depots.  Mac—the Port is closed.  I repeat the Port is closed.”

“Fuck the Port!” screamed Archie.  “Where are my Renegades!”

“Mac,” the voice came back again, “this is Captain Steele, Oscar Company.  Boss—I think I’m the senior Renegade left.  Most of the Regiment was in the Port—they’re . . .,” and then the sounds of retching came over the speakers.  “Dear god, they’re gone.”

This contract is just getting better and better, Archie thought.  “Okay.  Here’s what we are going to do . . .,” he began, trying to salvage something from the disaster that was the Battle of MacLeod’s Land.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 03, 2013, 01:20:46 PM

Flight Operations Control Tower
Samantha City Spaceport, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 12, 3025

“Thomas, we are committing our reserves too early,” Brenda whispered to the Protector one last time as long lines BattleMechs marched past the Tower on their way to board their waiting DropShips.  “We know that there is still heavy fighting continuing on both MacLeod’s Land and Laconis—but this could be just the first push into our space by the Capellans.  We can’t commit this much of our reserves yet—this deployment will leave us with just one battalion in reserve here on Taurus.  One battalion—for the entire Hyades, Thomas.”

Thomas Calderon frowned and he waved away the crowd of aides and staff; his bodyguards formed a perimeter around him and Brenda and Marshal Vickers, leaving them within a bubble of semi-privacy.  “War is risk—you both said that.  I want to send a message to Maximillian Liao that he won’t soon forget,” Thomas spat.  “I don’t just want McCarron and his men defeated—I want them dead, Marshals.”

“We can redeploy two battalions from New Vandenberg and Pinard, plus four from here on Taurus, Protector,” Helena answered.  “That will give us the same numbers that you are sending—while keeping three battalions in central reserve.”

“NO,” growled Thomas.  “What if New Vandenberg and Pinard are their intended targets?  We will send the Guard Corps out and we will shatter them.”

“Even if they plan on hitting New Vandenberg and Pinard, Protector,” Brenda continued, “they cannot have planned for Laconis and MacLeod’s Land having four battalions of defenders—plus the local regulars and Constabulary.  Odds are they won’t have the force left to assault New Vandenberg or Pinard . . . unless there is another wave coming from inside the Confederation.  That, my Protector, is a contingency which we need to stand ready for—by preserving the Guard Corps here to respond if necessary.”

“My mind is made up, Brenda.  Helena,” Thomas said in a calmer voice.  “Yes, it is a risk—yes, it leaves our reserves dangerously weak.  BUT,” he stressed, “if Edward and Henri are right—if Hanse Davion truly wants peace, then our border there will be secure.  And we still have the garrisons on worlds facing Davion.  Liao has invaded—in force.  And Our Defense Forces will meet them—in force.”

“Hanse Davion is not the only leader in the Federated Suns,” Helena cautioned.  “If they attack and our reserve is already committed to the far ends of the Concordat, they will be out of position to react, Thomas.  We don’t need the entire Guards and Velites regiments . . . we have to retain a reserve.”

“And how long would that delay this operation—the Guards are loading NOW, Marshal Vickers?” Thomas retorted with more than a little heat.  “We would have to send a message to New Vandenberg and you, better than any among us, know that such orders take time; it takes time to ready a unit to deploy, even one that is supposed to be ready to go on a moment’s notice.”  He snorted.  “Hell, it took us two days to get the Reserve ready to lift.  How much longer will our citizens have to suffer at the hand’s of that Butcher McCarron before we relieve these worlds if we wait?  A week?  Two?”

“Not that long, Protector,” Helena said with a sigh.

“No, not that long, Marshal Vickers—but it will delay this deployment . . . or offer the Capellans a chance to defeat our reinforcements in detail with them arriving at different times and perhaps different jump points.  Yes?”

“That is a . . . possibility, Protector.”

“No,” Thomas said again as he shook his head.  “My mind is clear on this—we sending in the Guards and Velites . . . and we are redeploying one battalion each from Pinard and New Vandenberg to garrison Brisbane.  I’m not happy that they are hanging out there in the wind—a Cappie Home Guard unit could take that system.”

Brenda and Helena both winced.  “Brisbane has armor and infantry units, plus the Constabulary, Thomas,” Brenda began.  “They aren’t Ishtar, after all.”

Thomas didn’t answer, he just looked at the line  of ‘Mechs loading aboard their transports.  “You have your orders, Marshal Calderon,” he said at last.  “Bring me Archie McCarron’s head.”

“Sir,” she answered, snapping to attention and saluting.  Thomas nodded and then she did an about-face and marched off to join her troops.

“How are your repairs coming, Helena?”

“We have managed to jury-rig a number of components—at the price of gutting the K/F cores of four JumpShips.  Samantha Calderon will be able to deploy—if it is an emergency—by next week.  But I recommend we wait for the first of the new machined parts; if we have another drive failure away from Taurus, we will be extremely vulnerable to attack.”

“I’ll bear that in mind, Marshal—not going to argue any more?” he asked with a crooked smile.

“You are the Protector, Sire—I’ll fight you tooth and nail if I think you are wrong, but this?  This is a judgment call.  I wouldn’t have made the same choice—but you’ve made up your mind.  And I understand your reasoning, so no.  I’m not going to fight you on this call.”

“Is it the right choice?” Thomas softly asked.

“History doesn’t tell us ahead of time whether or not our choices will be right, wrong, or fatal, Protector.  We put our money on the table and we play the hands we are dealt—nothing more, nothing less.”

“No regrets?”

“Regrets I’ve had a few—but then again,” she said with a smile, “too few to mention.”

Thomas snorted.  “I did what I had to do . . . and saw it through without exception.”

“Exactly, Thomas.  Make your choice—and live with it.  For good or ill, stand by it.  Because right now, at this moment, we don’t know.  And I really can’t say that your decision doesn’t appeal to me in assembling a force to utterly destroy those who dare to invade the Concordat.  Good or bad, I’ll back you.  And I’m the one with the WarShip.”

Thomas didn’t answer, he just came to attention and rendered a hand salute, Helena following, as the standard-bearer of the Taurian Guards marched by—the flags of Taurus and the Concordat, along with the regimental standard, held high as he marched over the tarmac and up the ramp to the waiting DropShip.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 05, 2013, 12:42:25 AM

Field HQ, McCarron’s Armored Cavalry
Pinard Protectorates Limited Facility Eight, MacLeod’s Land
Taurian Concordat
November 14, 3025

“Tell me we got something worth our time and losses,” Archie snapped as he walked into his temporary Field Headquarters half a kilometer from the PPL production facility.  For the past two days, the break in the weather systems had allowed the MAC to bombard Dougal, smashing buildings flat and starting fires—but the Taurians had not budged, nor had they asked for any terms of surrender.  And Archie was beginning to believe that they wouldn’t.  He was being pressured by Romano’s liaison—Major Eric Handel—to go ahead and assault the city . . . but Archie had no intention of doing that.  Not after the meat-grinder of Port Caine.

The loss reports were bad—not quite as morbid as he had first expected, but bad all the same.  The Renegades—Richard Steele’s Renegades, now—had more than seven companies worth of ‘Mechs out of the fight . . . and just half of those were fit for salvaging.  That Regiment had suffered the worse, and the loss of three cargo ships filled with munitions and supplies had made the situation even more untenable.  The Wild Ones and Nightriders had suffered less—but even they had nearly one ‘Mech in three fit only for rebuilding or spare parts.

So, no.  Despite what Major Handel was demanding, Archie wasn’t about to charge head-long into the bunkers surrounding Dougal.  In fact, he thought to himself, it is time to think about ending this will I still can—at least he had crippled the TDF’s battalion of Chasseurs; if they had so much as a lance left intact, it would surprise him.  And that bastard Gordon—Gordon had made one mistake when he tried to double back and catch Archie’s DropShips in the Drop-zone . . . but Archie had been prepared for that and a composite battalion from the Wild Ones and Nightriders had been waiting for him.  The lighter ‘Mechs of the Taurian mercenaries had been hit hard . . . and now Nicholas Gordon was somewhere out there licking his own wounds.

The good news was that his techs had been able to salvage about two dozen of the Taurian ‘Mechs to make up for his losses—well, recover, if not fully salvage.  The latter would take time . . . more time than Archie knew he had.  And if the excited reports from his search teams here at PPC/Fac 8 were anything to go by, then he might well have hit the motherlode.

Jethro Harper grinned at his boss—as the Chief Technical Officer of McCarron’s Armored Cavalry it was his job to keep Archie’s machines running.  “I think so—lighter than we like, but it’s a gold mine in there, Mac.”

Archie grunted.  “Talk to me.”

“Well, first off—Pinard was producing three types of ‘Mechs here:  Stingers, Locusts, and Clints according to intelligence.  Intel was wrong,” Jethro chuckled.  “The Taurians stopped production on their bugs and instead retooled to produce those new lights we’ve been hearing rumors about . . . and that you’ve spent the past four days fighting.”

Archie grimaced.  The Taurians had fielded two new models of BattleMechs that he had never seen before—he had only heard a few whispered rumors circulated among mercenaries of some new Taurian scout 'Mechs.  Both were thirty-tonners, light-weight fighters to be certain, but heavier than the traditional Stingers and Locusts by ten tons.  The BDT-1A Bandit was heavily armored—for a light BattleMech—and carried pretty hefty firepower for a 30-ton war machine . . . while still managing to be as fast and mobile as the more traditional Stingers and Wasps.  The PRT-1A Patriot sacrificed the jump jets for a larger engine; although not quite as fast as a Locust, it was able to match an Assassin or Jenner in a foot-race, and it too carried armor all out of proportion to what most ‘Mechs these days carried; along with a pretty decent package of guns. 

“Apparently, they were getting ready to ship out the first export units, Mac—there are ten Patriots and twenty-two Bandits complete just sitting in the warehouse, with a baker’s dozen in various stages of construction.  Along with a dozen finished Clints—they are producing those here, still.”

“The 2-3T?  Or those slower ones we encountered?” asked Archie.

Jethro grinned again.  “All twelve are those 3-3Ts you’ve been fighting—bit slower, but heavier armor and a few more guns.”

“Forty-four fresh ‘Mechs?” Archie mused. 

“Hot off the production lines—and I’ve looted enough spares to keep ‘em running for years,” he looked down at the ground.  “Mac, I’ve been ordered to wreck this place and I know that you didn’t issue that order.  ‘Mech factories are too rare to just destroy for the hell of it, and frankly it goes against the grain.”

Archie winced.  “Let me guess—Handel?”

“Right in one, boss.”

“Ignore his orders, Harp,” Archie said bluntly, “you work for me, not some Romano stooge.  I want everything you can get loaded in the next thirty-six hours aboard the ships—we should have enough empty bays to get them all in.  Then, we are going home.”

“Not waiting for Phase 2?” asked Jethro with a look of apprehension on his face.

“Not a chance in hell, Harp—if MacLeod’s Land is this heavily defended, I don’t want to even think about hitting New Vandenberg.  This fucking campaign is over—that’s why I got us command rights from that Liao bitch.”  Archie paused.  “Thirty-six hours . . . can you do it?”

“It’ll be tight, but not having to divert men to wire this place to blow sky-high will help . . . we should be able to get everything loaded in what transport we have left, boss.”

“Then get to it.”

“What about Handel?”

“Oh, didn’t you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“About that mortar attack this afternoon,” Archie said with a smile.  “Poor Handel was killed.”

“Boss, it’s morning.”

“Yeah, I know.  Son-of-a-bitch doesn’t seem to want to fit inside a mortar tube, but I told the staff to break his hips and shoulder blades; that should make it easy to slide him down the tube of one of the big mortars.  When they get him loaded, we are going to shoot him at Dougal,” Archie chuckled.  “The report will read KIA in mortar attack—it won’t say that it was our attack and he was our shell!”




NOTE:  The designs mentioned above can be found at the following.

Bandit (http://www.solaris7.com/TRO/HTMLBattleMech/BattlemechInfo.asp?ID=13614)
Patriot (http://www.solaris7.com/TRO/HTMLBattleMech/BattlemechInfo.asp?ID=13680)
Clint (http://www.solaris7.com/TRO/HTMLBattleMech/BattlemechInfo.asp?ID=15519)

MA

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: CJvR on July 05, 2013, 02:38:38 AM

Why wouldn't the Taurians have thrown those factory Mechs into action? Archie should check them very thoroughly for traps...

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Blacknova on July 05, 2013, 04:54:31 AM

I am thinking one of the three below, with emphasis on the Taurian options.

A - Lack of Trained Pilots

B - They are booby trapped

C - All of the above

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 05, 2013, 07:46:52 AM

I would think after Big Mac's experience with the Taurians they'd check for booby traps. Probably just couldn't man them.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 08, 2013, 03:22:48 PM

Export Transshipment Warehouse
Pinard Protectorates Limited Facility Eight, MacLeod’s Land
Taurian Concordat
November 16, 3025

“You’re certain that those SOBs haven’t rigged the engines to blow?  Or the magazines?  Or whatever?” Captain Walter Isaac Grey—known to his fellow soldiers of McCarron’s Regiments by the nickname of Wig—asked Jethro Harper as the wounded and dispossessed MechWarrior stood on the lowest rung of the boarding ladder, clad just in shorts, boots, and a cooling vest.

“For God’s sake, Captain,” Jethro spat.  “We’ve spent the last thirty-four hours digging into the machines—there ain’t no explosives aboard them!  The magazines are empty; there are no pressure triggers on the fusion engine to cause a catastrophic detonation . . . my Techs know their jobs, Wig!”

“Sorry, Harp,” the MechWarrior answered glumly, his right forearm still encased in a cast and bandages wrapped around his neck and head.  “These bloody Taurians have got me twitching at shadows—it’s like the whole bloody planetary population has taken a course in building improvised explosive devices and made a pact with the devil himself on how to use them in the most fiendish ways possible.”

“Didn’t mean to snap at you, Sir,” Jethro answered as he ran one hand through his hair.  “Haven’t had a lot of sleep these past few days, Sir,” he stepped up closer.  “Look, we’ve checked every nook and cranny for explosives and even had a bomb-sniffing dog poke his nose inside.  If they have anything rigged, it ain’t explosives or the fusion engine.  The magazines are empty and my folks have even disconnected the laser from the power supply—just so that can’t be overpowered.”

“You’ve bypassed the lock-outs?” Wig asked, and then he shook his head and held up his uninjured hand at the angry expression on Jethro’s face.  “Sorry, dumb question.  I’m just surprised you managed to break forty-four encryptions in the time you had.”

Jethro snorted.  “I’m good—but not that good.  Turns out that these export models have the same access key . . . and Mac persuaded one of the execs to provide us with that information.”

“Yeah, heard about that when I was getting the arm patched up—didn’t realize it was for all of the command codes for these ‘Mechs.”

“SOP for any manufacturer—the end-user selects his own access codes; the machines all get the same primary code when they walk out of the factory.  Of course, that changes every shipment, so it ain’t as easy as it sounds to steal one and walk away, but it sure as hell made my job easier,” Jethro said as he aided the injured warrior up the access ladder and opened the cockpit of the 30-ton Bandit.

Wig whistled.  “They might all be stubborn bastards who don’t fight fair, but damn if they don’t make a good-looking cockpit,” then he paused.  “Where’s the ejection seat?”

The chief technician for McCarron’s Armored Cavalry snorted.  “No ejection seat—no jump seat either,” and he grinned at the shocked expression on the face of the MechWarrior.  “But you can still eject, Wig.  The Taurians decided to make the entire cockpit itself detachable—the ejection rockets are beneath this . . . tub that contains your seat, the control systems, the main computers, AND the canopy.  Yank the ejector and the whole thing is blasted clear—it’s more complicated and costs more than standard ejection seats, but the Taurians swear by it.”

“Yeah,” Wig answered with a far-away look in his eyes.  “I busted the arm when I struck the edge of the canopy ejecting out of my old Quickdraw—this sounds safer . . . if it works.”

“It works,” Jethro said with a drawl.  “God knows enough of the Taurians here on MacLeod’s Land have punched out, after all.”

Wig stepped into the cockpit and the tech began to strap him into place—and then he saw the controls.

“Dials?  Gauges?  Where’s the Multi-Function Display?”

“You’ve got two small displays on the right and left sides,” Jethro explained.  “The Taurians prefer old-school controls—all of the gauges are analog, not digital, if you can believe it!  But they work,” and Jethro sighed.  “And if something goes wrong with the computer, they STILL work, because they aren’t run by the computer—this puppy doesn’t have the hair-trigger response of most ‘Mechs, but it’s good enough . . . and a lot cheaper.  Plus, if something goes wrong with a gauge, a good tech can fix it with a caliper and pair of pliers—modern MFDs you have to yank the whole damn thing and hope you have a spare in storage.”

Wig shook his head.  “Same with the weapons—manual arming for the separate systems?  God damn, the Bulls are paranoid aren’t they?  Still, the leather seats are nice,” he continued as Jethro plugged his cooling vest into the cockpit interface.

“Go ahead, fire her up.”

“Access code?”

“Printed on that piece of duct tape,” Jethro said as he pointed at a combination of letters and numbers stenciled in black ink on the grey strip.

“Hail Mary full of grace,” Wig whispered as he began to flip switches and then gingerly depressed the red key labeled FUSN IGNT.  There was a sudden hum coming from beneath the cockpit, and then the needles on the various gauges twitched, jumped, and settled on idle.  He entered the sixteen digit alpha-numeric combination on an old-fashioned key-pad and, after a moment to think and confirm the code, the main computer brought the gyro on-line.

“All systems looking good,” he reported as Jethro set the heavy neuro-helmet over his shoulders and plugged it into sockets built into the cockpit.  “HUD is . . . active,” Wig broadcast.

Jethro stepped back and he closed the cockpit canopy, giving the MechWarrior a thumbs-up, which Wig returned with his good hand.  “Here goes nothing,” he muttered, and engaged the motive system—the 30-ton BattleMech took first one step, then a second, and (with confidence building by the second) Wig pressed the throttle forward until the machine was moving at its full normal walking speed of 64.8 kilometers per hour.

Wig began to sweat as the heat from the engine bled into the cockpit, and he glanced down at the air circulating vents—nothing was flowing from them.  His cooling jacket was working, but without the high-pressure air circulating from the cooling unit, the cockpit was rapidly becoming a sauna.  He began to curse, and then he saw that there was a seperate control for the chillers.  Blushing, he activated the unit and it began to hum, and with the surety of any veteran MechWarrior, he twisted the dial to allow for maximum air-flow—and then he froze as a spray of fine mist erupted out of all of the vents.

“SHIT!” he yelled, and he brought the Bandit to a halt as he checked his chemical-warfare detection strip built into the cooling vest—all green, he realized, his heart pumping wildly.

“Problem, Wig?” crackled the radio.

“Negative—the chiller vents discharged an oily mist when I turned them on.”

“Acknowledged,” the voiced said and then paused.  “Others are reporting the same—Harp says it might be oil in the ventilation unit . . . any chem-markers registering?”

“Negative.  Proceeding to the DropShips, Central.”

Taking the throttle in hand once more, Wig began to accelerate, and then one of the two display screens flashed.

LEAVING PPL GROUNDS.  ENTER SECONDARY SECURITY CODE.

“Central, it’s asking me for a secondary security code,” Wig broadcast—and he could hear cursing over the radio, including the voice of Harper in the background, “No one has TWO BLOODY DAMN security codes!  No one!”

“Wait one, Wig,” Central answered.  The screen blanked, and then the message repeated.  And then it blanked again, and was replaced with blocky 5, then 4, and then 3.  “Oh shit,” Wig whispered, as it counted down to zero.

GOOD MORNING, DAVE, the screen flashed, and then everything died—except the access panels in front of the primary and secondary computers.  Those sparked and crackled, and then the fusion engine went into emergency shutdown and all of the controls died.  “Fuck,” growled Wig, as he activated the emergency radio.

“My computer just fried itself, Harp!” he barked.  “Gyro is dead, engine is off-line—but, yeah, the gauges still work and it’s hotter than hell in here!”

That was the moment, when he was waiting for a reply, that Wig realized his skin was itching—he looked down and saw his naked arms, chest, and legs were bright red and already swelling.

“SHIT!”

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

“HARP!” Archie bellowed. 

“Look, no one uses two security codes, Mac!” the Tech yelled back.  “We’ve got to pull the computers and . . . damn, we don’t have enough spares.”

“HARP!”

Ignoring his boss, the Chief Tech raised the microphone.  “Get the heavy transporters out there—we are hauling the ‘Mechs the rest of the way by hand, people!”

“How long?” Archie said through clenched teeth.

“Six hours?  Maybe eight?” Harp said with a shrug.  “We are talking about more than fourteen hundred tons of ‘Mechs, boss.”

The sudden cacophony of screaming and cursing from forty-four cockpits interrupted Archie’s answer.

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

“I hate Taurians,” Archie muttered.  “What the hell is urushiol and why didn’t the chem-strips detect it?”

“It’s the active agent in poison ivy, poison oak, and sumac, Mac,” the senior medical officer attached to the Armored Cavalry said.  “Non-fatal and no one uses it in chemical weapons—but those MechWarriors were covered with the oil from head to toe.  None of them are going to be fit to pilot a ‘Mech for weeks.  And I hope to God I have enough anti-histamine ointment for all of them.”

“The oily mist,” Harp muttered.  “They planted liquid urushiol in the cockpit blowers.  Those miserable damned hateful sadistic SOBs.”

“God damn, I hate Taurians,” Archie swore once again.


NOTE:  You can find Urushiol (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urushiol) and The Rash (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urushiol-induced_contact_dermatitis) it induces at those wiki sites.

MA

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 08, 2013, 03:39:27 PM

SIMPLE ,BRILLIANT,EFFECTIVE AND NONLETHAL UNLESS YOU ARE ALLERGIC.  GOD I LOVE THESE GUYS.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: barbarossa rotbart on July 08, 2013, 04:08:46 PM

That was truly brilliant!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 08, 2013, 04:21:47 PM

DropShip Vixen
Boosting for Orbit, MacLeod’s Land
Taurian Concordat
November 17, 3025

Finally, everything was loaded.  And just in time, as the next line of storms were racing in towards Dougal and the factory at almost one hundred kph.  One by one, the remaining DropShips of Archie’s regiments lit off their drives and they began to climb towards orbit and the JumpShips waiting at the pirate point.  Two hours, and we will be out of here once and for all.  He had already ordered one of the JumpShips—a Scout-class vessel—to inform Marcus Baxter that it was past time to leave the Concordat once and for all.

But it seemed as if the thrice-damned Taurians weren’t done with him, he sighed as he buried his face in the palms of his hands.

“What do you mean that those Taurian ‘Mechs can’t use our computers?”

Jethro Harper swallowed.  “Mac,” he began, “they use a different operating system—none of our computers are compatible with them.”

“BULLSHIT!  Every ‘Mech uses the same basic computer system!  Even I know that!  The software differs because of mass and weapons, but the basic system has been the same ever since the bloody Star League!”

“Except the Taurians,” Harper sighed.  “They . . .,” but he was interrupted.

“WE HAVE ‘MECHS WE PURCHASED FROM TAURIAN FACTORIES!” Archie thundered.  “THEY USE THE SAME COMPUTERS!”

“Those are export ‘Mechs, Mac,” Jethro said quietly.  “Apparently, these ‘Mechs were intended for the Taurian Defense Force—and they don’t use the same operating systems as we do.”

“Well, replace them,” Archie growled.  “When we get home, we’ll buy more computers and replace them.”

“Boss, it ain’t that simple.  The fusion engines?  The gyros?  The sensors?  The comm system?  All of it is designed to interface ONLY with the Taurian OS—without a Taurian computer, none of them will work.”

“Okay, you said we got years worth of spares from the factory—plug in those spare computers!”

Jethro shrank down in his seat, and he mumbled something.

“What was that?”

“I said, there weren’t any spare computers in the factory.  We can rebuild those ‘Mechs to use our systems—but it will take months, boss.  And quite a lot of C-Bills.”

Archie began to snarl when the phone in his cabin buzzed.  “YES!” he snarled as he lifted the phone.  And then he said, “On my way,” and slammed it down before he buried his hands in his palms again.

The chief tech licked his lips.  “Did we . . . miss . . . a booby-trap, Mac?”

“No, Harp.  The JumpShips have just reported that a Taurian relief force—two regiments strong at a minimum—has jumped into a pirate point.  And that they are launching fighters and gunboats; they should be able to intercept us before we can dock . . . although, thank the Devil for small favors, their DropShips will arrive after we’ve jumped.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 08, 2013, 04:28:52 PM

Those tricky Taurians!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 08, 2013, 04:36:14 PM

Maybe and Maybe not. The luck they are having the Taurians will shoot the jumpships.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Warclaw on July 08, 2013, 05:12:54 PM

Well, most of them anyway.  after something like this you WANT a few survivors to escape.  Battered, demoralized, and ragged survivors.  After all, you want the point to be made, and spread, that when you attack the Concordat, you bleed, and even if you somehow "win", you lose. 

You want the few survivors spreading horror stories far and wide.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 08, 2013, 05:15:38 PM

DropShip Vixen
En route to Proximity Point, MacLeod’s Land
Taurian Concordat
November 17, 3025

Archie pulled himself onto the bridge of the Overlord-class DropShip.  “Status,” he said quietly.

“Lots of firepower coming our way, Mac,” the DropShip skipper answered just as quietly.  “Two waves of fighters and gunboats . . . but we may have an advantage here,” he said as he activated a holographic projector that showed the icons of incoming aerospace fighters and small craft—dozens of icons.  Archie walked over, joined by a third officer dressed in a flight suit.

“The Taurians have launched fifty-two fighters and sixteen of their gunboats . . . but they are sending in their lighter fighters ahead of the second wave—and there are just twenty of them.”

“Twenty?” Archie mused with a sudden grin.  “About time we caught a break.  What’s their composition?”

“Wave I has twenty Hellcats . . . . Wave II is an even mix of sixteen Thunderbirds, sixteen Havocs, and sixteen Defiance gunboats.”

“Our own birds?” Archie asked.

“We took some losses, but we can still put about sixty up for operations from all three wings,” the skipper responded.

“Options?”

“Mac,” the third person present spoke up.  Major Sarah Carmichael was the senior fighter pilot left among the Big MAC, and Archie knew her well.  “I recommend two waves as well—we outnumber the Taurians and all of our fighters are heavy-weight sluggers.  Sure, those Hellcats are dangerous, but we’ve got Eagles and Transgressors of our own that can match them in acceleration.  We hold back a full Wing—thirty-nine fighters—and send the remaining twenty-one to engage the Taurians.  Sure, it’s even odds in numbers, but our fighters are heavier, better armed, better armored, and we have better pilots.”  She paused.  “We should be able to defeat their lead element in detail AND have the time to get back to the ships as the second strike launches—with full loads of fuel and external ordnance to engage Wave II.  While that happens, we rearm, refuel, and relaunch our first strike to take care of any stragglers.”

“Do it,” Archie ordered, and then he bit his lip.  “Twenty?  That’s an odd number for Taurians . . . and they don’t normally fly Hellcats.”

“Taurians operate in divisions of four birds, Mac,” Sarah answered.  “That’s five divisions—probably one division shy of a reinforced wing.  And the Hellcat is a common fighter out here—sure, not all Taurians fly them, but there are some in service.”

“You’re sure you can take them, Sarah?”

The pilot laughed.  “Mac, those Taurians are brave—but these aren’t Reunification War veterans we are flying against.  The TDF and TCN don’t have good training programs—that is why they have imported those Outworlders to teach basic flight and combat at their Flight Academy on Samantha.  They’re brave, I’ll give them that—but frankly, they don’t know jack shit about flying.”

“Okay,” Archie said slowly and he looked at a shaking hand.  “Go out there and get them, Sarah—and then we are getting the Hell out of this hellhole.”



NOTE:  The Havoc (http://www.solaris7.com/TRO/Aerospace/FighterInfo.asp?ID=684) can be found on Solaris VII.  It is not canon, but is a (relatively) common Heavy-weight ASF in the TDF and TCN in my universe.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 08, 2013, 05:22:28 PM

They are being over confident. Nothing with the Taurians is what it seems. Smoke and Mirrors

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 08, 2013, 05:26:47 PM

There carrying nukes!!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 08, 2013, 05:59:56 PM

Transgressor 311
Local Space, MacLeod’s Land
Taurian Concordat
November 17, 3025

Sarah looked down at her display as the range steadily dropped between her fighters and the oncoming Hellcats of Wave I—and she grinned.  The Taurians were idiots, she thought.  All bunched up in one compact formation . . . it was really amazing that they hadn’t had any in-flight brushes against one another flying that tightly.  Guess they learned their maneuvers from the Lyrans, because it looked like a flying wall of steel, she chuckled to herself.  And then she activated her radio transmitter.

“Boys, you are about to get your asses kicked,” she gloated.  “How about this . . . we make one pass and then you turn around and burn for home?  After all, we don’t want to cost Thomas too many more of his precious few aerospace fighters . . . you know that you don’t stand a chance against our birds.  We’re heavier and have a lot more combat time than you do—so do yourselves a favor and turn around before you get spanked.”

Several of Mac’s pilots laughed as they tightened their straps one last time and ejected empty drop-tanks once filled with fuel.  But rather than inspiring the red rage she had expected, only a confident laugh answered her—and it was not a Taurian accent.

“Now that would not be cricket, now would it, lass?”

“Outworlders,” Sarah hissed.

“Oh—she realizes now it is a trap,” the radio continued to broadcast.  “You see, the Bulls did want to just rush in all at once—but I talked them out of it.  Better that my boys and girls—the Ghostriders of the First Alliance Air Wing—cut a path through you for them.”

“Mac,” Sarah broadcast back to the command DropShip, “launch the reserve NOW.  I’m going to need them.”

“Quite right, little girl—you see, we Outworlders take our responsibilities extremely seriously . . . and when you attack our friends and allies, you also attack us.  Were you expecting, perhaps, that we would stand by and see the boys and girls we trained to fly go off and then drink a cocktail without a care in the world?  If so, you were quite wrong—and unless you break and run for your carriers, in a very short time, you will be very dead.  TALLEYHO!”

And with that, the tight ranks of the Alliance fighter squadron suddenly broke into ten pairs of wingmen—performing the high-G maneuver as flawlessly as only the elite demonstration pilots and combat veterans could.  And then the pairs broke apart and began to scissor towards the oncoming fighter’s led by Sarah—their noses spitting bolts of PPC fire.

“What the hell?” one of her pilots cried out as they realized that the Alliance pilots out-ranged them . . . because Hellcats did not carry PPCs.

“Oh . . . sorry about that old chaps, but did I neglect to mention that we replaced our Large Lasers with twin Peepers—along with a larger fuel tank and more armor?  Shame, I cannot think of why I did not remember to inform you of that.”  There was a pause.  “Oh, yes.  Now I remember—because we play this game to win.”

Ten of Sarah’s fighters staggered as each was the target of four individual PPCs—and while the Transgressors and Eagles had enough armor to stop Large Lasers from penetrating on the nose, no surface on the heavy fighters was thick enough to stop a PPC bolt!  Wings snapped off, fuel tanks and magazines detonated, and several of her fighters spun out of control.

“Break off!” she yelled into the microphone as she slammed her throttle to the firewall and banked away from the combat.  “Rendezvous with the second strike!”

And that slightly amused, crisply accented voice came over the radio one more time.  “Ghostriders—let us plough the road, to use a Taurian phrase that our allies—and students—will appreciate. Shall we start the stampede, gentlemen?”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: lrose on July 08, 2013, 06:04:02 PM

Way to go Outworlders.  I don't think the Ghostriders will be buying their own drinks in the TC ever again.  First rounds on me. 

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 08, 2013, 08:11:55 PM

Havoc 214
Local Space, MacLeod’s Land
Taurian Concordat
November 17, 3025

Air Master (Senior Grade) Gregory Boyington was a hard man—one of the few Taurian pilots to have made Ace since the long-ago days of the Reunification Wars.  But for the fifteen other pilots and scores of techs assigned to the Taurian Guard Air Wing, he was just the Old Man, the leader that had worked them long and hard to hone their skills and have a chance—just a chance—to live through the furball and come home alive afterwards.  He almost never smiled, was always stoic and sober and somber.  Today, however, today, he had a grin on his scarred face as he watched the Outworlders tear apart McCarron’s lead fighters like the wrath of an unholy God.

“Hell’s Heart,” he broadcast as he altered vector slightly.  “Ignore the gnats—we want those eggs.  Division Two take Overlord-Bravo; Three gets Overlord-Charlie; Four provide top cover.  One follows me into the fire at Overlord-Alpha.  Arm munitions,” he ordered as he triggered the electronic arming circuits . . . and he cursed as the single Alamo missile that he carried ignited its booster stage and tore away from the heavy fighter.

“DO NOT ARM!” he bellowed, even as he saw another two of the nuclear-tipped missiles streak away with no target lock.  DAMN this new fire control system, he thought.  “How many did we lose?”

“Four, Pappy,” replied his wingman, “all from Divisions One and Two.”

“Damn all engineers who want to fix what ain’t broken!” he cursed.  “Divisions Three and Four—manually arm Alamos!  Four take Overlord-Bravo; One will provide top cover for your run; Two covers Three—understood?”

Double-clicks on the radio showed that his kids did understand, and Gregory bit his lip in frustration.  “Break in attack run vector on my mark . . .,” he ordered and then paused as the watched the numbers and arrows in his HUD that showed vectors and speeds, “MARK!” he snarled as he banked the heavy fighter towards Overlord-Bravo.

Defensive fire blossomed from the impressive DropShip, but Gregory weaved his Havoc right and left, up and down—and his own missile launchers and lasers spat return fire.

“I’m hit, I’m hit, I’m hit!” shouted a voice over the radio, and Gregory felt his heart harden a bit more as one of his pilots vanished in the glare of an explosion.

“Ghostriders, we need some cover!” he yelled out.

“Roger that, Hell’s Heart—our dance card is full at this moment, I regret to say.  We should have top cover in . . . thirty seconds.”

Thirty seconds . . . it sounded like such a short time, but in combat it was an eternity.  “Understood—Hell’s Heart . . . stay on target.”

“Hostiles on our six, Pappy,” his wingman said softly.

“I see them—shield Division Four,” he ordered—and with that command, Gregory and his wingman cut their thrust and slid between the Taurian fighters carrying the heavy missiles and the incoming bandits.

Large Laser and Autocannon fire streaked out towards the Taurian fighters, but then the incoming Reivers staggered under a hail of missile fire!  Four Defiance gunboats streaked by, their sixty LRM tubes reloading as they swept across Gregory’s attack run.

“Hope that helps, Hell’s Heart,” sang out Air Master (SG) Paul Dixon aboard the lead Defiance.

“It did, now come back and do that again!” Gregory ordered.

“You always do want more, don’t you?”

“Damn straight,” the Taurian wing leader said with a straight face.  “And right now, I want some EGGS PEOPLE!” he barked.

A second Havoc erupted in flame and fury, but six continued to bore in—finally entering the range of the Alamo anti-ship missiles . . . and their nuclear warheads.  “FIRE!” yelled one of the Division Four officers and two heavy missiles streaked away, attempting to lock onto the erratically maneuvering Overlord.

One failed to achieve lock and it went wild before it self-destructed—the second, however, flew straight and true and the contact nuclear warhead detonated as the missile drove home.  None of the crew or soldiers of the DropShip Vixen survived.

“PAPPY!” his wingman yelled as Gregory grinned at the expanding cloud of dust and debris that had once been a DropShip.  Alarms began to blare as an enemy fighter swept out of the cloud and both lasers and missiles slammed home against Gregory’s Havoc—and that was the last sight that the veteran pilot ever saw.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 08, 2013, 09:36:11 PM

Nice stuff from the Outworlders. Big Mac is taking a beatin!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 09, 2013, 12:24:06 AM

You broke into their home and you expect them to be oh go ahead rip off our stuff. Loony Cappies.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Red Pins on July 09, 2013, 01:01:36 AM

...Frankly, I don't see why more Successor States don't do the same thing with the computers.

And Alamos - they should be centre pylon weapons for Taurians.  Mount 'em on everything!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: CJvR on July 09, 2013, 04:13:25 AM

Quote from: Gabriel on July 09, 2013, 12:24:06 AM

You broke into their home and you expect them to be oh go ahead rip off our stuff. Loony Cappies.

Most of the IS isn't nation states so that would be the prevailing attitude since the "stuff" wouldn't belong to the locals.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 09, 2013, 04:30:28 PM

Interlude
Throughout the Inner Sphere and Major Periphery States
November 20, 3025

INTERSTELLAR NEWS NETWORK ALERT
INN SPECIAL REPORT #3025-1782A
AUTHORIZED FOR IMMEDIATE DISTRIBUTION TO ALL OUTLETS

STORY BY HELEN GRAHM—FILED FROM ROLLIS [CAPELLAN CONFEDERATION]

TAURIANS COMMIT WAR CRIMES AND NUCLEAR ATROCITIES!

(INN) NOVEMBER 19, 3025—ROLLIS

INN HAS RECEIVED CONFIRMATION OF THE FIRST USE OF NUCLEAR WEAPONS AGAINST FORCES OF MCCARRON’S ARMORED CAVALRY DEPLOYED ON MACLEOD’S LAND BY ELEMENTS OF THE TAURIAN GUARD CORPS.  EYEWITNESS ACCOUNTS FROM SURVIVORS INDICATE THAT FOLLOWING IS ACCURATE: 

ANSWERING A COMSTAR REQUEST FOR MAC TO GARRISON LOCAL HPG STATIONS ON MACLEOD’S LAND (IN RESPONSE TO TAURIAN ATTACKS ON COMSTAR FACILITIES), ARCHIE MCCARRON AND THE NIGHTRIDERS REGIMENT ARRIVED ON THE TAURIAN WORLD OF MACLEOD’S LAND, WHILE OTHER MAC REGIMENTS WERE DISPATCHED TO SECURE FACILITIES ON LACONIS, BRISBANE, AND LANDSMARK.

MAC WAS HIRED WITH THE BLESSING OF THE CHANCELLOR OF THE CAPELLAN CONFEDERATION UNDER THE UNDERSTANDING THAT THE NEWLY FORMED COMGUARDS AND MILITIA (ANNOUNCED LAST MONTH) WOULD SOON BE DEPLOYED TO RELIEVE THE MERCENARY FORMATIONS PROVIDING LOCAL SECURITY.

LOCAL CITIZENS OF THE CONCORDAT RESPONDED TO THE ARRIVAL OF MCCARRON AND THE NIGHTRIDERS WITH ILLEGAL ATTACKS UPON HIS FORCES, CONDUCTED BY NON-LAWFUL COMBATENTS USING UNCONVENTIONAL WARFARE.  AFTER THE USE OF CHEMICAL WEAPONS AGAINST HIS FORCE, ARCHIBALD MCCARRON ORDERED ALL FIVE OF HIS REGIMENTS TO WITHDRAW FROM TAURIAN SPACE IN AN EFFORT TO CALM LOCAL SENSIBILITIES. 

INN HAS CONFIRMED THAT WHILE LIFTING TO ORBIT, THREE MAC DROPSHIPS WERE DELIBERATELY TARGETED AND STRUCK BY NUCLEAR ORDNANCE . . . AMONG THE KNOWN DEAD ARE ARCHIBALD MCARRON.  AT LEAST 500 ADDITIONAL MECHWARRIORS, PILOTS, TECHNICIANS, ENGINEERINGS, AND DEPENDENTS HAVE BEEN CONFIRMED AS KIA AS WELL.

INN HAS NOT BEEN ABLE TO CONFIRM AT THIS TIME THAT OTHER REGIMENTS OF MAC CAME UNDER SUSTAINED ATTACK WHILE GARRISONING COMSTAR PROPERTY IN THE TAURIAN CONCORDAT.  HOWEVER, REPORTS FROM MENKE INDICATE THAT THE SUPPORT ELEMENTS OF MAC ARE PREPARING DEPENDENTS ON MENKE FOR THE WORST OF HOMECOMINGS.

REPORTS FROM ALL FIVE GREAT HOUSES OF THE INNER SPHERE INDICATE THAT THE OUTRAGE OVER THE UNPROVOKED AND BARBARIC USE OF WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION IS SWELLING, WITH LOCAL PROTESTORS CLAMORING FOR THEIR GOVERNMENTS TO RESPOND TO THESE ACTS OF BARBARITY. 

COMSTAR HAS ISSUED A CALL FOR ALL GREAT AND MINOR HOUSES TO IMMEDIATELY EMBARGO ALL COMMERCIAL AND PASSENGER TRAFFIC TO AND FROM THE TAURIAN CONCORDAT.

TIMELINE OF EVENTS IN THE TAURIAN CRISIS:

OCTOBER 24, 3025—TAURIAN FORCES ATTACK AND SEIZE A COMSTAR HPG FACILITY ON JANSEN’S HOLD.

OCTOBER 25, 3025—COMSTAR DEMANDS RESTITUTION FOR THE ATTACK AND THE MURDER OF ITS PERSONNEL ON JANSEN’S HOLD.

OCTOBER 27, 3025—PROTECTOR THOMAS CALDERON DECLARES WAR ON COMSTAR AND ORDERS THE TDF TO SEIZE ALL COMSTAR FACILITIES WITHIN THE TAURIAN CONCORDAT.

OCTOBER 28, 3025—COMSTAR DECLARES AN INTERDICTION AGAINST THE TAURIAN CONCORDAT; ANNOUNCES FORMATION OF THE COMGUARD AND MILITIA TO DEFEND FACILITIES AGAINST ANY FUTURE SUCH ATTEMPTS TO SEIZE COMSTAR PROPERTY AND ASSAULT COMSTAR PERSONNEL.

OCTOBER 30, 3025—COMSTAR REACHES AN AGREEMENT WITH MAXIMILLIAN LIAO TO TEMPORARILY HIRE MCCARRON’S ARMORED CAVALRY TO GARRISON SEVERAL HPG FACILITIES WITHIN THE TAURIAN CONCORDAT.

NOVEMBER 10, 3025—MAC LANDS ON MACLEOD’S LAND AND IMMEDIATELY COMES UNDER ATTACK BY TAURIAN IRREGULARS. 

NOVEMBER 16, 3025—TAURIAN FORCES, SUSPECTED OF ACTING ON DIRECT ORDERS FROM TAURUS, USE CHEMICAL WARFARE AGENTS AGAINST NIGHTRIDERS REGIMENT ON MACLEOD’S LAND.

NOVEMBER 17, 3025—NIGHTRIDERS ATTEMPT TO WITHDRAW TO DEFUSE SITUATION; TAURIAN AEROSPACE ASSETS ATTACK THE DEFENSELESS DROPSHIPS AS THEY CLEAR THE ATMOSPHERE WITH NUCLEAR WEAPONS, KILLING AT LEAST 500 INDIVIDUALS INCLUDING ARCHIBALD MCCARRON.

NOVEMBER 20, 3025—COMSTAR CALLS FOR AN IMMEDIATE EMBARGO OF ALL COMMERICAL AND PASSENGER TRAFFIC TO AND FROM THE TAURIAN CONCORDAT.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 09, 2013, 04:41:00 PM

Fanciful fiction. Spin spin spin!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 09, 2013, 06:12:56 PM

Celestial Palace
Forbidden City, Sian
Capellan Confederation
November 20, 3025

Romano Liao swallowed heavily as the Court of Sian grew silent at her entry.  She had been summoned here—escorted by armed troopers of the Red Lancers, the fanatical guardians of the Chancellor himself.  Colonel Judith Abermarle, the commanding officer of the Lancers, led the procession to the balk lines upon the polished floor and then she knelt, her head bowed low . . . and Romano was herself pushed down upon the flagstones by the guards beside her instead of being allowed to continue forward.

“Child,” Maximillian Liao beamed down at his younger daughter, and then his warm smile faded away into a stern look that felt as cold as arctic ice.  “I must say that I admire your audacity—your . . . courage,” his voice turned into a snarl at that word and Romano shivered, “in attempting to seize the factories of MacLeod’s Land and Pinard and New Vandenberg for the Confederation.”

“Yes,” Max Liao spoke as he lowered his head, “it was an audacious plan that called for taking and holding at least four Taurian worlds with a handful of regiments . . .,” he paused and his eyes narrowed.  “Tell me, daughter . . . where are my regiments now?”

“Re-returning to Menke, Father,” Romano whispered and Max nodded; he leaned back in his throne and he stroked his long beard with one hand—the other clenched the arm of his throne so hard that his knuckles had turned white.

“All of them, daughter?” Max asked in a voice just as quiet . . . but one that echoed throughout the Court.

“I-I was not expe-. . .,” she began, but Max rose from his throne.

“YOU DID NOT THINK!” he spat, and Romano cringed.  “The offensive arm of the Capellan Confederation Armed Forces—shattered!  Marcus Baxter tells me that it will take years to rebuild the Armored Cavalry to their previous strength—right now, AT THIS MOMENT, DAUGHTER!  Right now, of the five Regiments that you threw away, there are barely enough troopers and ‘Mechs returning to Menke to form two.”

Max shook his head as he looked down at the shaking young woman and then he took a deep breath.  “My plans—to place the blame on Hanse Davion for the destruction of their Vickers Core and that ship in orbit; to bring Thomas Calderon into an alliance that would strengthen the Confederation . . . those plans are now useless child, thanks to your wanton appetite for bloodshed and utter lack of any strategic sense!”

The Chancellor sat back down on his throne, composing himself once more.  “Thankfully, there are those who value preserving face for the Liao—those who are willing to help us by telling the Inner Sphere that it was not your stupidity which threw away my Regiments, but instead Taurian atrocities.”

“GUARDS!” he snapped.  “Get this criminal out of my sight—she is to remain in exile at her estates on Quemoy until I send for her.  Contemplate your sins, my daughter—in silence.  And count yourself fortunate that it is not, at this time, Our Will that you be joined with Archibald McCarron in death.”

The guards seized Romano’s arms dragged her away—her last sight before the doors closed behind her was her Father turning to Candace.

“And now, Favored Child, we will address how to correct your idiot sister’s upheaval of my policies.”

The doors finished closing before Romano could do more than sputter in shock as the Lancers continued to drag her through the Palace and then to the space-port.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: muttley on July 09, 2013, 07:28:51 PM

Wonder how many Thugee are there...?

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 09, 2013, 08:52:46 PM

ComStar helpin to clean up the mess.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 09, 2013, 11:46:58 PM

I would love to see Hanse say that is all lie and form an Alliance with the Taurians. It would drive the Cappies and Comstar crazy.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 09, 2013, 11:59:29 PM

Taurian Defense Force Military Reservation (I Corps HQ)
Port Sheridan, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 20, 3025

“I should place you under arrest and ship you home to Thomas,” Corey Calderon said with a sigh.  “You realize you are damn lucky I didn’t just blow your ships out of space when you showed up with a reinforced regiment—without any warning!”

Edward nodded, and Corey scowled at the much younger man.  “Edward, son,” he said with a shake of his head, “Thomas is going to go ballistic over this whole damned mess.  First off, you bring four battalions of FedRats . . .,” and as Edward frowned, Corey just held up a hand, “mercenaries—some of whom are mercenaries in name only, by the way—who just happened to work for Hanse freaking Davion yesterday; you bring them here and land them on New Vallis.  Then, because you obviously have no concern for the status of my blood pressure or the possibility of me suffering a stroke, deign to inform me that Michael Hasek-Davion is due to arrive within the next few hours at the head of the entire Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers RCT—with the intention of conquering this world!”

“Correct, Uncle Corey—except I am rather worried about your blood pressure . . . have you been taking your meds?” Edward interjected with a grin—and Brigadier Tanis Verbet snorted as Corey glared at Edward.

“But oh, oh, you weren’t finished, were you?” Corey continued after transferring his glare to the CO of the First Battalion, Hyades Light Infantry and then to her immediate superior—Colonel Fiona Jamesen—before looking Edward in the eyes once more.  “No, you claim that Hanse freaking Davion has declared Michael Hasek-Davion—his brother-in-law, if I may remind you!—and the entire Sixth Fusiliers as pirates and renegades, who are just conveniently no longer members of the bloody damned AFFS.  Hours before they launch an assault on a Taurian world!  Sounds to me like something the Fox would pull.”

“For what end, Marshal Calderon?” Fiona asked.  “If they return to Federated Suns space and are welcomed home, then we know it was an attempt to trick us—and that would inspire Thomas to devise a means to strike at the Davions just to show he won’t be rolled over.  No, as much as I do not care for the House of Davion and their ambitions,” the older woman mused quietly, “we must look at what is happening here.  Edward has brought four battalions—plus his own escort—to the sound of the guns . . . as any good Taurian should do,” she smiled at the Heir to the Bull as she said this, and Edward nodded his head to her.  She continued.  “He was expecting New Vallis to be defended by just two TDF battalions—Tanis and her First Hyades and Mikhail’s Third Battalion, Concordat Jaegers.  He didn’t know that Thomas and Brenda redeployed the entire TDF to add the Second Hyades, my Regimental HQ, and the Calderon Red Hand.”

Brigadier Rafael Montoya nodded.  “Ambassador Calderon,” he said, stressing the first word heavily, “had already departed before it was decided to reinforce the core worlds of the Concordat.  And I too applaud the action of a Calderon who decides that defending a world of the Concordat comes first and foremost over all other priorities—even to the point of hiring this many mercenaries out of his own pockets.”

Corey—reluctantly—conceded the point with a shrug.  But then the old man sat down in his chair and he sighed again.  “Eddie, if you are wrong—if Hanse Davion welcomes these assholes back into his service—Thomas will have no choice but to officially disown you and send you into Exile.”

“Ardan Sortek,” Edward said, and Corey winced at the name of the commander of the Foxhounds mercenary battalion, “assures me that Prince Davion is quite serious—and he has provided us with a full and complete listing, as of four weeks ago, of the entire Table of Organization and Equipment of the Sixth Fusiliers . . . right down to the exact make and model of each and every vehicle and ‘Mech that they field.”

Rafael pursed his lips—and Tanis grinned broadly.  Edward waited until each of the senior TDF officers present had nodded and then he continued.  “Between your commands, you have basically six Inner Sphere battalions worth of ‘Mechs—plus seven regiments of armor and nearly twenty of infantry.  Heck, Uncle Corey, you have an entire regiment of self-propelled Thumpers, along with a battalion each of Snipers and Long Toms!”  Edward paused. “Between the Foxhounds and Colonel Wylie and his Coyotes, I’ve got just over four battalions of my own—that’s a total of ten versus the three that the Sixth can field.”

“And our conventional arms outnumber his,” Corey finished, “although not by quite the same margins.  You understand that Thomas is liable to hang me from the nearest lamp-post as well, Edward?”

“Edmund Burke said it best, Uncle Corey—‘All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.’  I refuse to do nothing.  Father may well not approve of my actions—but I take those actions for the Concordat.  The Capellans have already attacked, according to the reports I’ve heard—this is our one chance to stop a second war on another front.  A simultaneous war, Sir; I would suggest that the Marshal ask Brigadier Montoya how that worked out for our people the last time around.”

“I don’t need some wet-behind-the-ears jackass to tell me my history, boy!” Corey snapped.  But then his shoulders dropped and he sighed a third time.  “Alright, son—I’ll back your play.  God knows that every man we can put on the field will lower the numbers of our dead in the end, after all.  BUT,” Corey said firmly, “I’m sending word to Thomas immediately aboard one of the courier ships.  And if the Protector of the Taurian Concordat tells me to open fire on your mercenaries, Edward,” Corey paused and his eyes clouded, but he stared Edward straight in the eyes, “if he orders me to open fire on you—I will do so.  Still want to take that chance?”

“Yes, Sir—but I would like to send a message to Father on that courier ship as well,” Edward said.

Corey nodded, and then he stood up and walked around the desk to take Edward’s hand in his own.  “Whatever Thomas decides, son—it’s been an honor,” and then Corey snorted in a fit of laughter.  “You realize, with all the strings that Thomas has pulled to keep you—his Heir Apparent—out of combat up ‘til now, he’s likely to insist I sit on your ass here in my HQ?  That even if he gives the go-ahead, YOU aren’t likely to be taking the field . . . Subaltern.”

Edward’s mouth opened, and then he closed it.  “I will follow my orders, Marshal Calderon,” he said quietly as he came to attention.

“Somehow, Eddie, I doubt that,” Corey answered.  “Come on, boy—the radio transmitter is a'waiting and Michael Hasek-Davion and his Sassy Syrtis Fools are coming to play in our sand box real soon.  Time for you to call home.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 10, 2013, 01:13:15 AM

OH this is great

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: muttley on July 10, 2013, 08:33:33 AM

Very much in the tradition of the Pitcairn Legion

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 10, 2013, 10:00:06 PM

Eagerly awaiting more

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 11, 2013, 12:17:21 AM

Cháteau des Calderon
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 20, 3025

Thomas stalked into his private office in the expansive home—one could term it as a mansion—that had served as the private residence of the Protector for more than seven centuries.  And he slammed the door behind him.

It wasn’t dignified, his slamming of the door—and Thomas knew that.  But it wasn’t his nature to yell at the servants . . . nor at his family for sins not of their own commission.  Unfortunately, merely slamming the door did little to alleviate the anger—and fear—inside Thomas’ heart.  Anger at the thought of the perfidious Davions landing on one of his worlds—a world he had sworn to protect.  Anger at the very idea that still more Davions would be defending that world against their expatriate kin.  And an absolutely furious red rage that it was his own eldest son that had invited those Davion defenders to land on New Vallis.

And fear.  Fear that Edward—his first-born, the man on whom he relied above all others to tell him when he had gone, or was going, too far—would find himself in harm’s way. 

“Damn it to hell, Eddie,” Thomas whispered as he shook his head.  “You’ve put me between the rock and the hard spot now, son.”

“Why are you mad at Eddie, Uncle Thomas?” a frightened voice asked from the far side of the sofa—and Thomas stared at two pairs of green eyes peeking over the back.

“Amelia?  Isabella?  What on earth are you two doing here in my private office?”

The twins—the eldest children of Raoul Calderon, Thomas’ younger brother—stood up and looked down at the floor.  “We are playing hide-and-seek, Uncle Thomas,” Isabella answered quietly.

“No one will look for us in here!” added Amelia.

“Would that be because the two of you are not supposed to be in here?” Thomas asked, and then he sighed.  He sat down on another sofa and he patted the cushions.  “Come here,” he growled, and the twins sighed in unison and crossed the office, sitting down one on his left and one on his right.

“Long ago,” Thomas began, in a quieter and calmer voice, “when your Grand-mama was Protector, I hid in here so that your Dada couldn’t find me,” and he laughed softly.

“Did he find you?  Did you win?” asked Isabella.

“No, Raoul didn’t find me—neither did Teresa or my cousin Brenda or any of the other children, children.  But grand-mama Zarantha found me—and I wasn’t allowed in here either.”

“Did she spank you?” Amelia asked in a low whisper, clearly looking ahead at the possible fate which lay in store for her and her sister.

“No, girls—Mama did not,” and Thomas’ voice grew hushed as his natural eye focused on something far away . . . something many years past.  “She sat me down and she explained to me that this room—this very room!—was her refuge from the pain of the decisions she had to make day-in and day-out as Protector.  Her sanctum, where she could sit and leave behind the worry, the doubts, the fear, . . .,” his voice trailed off.   After a moment, he resumed, in a hushed tone. “I never really knew what she meant until she was gone and this room became mine.”

Thomas looked at the two girls—whose eleventh birthday had just come and gone a month ago—and he smiled.  “It’s okay, girls—you can hide here if you want too . . . I won’t tell a soul.”

Isabella beamed a smile at Thomas and she hugged him tight—but Amelia just frowned.  “Uncle . . . why are you mad at Eddie?”

Thomas grimaced and he put his arm around Amelia and hugged her before he answered.  “Eddie made a decision that I don’t like—a decision that may mean I have to send him away,” and his voice broke.  “That doesn’t mean I don’t love him—it just means that sometimes, I have a duty to do something I don’t like . . . or want . . . to . . . do,” his voice slowed down as he realized just what he had said.

Isabella nodded.  “Miss Carlyle told us at school that we have a . . . re-spon-si-bil-it-y,” she enunciated the word carefully, “to do the right thing even if we don’t want to do it.”

“Yeah,” added Amelia.  “She told us about Great-great-great Aunt Marantha; said it was the hardest thing she ever had to do to give up and let the Star League win—that she didn’t want to give up, but she had to so that her children and everyone’s children would be safe.  And because she did give up, then we are here now.”

“She did, Uncle,” piped up Isabella, not wanting her sister to impress Thomas more than she did.  “She told us that our an-ces-tors were willing to fight and die—but that even if they did, the war was lost.  Aunty Marantha did what she did because she had to—to save us, all of us.  But she didn’t like it so much, she took a pill and went to Heaven.”

Thomas didn’t say a word, but he hugged the two girls—until a knock came on his door.

“Thomas?” a tenor voice asked—the voice of the father of the twins.  “Have you seen Isabella and Amelia by any chance?”

“No, Raoul,” Thomas answered, holding one finger over his lips as the girls giggled in delight.  “Did you misplace them?  Should I call security?”

“No need for that, brother,” he answered with a chuckle through the still closed door.  “Just playing hide-and-seek with them—like when you and I were children.  Sorry to bother you,” he finished.

“Raoul,” Thomas said quickly.

“Yes?”

“It’s never a bother—come back in say . . . thirty minutes?” he asked, looking at the girls and they nodded.  “I need . . . I need to talk.”

There was silence for a moment, and then a dry voice slowly answered.  “Whenever you need me, Tom—I’ll be here.”

Thomas waited until his brother’s footsteps had faded away and then he kissed first Isabella and then Amelia on the forehead.  “There—a thirty minute head-start,” he said.  “And I do believe that Katherine is busy in the kitchen annoying the cooks as they make pastries,” and both the twins squealed.  “I think they will let you have a glass of cold milk as well.”

“Thank you, Uncle Thomas,” the two said in perfect harmony as they stood and hugged the Protector again and made their way to the door.

But then Amelia turned.  “Uncle,” she asked, “why are you crying?”

“Because you two made me remember something I had forgotten, girls.  Now run on—your father is gone to find you . . . so take the back stairs,” Thomas answered with a smile on his face.

The two threw open the door, looked around the corner, and then raced off as one of the guards smiled and closed the door behind them . . . leaving Thomas alone once more.

He stood.  He walked across the carpeted floor to his desk and he picked up the phone and pressed one number.  It rang twice, and then a voice answered.

“Yes, Sire?”

“Send the courier to New Vallis, Henri,” Thomas ordered.  “Tell Corey—and Edward—that I approve in full.  And if one of my stubborn officers or nobles wants to make something of their choice, they will have to deal with ME.”

“At once, Sire.”

“And Henri?”

“Yes?”

“Inform Marshal Vickers that I approve her suggestion for deployment—she may depart as soon as she is ready.  Give her the word, Henri . . . the word GO.”

“Yes, Sire—may I ask what changed your mind?”

“No,” Thomas answered as he hung up the phone and sat back down in an easy chair in front of his fireplace, watching the flames in silence as he waited for his younger brother to return.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Shadow_Wraith on July 11, 2013, 12:43:52 AM

 :'(  That was a very thoughtful update!  Looking forward to the the next one!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 12, 2013, 12:01:39 AM

Poor renegade davions your gooses are NUKED

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 15, 2013, 01:37:05 PM

Transient Mercenary Reservation
Port Sheridan, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 21, 3025

“I don’t like this, Marshal,” muttered Major Ann Adelmana as she took a seat next to Ardan Sortek and picked at the plate lunch that her hosts had delivered to the mercenaries of the Foxhounds—otherwise known as the 2nd Battalion of the Davion Heavy Guards RCT.  “I don’t like this one bit.”

“The slaw is good, Major,” Ardan snorted with amusement, “and the sauce that they drenched this meat in is delightful,” and then his voice turned serious.  “Although, I do think it would behoove us to remember that I am no longer a Marshal in the AFFS—just the Colonel commanding this mercenary venture . . . at least while we are here on the surface of a Taurian world surrounded by TDF formations.”

Ann winced and she nodded.  “Sorry, Colonel,” she stressed the second word heavily.  “I wasn’t talking about the food, however,” she said as she lifted a forkful of the shredded meat and took a cautious bite.  Her expression changed and she nodded as her eyes grew wide.  “That is good,” she expressed in surprise after she swallowed.  “Lamb?”

“Some local critter, I’m given to understand,” Ardan answered.  “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to—that is my philosophy in life, Major.”  Ardan sat back and he sighed.  “I know the boys and girls aren’t used to this, Ann—being grounded here in this segregated area, walled off from the rest of the city and the other defenders.  And yes, the Taurians have manned those turrets on the walls and the bunkers—and they are watching us, not the approaches.”

“If they decide to turn hostile,” she whispered, “we’ll take heavy damage even before we can begin to mount a response.”

“They won’t—I have Edward’s word on the matter and Thomas gave him carte blanche . . . Edward sent me a copy of the message.”

“They are all so bloody paranoid,” she whispered after chewing another mouthful of the dish Taurians had called Sheridan’s BBQ (whatever that stood for) Mash, followed by a quick sip of the ice cold tea (with floating slices of oranges instead of lemons!) to kill the heat from the spices.

“Can you blame them?  Trying mixing it with the slaw—it cools it off a bit.”

Ann frowned.  “What the devil is slaw anyway?” she asked as she mixed some with the meat and beans.

“The servers said it was a salad of shredded cabbage, carrots, apples, plums, remoulade, vinegar, and soured cream—it isn’t bad and serves as a good counter-point to the spiciness of the meat.”  Ardan chuckled.  “This is the New Vallis variant—apparently, there are as many slaw configurations in the Concordat as there are planets.  It seems to be a common side dish.”

“Different,” Ann mumbled as she chewed it slowly, “and you’re right, Sir.  It does kill the heat.”  She paused and then whispered.  “Michael’s late—and many of those TDF officers I met yesterday are half-convinced this whole thing is a ploy to get Thomas and Edward feeling obligated to Hanse.”

“I know,” Ardan sighed.  “We know that Iona Hasek and her Eighth Fusiliers were scheduled to begin landings five hours ago—but Michael and the Sixth hasn’t shown up yet.  I’m hoping,” and Ardan winced as he said it, “that it was either a delay in transit or Michael was trying to be clever.”

Ann frowned.

“Knowing Michael Hasek-Davion—who is the greatest strategist since Alexander Davion, according to Michael Hasek-Davion—I don’t doubt that he was planning on having the Eighth hit planet to get the attention of the defenders, and then pop out at one of the pirate points and come burning in as the cavalry to the rescue.  If everything went perfectly, he would be hitting the TDF from two sides with forces that should have grossly outmatched the defenders.”

“That looks good on paper, Colonel,” Ann said shaking her head, “but on the field?  Against an opponent that doesn’t always respond in the exact manner you are depending on?  That’s a recipe for defeat in detail—unless you are the second coming of Alexander with the tactical acumen of a Napoleon to boot.”

“Michael thinks that he is,” Ardan answered.  “Like I said, I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“And what if it isn’t a delay or some grand scheme?  What then?  What if Michael has received word of Hanse’s proclamation from a courier that we don’t know about?”

“Then if he is smart he will stay the hell away from New Vallis,” Ardan said after a moment.  “He will have three choices—first, he can go back to New Syrtis and dare Prince Davion to try and remove him.  It would be civil war in that case because Michael has a lot of support in the Capellan March.  Second, he can go renegade and turn pirate or mercenary—although that is a long shot.  Third . . .,” and Ardan’s voice tapered off.

“Third?”

Ardan sighed.  “Major, we have . . . suggestions . . . that Michael is in bed with Max Liao.  Not hard proof—just indications.  He might well jump across the border with the Sixth and take refuge in the Confederation—possibly as an overture to trying to wrest the March away from the Federated Suns and form a splinter state of his own . . . which would, in effect, be nothing more than an appendage of the CapCom.”

“If he turns traitor, the March won’t follow him,” Ann protested.

“Not all of it, no,” agreed Ardan.  “But some worlds will—and so will some AFFS units.  Not just the Fusiliers, Ann.”

She began to open her mouth but at that moment a Taurian officer approached the table and handed Ardan a folded note.  Ardan took it, read it, and then he nodded. 

“Tell him I will be there in five minutes,” he said as he patted his lips with his napkin and stood.  Ann stood as well.  “FOXHOUNDS!” Ardan bellowed.  “The Sixth have just arrived at the L4 Trojan jump-point.  Ann,” he turned to the Major, “get them saddled up—I have to meet with Edward and his command people.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 15, 2013, 02:03:45 PM

Hmmmmmmm The Foxhounds get to prove their measure

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 15, 2013, 04:08:48 PM

Can't wait for the battle to be joined

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 15, 2013, 04:26:35 PM

FSDS Damien Hasek
L4 Jump Point, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 21, 3025

Michael Hasek-Davion frowned as he adjusted the audio feed coming into the cockpit of his Marauder from the far more sensitive and powerful receivers of the Fortress-class DropShip that carried his Command Headquarters.  Comm-links with the other forty-seven DropShips travelling in formation towards the planet was crystal clear—along with the links established with the eleven JumpShips that were even now deploying their sails to recharge their Drive Cores.

“Colonel Russert,” he growled at his aide over the radio, “why haven’t we managed to establish communications with the Eighth yet?”

“There is heavy jamming coming from the planet, Your Grace—we are picking up a few scattered fragments of transmissions on the frequencies assigned to Marshal Hasek’s RCT, but not to a degree that we can establish communication at this time.”

Michael nodded.  “It does appear that they were quick off their mark to jam Iona after our arrival.”

There was a pause on the other end of the radio for a moment.  “Perhaps we should delay the drop, Your Grace—at least until we have established communications via laser or maser transmitter after we have arrived in orbit.”

Now Michael paused, and then he sighed.  “No.  If Iona is pushing them hard enough that they are expending the resources to create this much jamming—then we need to relieve the Eighth as soon as possible,” and the Minister of the Capellan March and Duke of New Syrtis paused again as a thought occurred to him.  “The transmissions—and jamming—are coming from her designated landing zone, correct?”

“From a large area that includes the landing zone, Your Grace.”

“Good.  Good.  We will proceed with the plan—inform all commands.”

“At once, Your Grace,” Russert answered and then the transmission died.

Michael tightened the straps that held him securely in his cockpit and he began to double-check the monitors and settings of various instruments of his ‘Mech.  Twenty-five minutes, he thought as he glanced at the digital clock.  Twenty-five minutes and we will show the entire Federated Suns that the myth of the dogged Taurian resistance is just that—a myth.  His lips twitched into a slight smile as he pictured his triumphant return to New Syrtis—the Conqueror of the Taurians.  And there wasn’t one damn thing that the bastard sitting on the throne of New Avalon could do to stop him.




NOTE:  Transporting an entire RCT isn’t an easy task.  I have no idea of the configuration of ships that the Sixth used in canon, but the following is what I’ve presumed for this story:

RCT DropShips (48):  1 Fortress, 3 Overlord, 2 Union, 1 Excalibur, 9 Triumph, 12 Condor, 3 Seeker, 3 Intruder, 2 Union CV, 3 Leopard CV, 1 Achilles, 3 Avenger, 5 Mule

Transport JumpShips (11):  1 Monolith, 3 Star Lord, 7 Invader

The Sixth has a reinforced BattleMech Regiment (3 battalions each with a command lance; 1 regimental command company), three Armor Regiments, six Infantry Regiments, two ASF wings, and an artillery battalion.  Plus, I gave Michael an RCT HQ consisting of another ‘Mech company, an armor company, and an infantry company (on the Fortress) and a Scout Task Force (with 1 company of LAMs, 1 battalion of strike VTOLs, and 1 battalion of infantry with transport VTOLs embarked aboard the Excalibur class DropShip).

Hope that looks somewhat correct.

MA

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 15, 2013, 04:44:05 PM

More More

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 15, 2013, 07:59:39 PM

TDF Field Headquarters
Tabernas Wastelands, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 21, 3025

“This wasn’t what we talked about, Edward,” Ardan whispered quietly to the young man—the newly appointed deputy commander of the defense of New Vallis.  “I didn’t give you the Eighth’s encryption codes and transmission frequencies so that you could sucker the Sixth into walking straight into a trap.  You are baiting Michael into landing . . . I thought that we were going to give his soldiers a chance to make their choice.”

“We are,” Edward answered just as softly so that the members of Marshal Calderon’s staff could not overhear.  “Just as soon as he is in deep enough that Michael can’t decide to run off and actually become a pirate with an entire FedSuns RCT behind him.”  And Edward grinned slightly.  “And just as soon as our reinforcements arrive from Taurus to seize those ships at the jump-point.”

“Reinforcements?  Seize those ships?” Ardan sputtered—quite a bit louder than he had intended.

“Michael Hasek-Davion made the deliberate decision to invade the Taurian Concordat, Mister Sortek,” Edward said in a flat voice.  “Protector Thomas made the decision to order Samantha Calderon to jump in once we confirmed his exact jump-point—the courier will be departing in just a very few minutes from the Nadir point to bring that information to Gateway.  Samantha Calderon will be carrying more than twelve hundred troopers of the Special Asteroid Support Force along with prize crews who will board and seize Michael’s transports.”

“Those JumpShips do not belong to Michael—they are the property of the AFFS!”

“Hanse Davion has already written off those ships, Ardan,” Edward continued.  “They have been stolen by these . . . pirates and renegades, as he himself confirmed when he released the news of the mutiny by the Sixth Fusiliers.  We will seize them and we will integrate those ships into the Taurian Concordat Navy.”  Edward paused and he chose his next words carefully.  “However, with the plenipotentiary authority granted unto me by the Protector to deal with this crisis—and negotiate with Hanse Davion once our business is finished here—I will allow your ‘mercenaries’ to take the crews of those ships with you when you return home.  They may be have been forced by Michael and his troops to provide transport, after all.”

“And the members of the Sixth who surrender?  If any of them do surrender; what of them?”

“They will tried as pirates and renegades—all of those found guilty will be sentenced to a term of imprisonment on a Taurian penal colony . . . except their leaders, who will be hung by the neck until their deaths.”

Ardan shook his head.  “Die fast or die slow?  That’s their choice?”

“Their lives were forfeit the moment that Hanse Davion declared the Sixth to be in a state of mutiny, Ardan—you know that,” Edward whispered, and then he looked down and swallowed before he lifted his head again and stared the older man directly in his eyes.  “Father wanted them all hung—getting this much of a reprieve is all that I can do.  I will promise you this much . . . their term will be five years and they will not be sent to a hellworld.  If they serve out their sentences with honor, they will be repatriated to the Federated Suns.  This decision applies only to those troops who lay down arms after receiving the message from Prince Davion; those who fight on Taurian soil are dead men, whether they die hanging from a noose or fighting against the Defense Force, they will die.”

Ardan Sortek—the best friend and martial companion of the First Prince of the Federated Suns—stared at Edward for several silent minutes before he finally nodded.  “You are going to be a dangerous man, Edward, when you become Protector.  But I think Hanse will understand you—and be able to work with you to keep the peace out here.”

“I hope so, Ardan,” Edward answered as he slowly exhaled.  “I pray it so—let this be the final battle between the Bull and the Sword,” and then he chuckled grimly.  “The Blood of Christ washes away sins, or so I’ve been taught—perhaps this shedding of blood will allow us both to bury the past.”

“Amen,” Ardan answered—but deep in his heart, he knew that the problems between the two nations and their peoples would never be solved this . . . easily.

“Lord Calderon,” Marshal Corey Calderon said with a bow of his head as he interrupted the two men.  “The DropShips are entering low orbit—there are rather more of them than I imagined,” his voice held a bit of surprise.  “And the Nadir recharge station reports that the courier is away.”

“Very well, Marshal—cease the jamming and send the first message.  In the clear and on a general broadcast,” Edward ordered.

“You heard the man,” Corey spat to his staff as he gingerly sat down in front of a monitor screen and put on a headset.  “Do it.  What’s the command phrase for if they don’t decide to lay down arms?”

“Let not one damn cur pass by,” a staff Brigadier answered with a wry smile.

Corey snorted.  “How many of them can we make die!  Damn straight, son,” he smiled at Edward.  “Come Hell or Davions or the Star League Reborn, we’ll give them a fight that they won’t soon forget.”

Edward just patted the old man on the shoulder and then one of the staff turned around.  “We are ready to cut jamming and transmit, Lord Calderon.”

“Make it happen,” Edward ordered—and only Ardan heard him whisper thereafter, “and may God have mercy on my soul.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 15, 2013, 09:39:32 PM

TCS Samantha Calderon
The Gateway, Hyades Cluster
Taurian Concordat
November 21, 3025

“Sound action stations,” ordered Fleet Marshal Helena Vickers—and the corner of her lips twitched at the thought of the second promotion she had received in the past seven weeks.  Thomas had decided that since the TCN was the senior service of the Taurian Armed Forces, she needed to have a rank higher than that of a Corps Marshal.  In one sweep of his pen, he had made her the second-ranking officer of the Taurian Concordat—just one minute after he promoted Brenda Calderon to Marshal of the Army.  It didn’t really mean that much, she thought, but it had been a touching gesture on the part of the Protector.

She sat strapped down in her command chair as the veteran crew quietly raced through their pre-jump checklists—and then the bridge lights altered to red in response to her orders.

“Fleet Marshal,” Dan Stiles reported crisply, “all stations are manned and prepared for combat—weapons are hot, the drive is charged and standing by.  We are ready to execute the jump.”

“Thank you, Mister Stiles,” Helena answered before pressing a stud on her chair.  “Jack . . . are we go?”

“I’d rather wait another eight weeks for the first of the new parts to be completed and checked, Fleet Marshal,” the engineer answered in a grim voice, and then he sighed, “but if you give the word, I’ll get the Old Girl moving, skipper.”

“The word is given, Mister Fletcher.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am.  We are ready to start the clock on your order.”

“Maneuvering, hold steady for departure—engineering, begin K/F Drive Sequence for transit to New Vallis Jump Point L4.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am,” two voices answered in twain.  “Thirty seconds on the clock . . . mark,” the jump engineer stationed on the bridge added.

“Mister Stiles,” Helena said as she rotated her chair to face her executive officer.

“Yes, Fleet Marshal?”

“A little music if you please—broadcast it over the ship’s intercom.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am,” he replied with a broad smile.  “Any particular selection?”

“I do believe that I am in the mood for Basil’s The Anvil of Crom, today,” Helena laughed.

“Excellent choice, ma’am,” Dan answered as he clicked a button and horns and drums began to echo throughout the ship.

“Jump in ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . .,” Helena rotated back to face forward and tightened the straps again and lowered the visor on her helmet—Taurian Naval personnel were trained after all to always wear pressure suits and helmets in any combat situation . . . because Murphy was one right bitch with it came down to it.

“Three . . . two . . . one . . . JUMP!”


TCS Samantha Calderon
Jump Point L4, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 21, 3025

Eleven massive JumpShips maintained station silently as they floated around the Jump Point—their sails blazing with the solar energy they absorbed and fed slowly into the drive core . . . and then the crews of these ships realized just how miniscule and powerless they really were.

With a flash of light emerging from nothing, from nowhere, from the strange and twisted dimension through which Mankind had learned to traverse the stars, a one point one million ton WarShip materialized in their midst.  It emerged in knife-range, almost.

To say that the skippers of those JumpShips panicked would have been a colossal understatement.

“Comm, broadcast the following message—all frequencies, no encryption.”

“Hot mike, ma’am.”

“This is the Taurian Concordat Ship Samantha Calderon to all former Davion JumpShips present at Jump Point L4.  You will immediately stand down your K/F Drive Cores and prepare to receive boarding crews—any resistance will be met with lethal force.  Test my resolve—and my ship—if you dare.”

“Ma’am, three vessels are attempting to quick-charge their drives,” a rating called out.

“Identify and issue one final warn-. . .,” Helena began.

“Bandit Six has opened fire!” the gunnery officer suddenly announced—and Helena could feel a slight tremor as two lasers burnt into the ablative armor of Sam’s heavily armored nose. 

For a moment the bridge was silent, but then Helena rotated her seat to face the Legal Officer that Thomas had insisted she bring along.

“I would suspect that them opening fire violates their neutrality, yes?” she asked.

“Only that specific vessel, Fleet Marshal.”

“Very well.  Damage report?”

“They ruined the paint job, Fleet Marshal,” answered Dan, “no damage to any primary, secondary, or tertiary systems.  Armor is holding,” he finished in a dead-pan flat voice.

“Mister Bowen,” she said as she turned to face the gunnery officer.  “Target Bandit Six with the starboard broadside—Naval Lasers and Naval PPCs only.  Fire when you have a solution.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am, locking starboard batteries on target,” Bowen reported.

“Ma’am, Bandit Six is broadcasting their surrender!” the comm officer chimed in quickly.

“Fire at the target, Mister Bowen, ROE Four-Bravo,” Helena ordered.  “They should have thought about surrender before someone took a shot at my ship and crew,” she continued—and the Legal Officer said nothing, but he did sigh.

On the flank of the ship, six tremendous turrets swung outwards and locked their multiple barrels on the franticly (if slowly) maneuvering Invader—and then four Pulsar Naval PPCs, four Blinder 45cm Naval Lasers, and three Blazer 55cm Naval Lasers erupted in a fury not seen in the Inner Sphere or near Periphery for nearly a century.  All six turrets bracketed the JumpShip—some beams passing within meters of the hull.

“Put me on broadcast, Comm,” Helena ordered and she waited until the rating nodded.  “All vessels—that was what we Taurians call a warning shot.  You will not receive another.  ANY attempt to evade, to power up your K/F Drive Cores, or to engage this vessel or our boarding shuttles will be met with immediate annihilation.  If you believe that I am bluffing—go ahead and attempt to call me.”

“Ma’am,” Dan reported, “all vessels are powering down their weapons and K/F Drive Cores.”

Helena smiled.  “Launch the SASF boarding shuttles,” she ordered.  “Disengage docking clamps on Goliath and Titan—inform Space Master Zahra that he is authorized to engage any Davion DropShip lifting from New Vallis with lethal force.  And pass the word—good hunting.”

She leaned back against her chair and Helena Vickers smiled as she looked at the images of her prizes floating in the holo-display.  “And inform Lord Edward that the Taurian Concordat Navy stands by in the event that he requires orbital fire support.”  Her smile broadened into a grin that any hungry predator would have instantly recognized—and avoided.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 15, 2013, 11:37:47 PM

Oh yeah this is just great.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 15, 2013, 11:41:38 PM

Roaches check in but they don't check out

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 16, 2013, 12:22:56 AM

FSDS Damien Hasek
Inbound for Drop, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 21, 3025

Michael cursed as the recorded voice of his brother-in-law finished its damning indictment of the Sixth Fusiliers—and of Michael himself.  But the receiver was silent for just a moment; it crackled and then came to life once again.

“I am Edward Calderon, the eldest son of Protector Thomas Calderon, and the man charged with defending New Vallis against all threats, foreign or domestic.  I offer one chance at life to the raiders who are now entering our atmosphere—one opportunity to avoid committing suicide.  As that recording shows, you are now stateless men and women—pirates and mutineers, renegades and traitors.  Your reinforcements have already been stopped—the Eighth Fusiliers will not arrive to provide you with relief.  Your intelligence reports are in error—there are not two Taurian battalions of ‘Mechs on the surface—there are instead TEN of your own battalions worth of BattleMechs.  And should you, somehow, manage to overcome all of the odds against you and prevail; should you manage to accomplish this miracle—where will you go?”

Edward’s voice paused.  “Take a good look at your sensors—look at your JumpShips . . . oh, wait, those JumpShips no longer belong to you.  The Taurian Concordat Navy has seized them and is prepared to give unto my command orbital fire support should that be required.”

Michael ground his teeth together, and he slammed one fist against the console of his ‘Mech.

“Surrender and you will be tried—the vast majority of you will be sentenced to five years of labor in a Concordat penal colony.  After which, you will be free to return home; need I remind you that dead men have no need to ever again return home?  Those who choose to accept my offer of surrender will divert and land at the following coordinates . . . ,” and the voice gave a series of numbers that indicated a point on the map some two hundred kilometers from Michael’s drop-zone. 

“Should you not accept this most gracious offer made by the Concordat to men and women who are actively engaged in assaulting one of our worlds . . . should you not desire to live for tomorrow, your wish will be granted.  We will wage war against you to the knife—each and every one of you will die . . . whether that death comes on the battlefield or on the gallows will make no difference.”

Once again the voice paused, and then it resumed.  “All of this, I swear upon my honor, my name, and my authority to be true—I am Edward Calderon and I await your answer.”

Michael’s mind raced and then he nodded and opened his own transmitter.  “Fusiliers!  My own Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers,” he cried out.  “The First Prince of the Federated Suns has finally revealed his true colors as a despot—an event of which I have warned time and time again.  We know the Taurians by reputation . . . we know that they are liars and murderous scum; do you think this offer is genuine?  Your tanks, your weapons, your ‘Mechs, your fighters—they will keep these and send you to carve out a new world from a verdant Hell.  And in five years, just one in ten of you, if that, will survive to be released—penniless to make your way home.”

“Fusiliers!  The House of Hasek is much loved in the Marches—my people will answer our need.  They will not permit this atrocity—they will rise up and support their rightful Duke!  They will support YOU whom my accursed brother-in-law has slandered with this deliberate LIE!  Aid will come; reinforcements will arrive.  The Taurians have not ten battalions to deploy on this world below us—this is still a fight which we can win through.  A fight that is but the first step in returning home to New Syrtis and deposing the Tyrant of New Avalon!”

“You know me, my Fusiliers—my beloved Fusiliers.  And I am with you today, not shirking my duty in a Palace far from the frontiers.   Here, now, I am with YOU.  They fear us, my Fusiliers—and they seek to diminish our strength by diluting it to defeat us in detail.  NEVER!  They will FAIL, my brothers!  They will FALL, my sisters!  Because this system belonged to us the moment we arrived—they cannot hope to stand against our skill at arms—a strength and skill of arms not equaled by even the vaunted Brigade of Guards!”

“Fusiliers,” he pleaded in his most charismatic voice, “I ask you to stand with me in this hour of our—all of our—need.  But no tyrant, am I—no despot sitting on a distant throne and sending men and women to die in my name.  If it is your will that I die at the hands of these Taurians, if you trust this Prince Edward will enslave you for five years and then send you along your merry way as if nothing had happened; if it is these things that you believe, my Fusiliers, my brothers, my sisters, then offer them your surrender.  Give them your ancestral ‘Mech, your tank, your fighter, you guns and knives.”

“I do not believe that you are such meek sheep—to fold at the first signs of impotent bluster coming from an untested boy!  But I will abide by your decision—today, you determine my fate, Fusiliers.  Make.  Your.  Choice.”

And with that, Michael cut his transmitter and began to hold his breath.  For long seconds, no one spoke, but then a tenor voice cut into the net.

“The Second Syrtis ‘Mech Battalion stands with Duke Michael.”

And then another.  “As does the 217th Syrtis Armored Regiment!”

“And the 344th Strike Wing!”

“The Syrtis Carronades!”

“The First Syrtis Royals!”

And then a chorus of voices came over the receiver—and Michael smiled.  He keyed the transmitter.

“Very well, Fusiliers—today we may dine in Hell, but our foes will be there before us!  Glory or Death, Honored Sixth!” Michael roared as the bay doors began to open and the howling wind entered the DropShip bays.  “Let us show these Periphery barbarians the true might of The Duke’s Own!”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 16, 2013, 04:11:13 AM

His Arrogance dooms them all.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 16, 2013, 10:41:17 AM

Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers Field HQ
Salina Diablo, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 21, 3025

The majority of the Sixth had chosen to follow him, Michael considered with some satisfaction—just four DropShips, all of them infantry transports, had diverted course to accept the offer of the Taurians.  The rest had landed here, on the flat, barren, salt plains seventy kilometers to the east of Port Sheridan.  Already his units were moving . . . because Michael had no intention to remain here where a single nuclear weapon—or a strike from orbit—might well annihilate his entire command.

The Tabernas Wastelands lay between him and Port Sheridan and Michael considered the map again as he stood in the oppressive heat of the parched basin.  The broken and fractured terrain of the wastes would provide the Sixth with shelter—and the trackless canyons cut by arroyos, the wadis, would make it difficult for the Taurians to pin him down.  But he couldn’t spend too much time avoiding the Taurian defenses . . . no, he thought with a shake of his head.  Soon enough we will need fresh water . . . and the small pools of the wastes were nowhere near enough to keep the Sixth hydrated.

Which meant that he would have to march on Port Sheridan and take that city on the fresh-water lake which housed all of the provisions and supplies that he would require—if it came down to fighting.

“You understand your assignment?” Michael asked Colonel Malachi Russert—one of his most trusted aides.  “And the absolute need to keep this close to the vest?”

“I do, my Lord,” the sandy-haired officer replied. 

“Tell me so that I might be certain,” Michael insisted.

“I am to deliver your offer to Edward Calderon—that this is a just a misunderstanding.  The Sixth is not here to invade the Concordat, but are seeking asylum against the tyranny of Hanse Davion—and a base of operations from which to free the Capellan March from his rule.  I am to present your offer of an alliance to Edward—the full might of the Sixth Fusiliers to bolster his strength until you resume your rightful place on New Syrtis . . . and we are to offer in exchange the return of the Pleiades to Taurian rule.”

“And if Edward rejects that offer?”

“Then, Your Grace, I will suggest the second package—in exchange for your life and freedom, and transport to a neutral world, you will give the Taurians a complete copy of the classified information you have stored against future need . . . Davion secrets thought deeply buried that you have ferreted out and held close at hand.  And to slake the Taurian need to show that they are not weak . . . you will offer them the Sixth as a sacrifice.”

Michael nodded his approval and then he sighed.  “I should hope that it does not come to that, Malachi—the Sixth has served me well and would be the corner-stone of my efforts to reclaim the Marches.  But, if to preserve my own self and secure our destiny, they must be laid upon the alter, then so be it.”  Michael paused.  “You have the tidbits of information to whet their appetite with?”

“I do, Your Grace.”

“Good, good.  Remind Edward that if he wants to know the identities of Quintus Allard’s dirty little angels operating on Taurus—and other Concordat worlds—he must make a deal with me.  Convince this child that I am of greater use to him alive than dead—make him believe that he needs me, Malachi.  I am depending on you for this.”

“I serve only you, my Duk—Prince,” the officer corrected himself, and Michael smiled.

“Soon enough, my friend.  Soon enough,” Michael muttered softly.  And then his gaze hardened on the man again.  “Six days, Malachi—you have six days.  After that, our water will be running low and I will have no choice but to move to Lake Ashton . . . a move that the Taurians will surely attempt to prevent.  Either that or to seize Port Sheridan—and if I do either, there will be no deal to be had.”

“I understand, my Prince.”

“Good.  GOOD.  Now go, go and secure me my future, Colonel Russert.”

“And if Edward rejects your most generous offer?”

“Then we are dead men anyway—kill him, Malachi.  If he refuses to play the Great Game, remove him from the board.”

“It will be done,” whispered Malachi Russert and the man bowed deeply before he turned and exited the field tent, jogging towards a waiting VTOL on the flat salt plain of the dead lake.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Epoch Rooster on July 16, 2013, 01:01:44 PM

Alas, poor Michael, you are the same duplicitous snake that you have always been. If I were Colonel Russert I would have killed MHD right then and there for him even thinking of sacrificing his comrades in the Sixth.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: barbarossa rotbart on July 16, 2013, 02:12:36 PM

Michael's plan is already doomed...

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 16, 2013, 02:23:41 PM

Parlay sir, please!!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 16, 2013, 02:52:50 PM

TDF Field Headquarters
Tabernas Wastelands, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 21, 3025

“What the hell are we waiting for?” spat Erwin Tyrell—Baron Tyrell—one of the leading Taurian nobles resident on New Vallis.  “The FedRats have landed on our soil—now is the time to drive them into their own graves!”

“This threat is no mere bandit raid, Baron Tyrell,” replied Edward.  “The Sixth Fusiliers boasts a level of training and experience—actual combat experience—that is unmatched by any formation in the Defense Force . . . excepting Rafael’s soldiers of the Red Hand, of course.”

“Of course,” Rafael Montoya answered with a grim smile.  “And may I continue in your stead, my Lord Calderon?”

“Certainly.”

The veteran Brigadier who had come forward in time with battle-hardened troops under his command sighed.  “Lord Calderon is quite correct—these are crack troops we are facing on terrain of their choice.  A terrain which makes it difficult to use our artillery and air reserves to their fullest extent due to the sheer amount of hard cover that the Wastes provides.  A terrain which further will require that we engage in small numbers, each unit isolated from the other; the same applies to our opponent, of course.  But unlike our opponent, our forces—as valiant and eager as they may be—most of our forces lack the . . . elan, for want of a better word, to press home the attack in the face of such skilled defenders in this terrain.”

“Bullshit,” sputtered Tyrell.  “You aren’t attacking because that boy,” he said pointing to Edward, “appointed to this post because of nepotism—not quality!—doesn’t want to kill any more of his new Davion friends than he has to!  Are you a traitor, Edward—or just a gutless coward?”

Rafael began to step forward, his hand reaching for the combat knife in his belt—but Ardan Sortek grabbed his arm and held the furious Taurian back.

“ENOUGH!” bellowed Corey Calderon as the old man stood.  “THIS IS STILL MY COMMAND!  It was I who appointed Edward Calderon as my second,” his voice dropping from a bellow to a growl as he spoke.  “Baron Erwin Tyrell, you will offer apology for those words—or by God’s Hairy Balls, Sir, I will meet you myself on the field of honor and take from you your worthless life!” Corey snarled.

Silence hung over the command center for a moment, and Erwin Tyrell blinked.  The Old Man was dead serious—and win or lose, engaging a TDF Corps Marshal in a duel on the eve of battle would see him standing before the Concordat Courts.  He lowered his head.  “I apologize, Lord Calderon, for my choice of words—you are neither a traitor nor a coward.  But I will not apologize for my desire to send these Davion dogs a’running!”

“I accept your apology, Baron Tyrell,” Edward said softly, and Corey nodded before he sat once again.  “And I apologize for not having explained to you my reasoning—adequately.”

Edward walked around the conference table and he paused as he looked over the map of the Tabernas Waste, the Salina Diablo, and the Glitterstream River that fed into Lake Ashton from the mountains to the north, cutting a long, deep, crooked canyon into the plateau before it plunged into the waters adjacent to Port Sheridan.

“How would you describe the Tabernas Waste, Lord Tyrell?” he asked.

“It’s a desert wasteland, Lord Calderon,” the noble answered with a snort.  “Rocky and barren.”

“And hot?” Edward asked.

“It’s an arid desert, my Lord.  Yes, the Wastes are quite hot.”

“Indeed they are, Lord Tyrell—I believe that during this time of the year, the average day-time temperature reaches 48-degrees Centigrade, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And at night it plunges to nearly freezing?”

“Yes—we know this, Lord Calderon.”

“And there is an overall lack of surface water in the Wastes—am I correct?”

“Yes,” the confused Baron answered slowly.

“How much water does a man require—a soldier under combat conditions require—to function each and every day in the wastes?” Edward asked.

Erwin Tyrell blinked and then he began to inhale, his eyes gleaming as he slowly nodded.

Edward continued, “In the conditions of the Wastes, a single trooper requires four gallons of drinking water each and every day, Baron Tyrell.  That is straight from the Defense Force Desert Operations Manual, mind you.  Four gallons.  Per man.  Per day.  Michael has a little less than ten thousand men under his command . . . that is forty thousand gallons of potable water every single day.  In excess of one hundred and fifty tons of water every single day.  Water that has to be transported from the DropShips to his troops in the field over an ever-increasing distance.  Ardan, how much water does an RCT normally deploy with?"

"Around a thousand tons, give or take," the Davion officer replied.  "we—THEY—do have equipment to purify local sources of water, I must add."

Edward nodded and he smiled.  "But the wastes lack any significant sources of surface water.  And, by and large, the water table is on average forty meters beneath the surface.  Lord Tyrell, we are not wasting time or acting the part of cowards by not forcing the Sixth to engage us in battle . . . we are depleting their resources so that when we do engage them, they will perform beneath their expected capabilities.  And at the same time, we will be skirmishing with them—with infantry, scout vehicles, recon ‘Mechs, intermittent artillery and air strikes.  We will bleed them and make them sweat—force them to consume their water at an even greater rate.  Does that answer your question?"

“I think that it does—and I withdraw my objections,” Erwin answered and he stared at the map.  “They will make for the Glitterstream—it’s the only source of fresh water sufficient for their needs.”

“Exactly.  And it for that reason that I have placed Wylie’s Coyotes, the Jaegers, and the Second Hyades Light Infantry—supported by a dozen regiments of local armor and infantry—in a blocking position between the Sixth and the river.  Colonel Jamesen has dug in deep—field fortifications from which our troops can hold even against a force as skilled as the Sixth Fusiliers.”

“That leaves just Port Sheridan—or Lake Ashton, but he has to come close to the city to approach the lake,” Erwin mused.

“Hence the rest of our forces being deployed here—between him and the lake,” Edward answered.  “But you were right in one respect, Lord Tyrell—I don’t want to kill any more of these Davions—or former Davions—than I have to.  We are civilized human beings, gentlemen and ladies—not animals.  We kill because we have to, never because we WANT to.  If I have to kill every last soldier in the Sixth . . . I will.  But I hope—I pray—that they break and decide to surrender; because the Lord knows I don’t want to have to watch ten thousand legs jerk as they fall through that trap-door of the gallows.”  Edward paused.  “And I believe, Lord Tyrell, that neither do you—not in your heart of hearts.  I will defend the Concordat to the best of my ability—but I will not kill when I do not absolutely have to.  If that is treason, Lord Tyrell; if that is cowardice . . . then I am guilty of both.”

“No,” whispered Erwin in the shocked quiet room.  “Few men would have the courage to say that, even in private, Lord Calderon.  Even fewer in public—and I can respect that.  So you aren’t going to hang any we capture?”

Edward winced.  “I’m sure we will have to hang a few—their leaders anyway.  The ones that are pushing them.  But,” he said as he stared at the map, “we’ve already had reports of a number of deserters attempting to make their way north to the coordinates I gave them,” Edward paused.  “I want them watched—they might not be after surrendering; they could be retribution from Michael against those that ‘betrayed’ him.  But if they don’t start the shooting, neither are we.  If they manage to cross two hundred kilometers of the Wastes, we’ll accept their surrender along with the DropShips and personnel who diverted during the landing.  Agreed?”

“Agreed,” a chorus of voices answered.

“Then let’s get down to the brass tacks,” Edward said.  “Lord Tyrell—I want to send your combined arms regiment down south, to guard their flank against a break for the Misty Vale.”

“Three hundred kilometers,” Erwin whistled.  “Their ‘Mech forces might make it—their infantry, armor, and support elements won’t.”

“I agree—it’s a long-shot, but we have to guard against that possibility.  Plus, with your regiment on their flank, when the time comes to close the jaws on the Sixth—if the time comes—you will be in position to sever their supply lines to their grounded DropShips.”

“I can do that,” Erwin whispered.  “My retainers are all TDF veterans—we can do this.”

“I know that you can, Erwin,” Edward answered—and he extended the Taurian noble his hand.  Erwin Tyrell took it and the two men shook. 

“Okay.  Okay.  We can do this,” the noble muttered.

“The Red Hand and the Foxhounds, being our heaviest units, will form the central reserve of our forces . . . deployed here,” Edward said pointing to the map.  “Meanwhile . . .,” and he continued with the detailed briefing for his officers and staff as Corey and Ardan both nodded their approval to the lad.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: barbarossa rotbart on July 16, 2013, 03:35:32 PM

Micheal is truly doomed ... and he's just proven that he is far from the military genius he believes he is.
Only a fool lands in the middle of a desert ...

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: CJvR on July 16, 2013, 06:49:33 PM

Quote from: barbarossa rotbart on July 16, 2013, 03:35:32 PM

Micheal is truly doomed ... and he's just proven that he is far from the military genius he believes he is.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xWGAdzn5_KU

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 16, 2013, 08:06:07 PM

3rd Platoon, E Troop, Cavalry-Scout Recon Battalion, Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers RCT
Tabernas Wastelands, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 22, 3025

Leftenant Henry Barksdale scanned the horizon with a pair of binoculars as he stood in the open hatch of his Packrat recon vehicle.  He swayed slightly and he lowered the glasses to wipe away the sweat from his salt-crusted forehead. 

“You see it, LT?” asked Sergeant Bobby Gordon who manned the sensors in the steaming interior—the powerful climate control system of the recon vehicle was having difficulties of its own in coping with the oppressive heat.  “Those are trees over in that ravine—and where there are trees, there’s water.”

“Maybe,” Henry answered.  “Maybe not.  The water could be deep underground, Sergeant; some trees have roots that run for quite a ways.”

“But there might be, LT—right?”

Henry licked his parched lips and he slowly nodded.  “Right,” he whispered.  “Any word from HQ on when we can expect resupply?”

“Yes, sir,” answered one of the recon infantry housed in the rear compartment.  “We’ve outpaced the support brigade—they say that it’ll be tomorrow afternoon before the dromedaries catch up.”

“Damn,” Henry muttered under his breath.  The Taurians were proving quite a bit more elusive than he had imagined they would be—his lip twitched as he remembered the old stories his grand-father told of fanatical defenders . . . stories handed down from his grand-father, who learned them from his.  So far, he had only caught brief glimpses of the enemy—scouts like him, not the heavy combat troops.  And the little fire exchanged had mostly come from snipers who shot once and then hauled ass.

Bastards.  The snipers hadn’t shot at him or the other vehicle commanders; no, they had targeted the canisters of fresh water his vehicle carried on the external bustle racks.  ALL of them now had a pair of holes in them . . . and the water he had expected to last three days was gone.  Only the dregs left in their personal canteens and camelbaks remained.

Henry placed one hand (rather gingerly) on the Federated-Barrett M42B Auto-Rifle one of his troopers had mounted up here on a pintle; it wasn’t a proper machine-gun by any means, but it would serve in a pinch against light vehicles or infantry—not such much against tanks or ‘Mechs.  The weapon was hot enough to scald bare flesh, and the young Leftenant just four months past graduation from the small Numenor Academy of Military Sciences made sure that he didn’t grab it; he just swiveled it out of the way and looked at the green foliage in the distance once again.  One of the less prestigious schools in the Federated Suns, it had been the only one which had accepted Henry as a MechWarrior candidate—after all, his family wasn’t rich, nor had they been MechWarriors.

Despite that, he had graduated seventeenth in his class and won his spurs . . . and was then promptly assigned to the Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers where he had been told that  they didn’t need another MechWarrior and didn’t have a ‘Mech for him if they did.  No, those slots (and ‘Mechs) went to graduates from the Warrior’s Hall on New Syrtis—and Henry Barksdale found himself reassigned to the RCT Cavalry-Scout Recon Battalion.  To the Packrat scout vehicles of the CSR Battalion, Henry sighed to himself over the injustice of it all.

Sure, he was still an officer—still a platoon leader—but instead of a ‘Mech lance, he had four Packrats, the eleven NCOs and enlisted men who manned the vehicles, and a short platoon of twenty-four recon infantry . . . a six-man squad in each vehicle, divided into three two-man recon/scout/sniper teams.

“Fuck it,” Henry said in an exhausted voice.  “Corporal Alexander,” he called out to the driver.  “You think you can navigate us a way down into that ravine?  Or should we dismount the infantry?”

“Hell, yes, LT,” came the answer.  “There’s a slope about half a klick back that we can descend no problem.”

“Okay,” Henry answered and he keyed his helmet microphone.  “Easy Three One to Easy Three Two,” he broadcast.

“Go ahead, Three One,” the veteran gunnery sergeant who served as his executive officer answered.

“Converge on my vehicle—we are going to laager for the night down in the ravine.  There might be water down there and we’ve got shelter from the wind.”

“Permission to speak freely, Three One?”

“Go ahead,” Henry replied after checking to make certain he was on the private frequency between him and the gunny.

“Not a good idea, Sir.  That ravine is tight—if the Taurians manage to ambush us in there . . . ,” his voice trailed off.

“Understood—but we need water and we are fifteen kilometers ahead of the combat formations.  And it is going to get cold out here as soon as that sun dips below the horizon—very cold.”  He sighed.  “And half my boys seem to left their cold weather clothing back on the DropShips.”

Henry heard an answering sigh from the far end.  “Understood—and I’ve ripped Alvarez a new asshole for doing the same.  Moron is going to freeze his balls off tonight if we don’t break out the survival blankets for him.”

“Tell you what, Gunny, Alvarez can walk perimeter on two watches to keep warm, along with my band of idiots.”

A chuckle came over the radio at that.  “Like the way you think, LT.  Be there in five.”

“Roger that; Three One out,” Henry answered and he switched the radio back to the vehicle net.  “Get us rolling, Alexander—Larson,” he ordered the senior of the recon infantry, “I want the entire ravine swept for surprises once we get down there.”

“On it, boss,” the recon grunt answered, just as the eight-wheeled Packrat began to accelerate towards the ravine’s distant entrance.



NOTE:  I realize that in the AFFS of 3025 there is no rank of Gunnery Sergeant.  BUT, the enlisted ranks just go Private, Corporal, Sergeant, and Sergeant Major.  I mean, WTF?  No, sorry, but this is one case where canon can bite me.  ANY military needs more than four enlisted/non-commissioned officer ranks . . . COMBINED.  Far more.  Just my thought on the subject.

MA

Title: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: AlexiDrake on July 16, 2013, 08:30:32 PM

Agreed on that point whole heartly!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 16, 2013, 10:59:15 PM

3rd Platoon, E Troop, Cavalry-Scout Recon Battalion, Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers RCT
Tabernas Wastelands, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 22, 3025

“I’ll be damned,” muttered Gunnery Sergeant Joshua Franks after he dismounted his vehicle and spotted the pool of clear, clean water that surrounded the roots of about a dozen trees and a thick curtain of vines covering the shaded side of the ravine.

“We still have the problem of holes in all of our water cans,” Henry said.

“Metal cans, LT,” the Gunny laughed.  “And we’ve got welders in the tool kits—thirty minutes, and we’ll patch every damn canister we have.”

“The Taurians will just new holes in them,” chimed in Sergeant Bobby Gordon, and Henry sighed.

“We’re going to have to store the cans inside the Packrats—not on the external racks.”

The Sergeant winced, even as the Gunny nodded.  “LT,” Bobby protested, “that’s twenty-seven cans per vehicle!  There won’t be room for any of us!”

“We’ll make room,” growled the Gunny.  “The food can go outside—it doesn’t matter if the bastards put a hole in that, we can still eat it.  The hand tools—crowbars, shovels, picks.  Our rucks with the platoon’s personal gear.”

“Gunny,” Bobby began, but the older man cut him off.

“You can live with a hole in your clothes, Sergeant Gordon—you can’t if you don’t have water to drink.”

“Agreed,” said Henry.  “It’ll still be tight, but I want as much water under armor as we can cram inside.  Second problem—that pool might not give us the four hundred plus gallons we need.”

The Gunnery Sergeant shrugged.  “If it doesn’t it doesn’t, LT.  We’re still better off having half our allotment than none if we drain it before we finish filling the cans.”

“Yeah,” Henry said softly.  “Suns already starting to set, Gunny—let’s get cracking on patching those cans and getting them filled and loaded.”

“Tonight?” asked Bobby.  “The boys are worn thin, LT.”

“We’re on an enemy world in hostile territory sitting around a water hole that you think the Taurians don’t know about, Sergeant!  I don’t care if the boys and girls are tired—get the cans patched and get them loaded—before any of us get any shut-eye.”

Joshua smiled . . . and Bobby sighed.  “I’ll get on it, LT.  Is the water safe for drinking or are we going to have to filter it?”

Henry grinned.  “The test strips say it’s A-OK, Sergeant—got an odd taste, but then every planet tastes a bit different, doesn’t it?”

“True enough, LT,” Bobby said as he walked off and began to bark orders at the infantry and vehicle crewmen—to be answered by groans and curses and then more barked orders.

Henry waited until the Sergeant had cussed the men into their work and then he turned back to Joshua.  “Gunny,” he whispered, “admittedly, I haven’t been on too many worlds.  But we have water here—in the middle of the desert.  Why isn’t this ravine swarming with insects and birds, lizards and small mammals?”

“Yeah,” Joshua answered as he looked over the cliffs again.  “It’s too quiet—we might have scared off the bigger stuff, but there should be bugs here still.  Never seen a world that we colonized that didn’t have bugs.”

“Full security perimeter, Gunny—even if that slows down fixing and filling the cans,” Henry ordered.  “Keep the lads and lasses alert and on their toes—I don’t like this.”

“Thinking about leaving just as soon as we fill up?”

“I am—is that the wrong decision?”

“You’re the officer, Sir—you make that call.  But for the record . . . I agree.  We patch the cans and fill them and get the hell out of this hole in the ground.”

That was when the first screams began.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 16, 2013, 11:19:01 PM

Oh no

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 17, 2013, 12:00:02 AM

The water is poisoned or just naturally undrinkable. The tree are immune but nothing else.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Warclaw on July 17, 2013, 06:14:37 AM

Actually, I was thinking something like a large carnivorous ant colony of the equivalent.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: barbarossa rotbart on July 17, 2013, 06:48:17 AM

About the FedSun ranks:
They are based on the British rank system. So there is no place for a Gunnery Sergeant (because this is a Marine Corps rank and was never an Army rank):

British Army Rank	AFFS Rank
Warrant Officer Class One	Sergeant Major
Warrant Officer CLass Two	Sergeant Major
Staff/Colour Sergeant	Sergeant
Segeant	Sergeant
Corporal	Corporal
Lance Corporal	Corporal
Private	Private

So your Gunny should either be a Sergeant Major or (if you want a 'more realistic' rank structure) a Colour Sergeant (and would be called Colour instead of Gunny).
This (http://www.sarna.net/wiki/AFFS_Ranks_3025) also gives you a good overview of a AFFS ranks and their resonsibilities.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: drakensis on July 18, 2013, 12:50:28 AM

While technically the AFFS does not currently have many enlisted ranks, that's not necessarily been the case always - the current rank structure dates to reforms in the mid-30th century. Regiments may still have 'traditions' that may not be supported by the rest of the AFFS.

And while Gunnery Sergeant isn't part of the British Army rank structure, there are a couple of reasons it could be used:

1. The Syrtis Fusiliers could well be deliberately counter-culture to the rest of the AFFS, they roll like that.
2. The first regiment of the FPF (the precursor to the AFFS) was the 1st Avalon Hussars, which was formed out of a unit of Terran Alliance Marines.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Ice Hellion on July 21, 2013, 07:24:22 AM

I am back. How are the Taurians doing?

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 21, 2013, 09:09:44 AM

Their opponents are very thirsty Ice, just like me for more of this excellent story. ;) I've really enjoyed MA's summer writing. 

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 22, 2013, 12:32:37 PM

3rd Platoon, E Troop, Cavalry-Scout Recon Battalion, Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers RCT
Tabernas Wastelands, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 22, 3025

“I want to just lay down and let that water run all over me,” muttered Joachim Alvarez as he stared at the still pool of water in the shade of the cliff faces and trees.

“Alvarez,” snapped Sergeant Gordon, “you foul my drinking water with your grungy body and I’ll ride you from now ‘til the last light goes out in this universe.  Dietrich, you and Kowalski join Alvarez in walking the perimeter—keep your eyes peeled for Taurians and local predators alike.”

“Ah, Sarge,” Ann Dietrich began to protest, but the Fusilier non-com cut her off short.

“Save your whining, solider, and get your ass moving.  The rest of you—break out the jerry cans and the patches . . . we have work to do before we get a drink.”

As the rest of the platoon began to spot weld patches in place on the cans, the three—Alvarez, Dietrich, and Kowalski—began to circle the shallow pool towards the far end of the ravine.

“Too quiet,” mumbled Corporal Morgan Kowalski, his auto-rifle held at the ready.  “Shouldn’t there be some of those local lizards here drinking the water?”

“Maybe they only come out at night,” Dietrich suggested.  “The full heat of day has to be something that reptiles can’t handle all that well.”

“Not that hot down here in the shade,” Kowalski answered.  Then he frowned.  “What is that stuff having from the branches—moss?”

“Looks like it,” the lady scout said after a moment.  “It’s on the vines and the cliff too.”

“Hello,” Alvarez said softly.  “I call dibs,” he said in a more excited voice.  The other two stopped and they looked where the private was pointing—and protruding from the mass of moss was the blue alloy barrel of a Taurian service revolver.

“Leave it alone, dipshit,” growled Kowalski.  “We’re not here to collect souvenirs.”

“Sod off, man.  Damn if I’m going to invade a Taurian world and not come home with a genuine Taurian magnum revolver—their officers carry those, you know.”

“So you can ooh and aah the girls back on New Syrtis, Joachim?” Ann asked.  “You going to tell them you picked up an abandoned piece—or you going to weave a story about prying it from the hands of a Taurian officer that you personally killed in hand-to-hand combat?”

“Whatever works, Dee,” Alvarez replied as he made his way towards the cluster of trees and began to crawl over their gnarled roots to get to the weapon.  “This shit is sticky,” he said in a puzzled voice, and then he brushed his face.  “There are more strands of it hanging from the trees.”

“Leave it, Alvarez,” Kowalski warned.  “Get your ass back here.”

“I’ve almost got it,” the private grunted as he stretched out, his fingers scrapping over the muzzle.  “Come here, you piece of shit,” he grunted as he reached for the weapon—then he managed to get it in his hand.  And snarled.  “Damn thing is stuck,” he said as he pulled and the vines parted to reveal a large mass of the moss—four feet across—with the pistol tangled up inside of it.

“This isn’t a good idea, Private,” Kowalski snapped.  “Leave the damn pistol alone!”

“I’ve got it, dude; quit your bitching already!” Alvarez barked back and he gave the revolver another yank—and it came free, along with the skeletal hand of the long-dead Taurian soldier still gripping it.  Kowalski and Dietrich both inhaled sharply as the mass parted—because in that instant they realized it wasn’t moss.  It was webbing that encased an egg sack.

“What the hell?” Alvarez blurted as he backed up, thousands of tiny diaphanous eggs spilling out—and bursting open as the immature insects inside suddenly awoke.

Furious at being disturbed before their normal hatching—and starving with hunger—the tiny creatures swarmed over the private, biting and stinging . . . and Alvarez howled in pain as they covered him from head to toe, the insects crawling up his nose and down his throat—across his eyes and into his ear canals.

“SHIT!” yelled Kowalski, but the Corporal didn’t move . . . his rifle was no use against such tiny targets and every instinct in his body screamed for him to run.

“CORP!” Dietrich yelled as faint strands of fresh webbing descended from the trees . . . and dozens of much larger insects slid down to begin cocooning the shrieking writhing private.  They were almost spiders, a corner of Kowalski’s brain noted—six-legs, a body clad in dark chitin, two more limbs ending in claws like those of a mantis, clicking mandibles, and a sharp stinger protruding from the just above the snipperets.  But these spider-things were the size of a terrier.

Dietrich fired—her rifle spitting a stream of bullets that tore into the crawling insects . . . and past them into the caves camouflaged by the vines.  The vines quivered . . . and then hundreds of the adult spider-things emerged.

“Fuck me,” Kowalski whispered as he raised his rifle and began to service targets . . . while backing away as fast as he could on the uneven ground.  “Dietrich!  We are LEAVING!” he shouted.

But before the woman could begin to back away, several of the creatures crouched down and then jumped—they soared across the fifteen meters separating them from the soldier and she screamed as they began to tear into her flesh with their mandibles—and plunged those stingers dripping with venom into her body.

Kowalski blanched as tens of thousands of the hungry juveniles emerged, their legs a blur as they poured out of the caverns and moved towards him in a living carpet with no other purpose than to suck away his blood and bodily fluids—he turned and began to run . . . but the adults were atop of him before he took three steps and the veteran soldier screamed in agony as four-centimeter long stingers punched through his combat utilities and into his back.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 22, 2013, 12:46:46 PM

Okay Starship troopers action going on here.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Ice Hellion on July 22, 2013, 02:41:24 PM

Quote from: Gabriel on July 22, 2013, 12:46:46 PM

Okay Starship troopers action going on here.

 8)

And Master Arminas, I think I missed too many of your updates and I will wait until you get everything into a single file.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 22, 2013, 06:24:53 PM

3rd Platoon, E Troop, Cavalry-Scout Recon Battalion, Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers RCT
Tabernas Wastelands, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 22, 3025

“Sweet Jesus,” Henry whispered as the three scouts were engulfed by the swarm of creatures emerging from the hidden caverns behind the vines.  But then he shook his head.  “Get to the ‘Rats!” he yelled.  “MOVE, PEOPLE!”

The troops needed no encouragement—many were already running, leaving empty water cans in their wake.  The swarm turned, alerted perhaps by the heavy thuds of the combat boots on the baked soil of the ravine’s floor . . . and it was fast enough that not all of Henry’s people managed to reach safety in time.

Terrified screams echoed throughout the cleft in the rocks as the adults pounced on soldiers ahead of the arrival of the swarm, their powerful limbs sending them on fifteen and twenty meter leaps.  Henry pulled out his pistol and he took a step forward—but a hand clamped down on his bicep like a vise and hauled him back.

“YOU TOO, LT!” snarled Gunny Franks as he pulled the officer away from the men and women being submerged under the tsunami of oncoming insects.  The young officer tried to pull away—his face twisted with anguish over his men—his men—screaming in agony in front of him.  “THEY ARE ALREADY DEAD, SIR!” The gunny bellowed again, yanking Henry towards the nearest vehicle.

The two men stumbled up the rear ramp of the closest Packrat—a ramp that the other troops had already begun to raise; and then the engine roared, the vehicle shook as the driver put it into gear, and the eight wheels spun like mad before they caught traction and the twenty-ton recon vehicle accelerated away.

The stutter of the pintle-mounted auto-rifle echoed in the stagnant and blistering heat of the troop bay.  Henry half-stood and he looked out of the small armored periscope . . . , “Sweet jesus,” he repeated himself as one of the four scout cars suddenly began to weave and then flipped over on its side—the spider-things had already managed to get inside.  For just a second, Henry could see the face of the driver as he swatted at the juveniles . . . and then a far larger adult closed those hideous claws around the driver’s head and squeezed.  Blood splashed across the wind-screen . . . and then Henry’s ‘Rat rounded the bend and started up slope.

“Not your fault, LT,” the gunny whispered as he sat down next to Henry.  “Not your fault, sir.”

“I’m in charge, Gunny—they were my responsibility.”

“LT, I’m going to tell you a secret that everyone who has been in combat knows—but no one really shares,” Joshua said after a moment’s pause.  “Shit happens.  People die.  And sometimes, LT, sometimes it isn’t the fault of any of the survivors.  Just like this SNAFU today.”

“How many?” Henry asked.  “How many of our boys and girls are gone?”

“Too many, LT,” the non-com sighed.  “We still need that water.”

Henry looked up and he nodded.  “One ‘Rat—volunteers only.  And I want Infernos loaded in the missile launcher.  I’ll take it down there.”

“Not your job, sir—that’s mine.”

“Today, Gunnery Sergeant Franks, today it is my job,” Henry whispered—and the experienced NCO began to nod his head. 

“Get in, get the cans, patch them, get the water, and get the hell out, Sir,” Joshua said.  “They are bugs—you can’t avenge the troops by killing them.  Set up a perimeter with fire and grab that water and get the hell out of there, LT.”

“I won’t be sight-seeing, Gunny,” Henry said as the ‘Rat came to a halt at the top of the slope . . . the blazing sun already nearing the horizon and the winds beginning to howl.  The ramp dropped and Henry walked over to the edge of the ravine and looked down—but the swarm had not bothered to chase the speeding vehicles.  No, those spider-things were hauling his boys and girls—all wrapped up in silk strands—back towards the caves.  “I need a driver and four volunteers . . . can you talk them into it?”

“You’ll have them, LT.”

“Volunteers, Gunny—don’t strong-arm them if they don’t want to go,” Henry warned.

“You do your job, Sir; I’ll do mine.  You’ll get your volunteers . . . Parsons, Hondo, Bowen, Chin, and Early—you just volunteered to ride with the LT.  RIGHT?”

The five soldiers paused, but then one of them—Janice Early—sighed.  “Might as well . . . if we don’t get that water, the desert will kill us as sure as those bugs.”

Henry frowned, but one by one, the other four nodded their agreement . . . and the very junior officer decided not to push it.  “Break out the flamers and incendiary grenades,” he ordered.  “Saddle up when you’re ready—Gunny, the platoon,” what’s left of it, Henry thought, “is yours.”

“We’ll be waiting, Sir,” Joshua said.  “Good hunting.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 22, 2013, 11:45:28 PM

Oh yeah Starship Troopers for sure. Reminds me of a sci-fi movie called Bugs. You got to nuke the area or call in orbital bombardment.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 23, 2013, 12:22:09 AM

Squish them bugs!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 23, 2013, 11:06:38 PM

TDF Field Headquarters
Tabernas Wastelands, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 22, 3025

Edward kept all expression removed from his face as the guards ushered in the ‘delegate’ from Michael Hasek-Davion.  The officer was dressed in the field uniform of the AFFS—albeit covered with dust—although he lacked any (visible) weapons.  And at that thought, Edward’s lips did twitch; his guards would certainly have made sure that there were no hidden weapons as well.  In fact—and now Edward smiled a grim smile—he was reasonably certain his guards had strip-searched the man outside . . . and done a cavity search in addition to a complete scan for metal, ceramic, or plastic objects that could be used as a weapon.

The man—one Colonel Malachi Russert—stopped some distance away from Edward and he came to attention and rendered a smart salute.

Edward did not return it, nor did any of his officers.  As the silence grew oppressive, Russert slowly lowered his hand and he stood there at parade rest.

“I understand that you bear a message for me?” the young Taurian asked as he poured himself a glass of water—and did not offer the messenger any.

“I do, Lord Calderon,” Malachi answered.  And Edward’s lips twitched again.

“My rank is Subaltern, Colonel—you will use that title to address me.  I should note, however, that it is Marshal Cory Calderon who commands the defenses of New Vallis,” he said with a nod of his head to the older man seated beside him. 

“Here to beg your way out of the trap, FedRat?” Cory asked.  “You can surrender now and be sent to a penal colony for five years—or you can dance at the end of a noose.”

Malachi nodded and then he smiled.  “The problem with that is . . . I work for Quintus Allard, Marshal Calderon—Subaltern Calderon.”

Edward arched one eyebrow.  “Really?  I suppose that you have some code phrase which can confirm that?”

“I do—but you are not likely to possess the challenge,” Malachi answered.  “However, if you can contact New Avalon my story will be confirmed.”

“We are under an Interdiction, Colonel Russert,” Edward replied.  “That would be a bit difficult to accomplish—however, we have no need to contact New Avalon to confirm your story,” and he nodded to one of the guards who left the command tent.  Only to return a moment later with Ardan Sortek in tow.

“Marshal Sortek!” Malachi snapped as he came to attention.

“It’s Colonel Sortek—commanding officer of the Foxhounds mercenary battalion.”  He paused and considered the man and then he shrugged.  “I’ve never seen him before—but the AFFS is a large organization and if he works for Minister Allard I doubt that I would have encountered him.”

“He claims to have a recognition phrase, Ardan,” Edward said.  “You do know those, correct?”

“Some of them,” Ardan answered with a frown.  “Hello darkness, my old friend.”

“You would pick that one,” muttered Malachi.  “Life is a lemon and I want my money back.”

Ardan nodded.  “It’s a valid counter-challenge, Lord Calderon.”

Edward leaned back in his chair.  “Tell me then, mister secret agent-man—why is Michael Hasek-Davion still alive?”

Malachi flushed hotly.  “I didn’t—and I don’t—have authorization to terminate the brother-in-law of the First Prince, the Duke of New Syrtis.”

“And if you had authorization?  Would Michael be dead—or would you still be in his command staff wondering how the hell you are going to escape?” Edward asked bluntly.

The Davion officer jerked, his jaw dropped, his eyes widened.  And then he bit his lip and forced himself to calm down.  “If Hanse Davion issued an order for me to kill Michael, Subaltern, then Michael would be dead right now.”

“Fair enough,” Edward answered.  “Why did he send you here?”

“To convince you that we are not invading the Concordat—that the Fusiliers are refugees seeking asylum from the tyranny of Hanse Davion,” Malachi answered with a slight smile.

“I would be a fool to believe that—do you think I am a fool, Colonel Russert?” Edward asked.

“No.”  The Colonel paused and then he sighed.  “As a fall-back, Michael offers to give you the Fusiliers on a silver platter—in exchange for transport off-world to a . . . ‘neutral’ power.  For himself and a handful of trusted aides.”

“Ah,” Edward sighed as he considered the officer.  “Why would Michael think I would consider such a deal—when I have the troop strength and firepower to defeat his Fusiliers without letting the Rat go?”

Malachi exchanged a glance with Ardan, who nodded, and then he sighed.  “Because he is offering you the accumulation of two decades of dirty little secrets of the Davion family and their government.  Secrets that will—would—cause Hanse Davion great difficulties at home and abroad.”

“Tempting,” Edward mused, but then he tapped the desk top.  “But it is rather like trusting a snake.  Frankly, I’d rather see him hung than risk getting bitten.”  And then the heir to the Protector smiled again.  “He does command a great loyalty—the majority of his forces are following him to their doom.”

“Duke Michael doesn’t trust the common soldier, Subaltern,” Malachi answered.  “Only the vetted crews of the DropShips and command-level officers heard your broadcast—the vast majority of low-ranking officers, NCOs, and enlisted personnel are not even aware the Eighth hasn’t made their landing on schedule.”

Now Edward frowned and he sighed.  “We need your radio encryptions in that case, Colonel—I will give your . . . common soldiers . . . one more chance at preserving themselves.  After that, when your water starts running low,” Edward shrugged.  “That is when we will attack and annihilate Michael and his Fusiliers.”

“He is expecting that.”

“I do not doubt it, Colonel.  You have his latest troop dispositions?”

Malachi nodded.  “As of two hours ago,” and then he paused.  “The crew aboard my VTOL are fanatically loyal to His Grace—and the bird is armed.”

Several of guards drew in a quick breath of air, but Edward just nodded.  “Ardan?”

“Foxhound Actual to Hound Three Six—take the chopper,” the AFFS officer turned mercenary (officially, at least) spoke into a microphone.  And from outside the tent came the roar of autocannon and the scream of missiles . . . and a lone VTOL on a pad half a kilometer away simply disintegrated under the weight of fire of an entire company of the once-and-future Davion Heavy Guards.

Edward smiled again.  “They will present no threat to this headquarters, Colonel Russert.  Show me where Michael is deploying—and tell me what his plans are,” he ordered.

And with a sigh, Malachi walked over to the map.  “The Duke has deployed in three separate formations that are moving east-north-east along this line of ad- . . .,” he began.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Shadow_Wraith on July 23, 2013, 11:20:59 PM

 :D  Nice update!  Wow, Colonel Malachi Russert actually works for Quintus Allard of MIIO?  Did not realize that.  More updates please!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 23, 2013, 11:39:01 PM

So cool :)

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 24, 2013, 11:30:08 AM

3rd Platoon, E Troop, Cavalry-Scout Recon Battalion, Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers RCT
Tabernas Wastelands, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 22, 3025

Henry sat down (he all but fell) on the ramp of the scorched Packrat—after his troopers, the three who had survived at least, had passed out the water cans.  Soot and ash covered his body from head to toe; his hands and arms were red from the heat of the flames with which he had burnt away the infestation of those spider-things.  He sat down and closed his eyes—and his hands shook.  He shivered in the cold night air; for the sun had already descended . . . and the only light was the reflected the flickering remains of the pyre he had lit in the ravine to hold the creatures at bay.

“Shit’s gotta be filtered first, people!” Joshua snapped as several of scouts opened one of the cans and started to refill their canteens and camelbaks.  “Unless you like drinking pieces of burnt bugs and trees and the residue of inferno gel.”

With a groan, the recon troopers hauled out the filters and began to process the water—the priceless water that had cost them so very much.  They bitched about it, but Joshua didn’t care; as long as the troopers did their job, it didn’t matter if they bitched and whined.  And frankly, he wouldn’t have trusted soldiers very much who didn’t moan and groan.  Then he knelt down next to the ramp and handed the young officer a canteen.

“You need some burn gel on your arms and hands and face, LT,” he said softly. 

“I’ll live, Gunny,” Henry answered as he took the canteen and sipped the tepid water within. Although it tasted metallic from the chemicals used to purify it, in that moment the bitter water was almost the nectar of the ancient Greek gods.  “We got twenty-five cans patched and filled before the pool became too shallow to drain more,” he added.  “Not as much as I hoped.”

“That is more than I expected, LT.  It’ll hold us for a day or two—but we have another problem,” the non-com said with a sigh.

Henry gave Joshua a tired smile.  “My instructors at NAMS always said there’s no such thing as problems . . . only challenges.”

“Typical REMF bull-shit—life ain’t a Zen koan, LT.  And we have problems,” Joshua snarled as he spotted a tiny spider-thing crawling on the ramp and squashed it with his boot.

Henry sighed.  “And those are?”

“The invasion is FUBAR, LT,” the Gunny said in a flat voice.  “You know Colonel Russert?”

“Duke Michael’s Operations Officer?  I know of him—I haven’t ever met him.”

“He made a broadcast—apparently, he’s really part of the Department of Military Intelligence.  And the First Prince is pissed that Michael has invaded the Concordat,” Joshua paused.  “New Avalon has declared the entire Sixth to be in a state of mutiny—they threw us under the bus and there are AFFS forces here on New Vallis working with the Taurians to stop our assault.”

“Shit,” whispered Henry.

“Yeah—it gets worse.  The Taurians have taken our JumpShips and consider us all pirates and renegades.  We can surrender and get sentenced to a penal colony for five years . . . or we can fight and die.”  The Gunny shook his head.  “And if we do that and get captured, we get hung afterwards.”

“This is just getting better and better,” Henry muttered.  “So no reinforcements?  No incoming supplies?  No way off this rock?”

“That’s about the size of it—and that moron Michael low-balled the defenses here by a factor of four,” Joshua added.  “We don’t outnumber the Taurians—they have more ‘Mechs, more tanks, more infantry, and they are dug in deep to stop us from getting to Port Sheridan and fresh water supplies.”

“Wonderful.”  There was several minutes of silence and then Henry pressed his swollen hands into his itching eyes.  “We get any instructions from Central Command?”

“Oh, yeah.  Command says that the Taurians are lying—about their troop strength and accepting our surrender.  But scuttlebutt says they aren’t lying about taking our jumpers—so we’re stuck here in the desert fun, LT.”

“We can avoid the Taurians—until we run out of water and die,” Henry said in a bleak voice.  “Or we can go back to the DropShips, which the Taurians probably have targeted, run out of water and die.  Or we can try to break through their lines and die trying.  Or we can surrender and get killed by our own forces—and if we are lucky enough to avoid that fate, probably be killed by the Taurians anyway.  They hate us, you know.”

“That’s about the size of it, LT.  Major Potter wants us on the move by 0300—he wants the approaches to that river scouted out and we pulled the short straw.”

“You have a . . .,” Henry began, but the Gunny just smiled grimly and unfolded a map and turned on a red-light.  “Thanks,” he finished as he considered the map and frowned.  “Tight terrain—and I’m not really happy about taking Packrats into the teeth of the Taurians.”

“You got that right,” muttered the non-com.  “Aerial recon wasn’t able to get pictures—half of them got shot down by flak approaching the sector that Potter wants us to recon.”

“Flak.  We don’t need to scout it—the Taurians are already there if they have flak emplaced.”

“Command believes that it is a small Taurian blocking force and that we can push through to the river and resupply.”

“Based on what?” snorted Henry.  “Getting everything else perfectly right to date?”  He shrugged and then sighed.  “What do you suggest, Gunny?”

Gunnery Sergeant Franks paused and he looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping.  “Three Packrats and less than a platoon of infantry aren’t going to make a difference, LT,” he said very quietly.  “The Taurians might shoot us—or hang us—but they might not.  And Russert said that we might get ransomed out early from that five-year sentence.  If not, doing five is better than buying the farm or dancing Danny Deever.”

“Command will consider that desertion in the face of the enemy, Gunny,” Henry cautioned.

“Yeah—the Sixth will consider that desertion.  But, we have orders from Hanse freaking Davion himself to stop this madness.”  Joshua snorted.  “Thank your lucky stars you are in CSR Battalion, LT.  We get the folks who aren’t fanatical followers of the Haseks—unlike the ‘Mech and armor battalions.”

“Praise God for small miracles,” the Leftenant whispered.  “If we broadcast our surrender, those fanatics will be on us in less than an hour, Gunny.  They are only fifteen klicks back, after all.”

Joshua nodded again.  “Russert broadcast coordinates—way the hell up here in the north,” he said pointing to the map.  “Get there and throw down arms and we are golden, according to the Taurian prince.”

“The Taurians have a prince?”

“Yeah.  Edward Calderon is running the show here apparently—something else we didn’t know going in.”

Henry considered for a moment and then he sighed.  “We don’t have the water supplies to make it two hundred kilometers, do we?  And . . . what about fuel?”

“If we ration the water hard—maybe, LT.  Fuel, we’ve got enough with a bit to spare.”

“How hard on the water rations?”

“Seven liters a day per trooper; maybe less.”  Henry winced, but Joshua just shrugged.  “Better half rations than none, Sir.”

“You have a point, Gunny,” Henry acknowledged and then he sighed.  “There’s really no other choice is there?”

“Not a good many of them, Leftenant.”

Henry looked out over the nineteen enlisted soldiers and lower-ranking NCOs that remained—in addition to himself and the gunny . . . and he sighed.  “Start setting up way-points to the surrender coordinates, Gunny Franks,” he ordered.  “We leave at 0300; I’m going to get a bit of shut-eye until then . . . that is, if you have things under control?”

“Can do, LT,” the Gunnery Sergeant breathed with a sigh of relief.  “Just as soon as I have the Doc slather on some burn gel on your roasted skin—no arguments.  I don’t want to lose you to infection if those arms blister up on the move.”

“Whatever you say,” Henry mumbled as he leaned back against a ruck sack—in seconds he was fast asleep.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 24, 2013, 10:11:41 PM

Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Epoch Rooster on July 25, 2013, 02:30:37 AM

Re: Surrender

Alive if you do, Dead if you don't

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 26, 2013, 12:02:53 PM

Maintenance & Logistical Support Field Depot, Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers RCT
Tabernas Wastelands, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 22, 3025

Leftenant General Kevin Rostov—as naked as the day he was born—tumbled to the floor of his luxury climate-controlled trailer the instant he heard the gunfire from outside.  Half asleep, he hit the carpeted surface hard and managed to take the sheets and blankets with him . . . which resulted in pulling the sleeping woman (also quite nude) who had shared his bed (no mere bunk for such an important man, even in the field!) down atop of him, where she landed with a shriek of her own.

“GET OFF OF ME!” Rostov yelled as he crawled across the floor and pulled down the direct phone to the mobile command center that the trailer was parked adjacent to.  Shots continued to ring out—and one of the heavily tinted windows shattered above, showering fragments of glass shards over the two.  “Have the Taurians found us?  Are we under attack?  Hello?  Hawkins, report!” he yelled . . . but the phone was dead.

The gunfire outside slowed . . . and then there was silence; followed by a polite knock on the door of the trailer.  The door opened, and Sergeant Major David Slocum stepped inside; he was wearing a sub-machine gun on a travel sling—the muzzle still smoking slightly.

“What the devil is going on?” Rostov asked as he brushed off the glass, trying to stand up as the woman quickly pulled on her uniform blouse.  “Where’s my guard detachement, Slocum?”

“Dead, sir,” the Sergeant Major answered bluntly and he shook his head.  “You and Major Calley are going to want to get dressed.”

“Taurians?” Rostov asked as he stood up and began to step into a pair of boxers.

“No, sir—we enlisted have decided that following the Duke of Morons to our death is a bad idea.”

“WHAT?” Rostov screamed.

“The techs and engineers and support personnel, General Rostov, Sir,” Slocum repeated, “we are moving the DropShips and the supplies to the surrender point—and we are laying down our arms.”

“THIS IS MUTINY!”

Slocum shook his head.  “It was mutiny when His Idiocy decided to invade another power without telling New Avalon first.  It was mutiny when you officers decided to ignore the messages of the First Prince and failed to tell the rest of us that we were totally fucked, Rostov,” Slocum spat on the floor.  “We’ve recalled the dromedaries and ordnance transports—when they get back, we are lifting and leaving before the Taurians start bombing us.”

“THIS IS TREASON!” Rostov yelled, but then he drew a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.  “Look, Slocum—Sergeant Major!  Emotions are running a little high right now, but if you put down the gun, I won’t have you arrested and tried.”

“A little high?  I’ve spent thirty-two years in uniform, Rostov—thirty-two years and now I don’t have a pension.  My family back on New Syrtis no longer has medical coverage—my wife and kids will lose the house because they aren’t getting my pay any longer.  THIRTY-TWO FUCKING YEARS WASTED, YOU FAT INBRED CRETIN!”

“I am a superior officer, Slocum.”

“No, sir—just a higher ranking one,” the Sergeant Major answered as he charged the SMG with a fresh round in the chamber.  “You and the other officers?  You want to support the Duke of Dunces, you can go right ahead—we’re leaving your asses here in the desert.  His Stupidity is ninety kilometers THAT way,” he pointed with the muzzle of the SMG.  “Have a nice walk, Sir—because we are taking the vehicles.  Oh, I’ll leave the trailer, though—gaudy civilian thing that doesn’t belong here anyway.”

Rostov’s face went white.  “That’s murder, Sergeant Major—you can’t do this.  You can’t leave the loyal people here with no supplies, no transport, no arms.  You can’t!”

“Watch me, asshole,” Slocum growled.

“I’ll surrender,” squealed Major Calley as she pulled on a pair of panties to go with her blouse.  “I’ll go with you and surrender!”

David Slocum frowned and then he shook his bed.  “You made your bed, Major—your people consider you a worthless piece of ass who got your job because of your family connections and that you don’t mind sleeping your way to the top.  You are lucky if I give you a uniform and boots,” and then he raised the SMG as Rostov pulled out a pistol from beneath the bed.

“DROP IT, SIR!”

“You will lower that weapon, Slocum!  I’m not losing my command to mutiny that easi- . . .,” he began, but before he could finish raising the pistol, Slocum squeezed the trigger and held it down—thirty bullets tore across the trailer and ripped into Rostov and Calley.

More enlisted men and NCOs burst in through the door, and they looked at the bloody mess.

“Damn.  He got off easy,” muttered one with a grimace as the smell of urine and feces suddenly filled the air; the muscles of the two dead suddenly releasing as the last bit of life faded from their bodies.

“Bury them, Sergeant Major?” asked another.

“Leave them to rot—and get the other officers and loyalists moving.  We lift as soon as the supply convoys get back here,” Slocum answered.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Shadow_Wraith on July 26, 2013, 12:09:04 PM

 :)  Nice to see the average troops seeing common sense in the situation.   Looking forward to see how Michael handles this.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Warclaw on July 26, 2013, 12:23:43 PM

I don't imagine Michael will react well to this at all.

But, for some reason, I can't find it in myself to feel any sympathy for an oath-breaker and traitor.



I am hoping that he is captured alive.

Anyone else have any suggestions for what should happen to him?

For myself, I think the Taurians should treat him EXACTLY like any other pirate.  A quick trial, followed by a short dance at the end of a rope.  No reporters, no grand last statements, nothing more than a shameful death as a failure.  His death should probably be witnessed and confirmed by Ardan Sortek, or some other Fed-Suns witness, but without Michael being aware of the fact.

In short, he should go to his death KNOWING that he had failed.  And he should be denied even a platform to spit his venom one last time.  His death should be a statement on the folly of hubris, and the consequences of allowing one's ego free reign.

Afterwards...bury him in an unmarked, pauper's grave.  He dies as a disgraced, disowned, former noble, turned pirate.  Such are not due final honors, nor even any memorial.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Epoch Rooster on July 26, 2013, 01:04:15 PM

A quick trial? Pirates and rogue raiders are not worthy of nothing more than a summary execution upon capture.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Warclaw on July 26, 2013, 01:15:31 PM

Worthy of a trial?  No.

Due one under Law?  I believe they are, though I could be wrong, this is Master Arminas' AU after all.

The point I'm trying to make is that he should get treated like just another low-life pirate scumbag.  NOT as an enemy noble, or invading general.  That being the case, no grand show trials, no big splashy media circus, no platform for  Michael to spew venom and/or to try to cut a deal.

He sought to become a King and failed.  As a result, he should die as nothing more than a minor footnote to history.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Knightmare on July 26, 2013, 04:27:10 PM

Dropping him into a Spider's pit would be fitting.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 26, 2013, 08:29:13 PM

I also vote for the spider pit

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: XaosGorilla on July 27, 2013, 12:51:44 AM

While the spider pit is very tempting... (given time I could probably think up worse),  I would probably give him back to Hanse.

I don't WANT to, but I think it is the smart thing to do.

There are bound to be angry Hasek loyalists, who may well try to start a war with the TC as a form of revenge. Add in so many paranoid Taurians that starting said war could be all to easy.  But if HANSE kills him, then the Haseks are more likely to direct their ire his way rather than in the direction of the TC.  Or at least less likely to direct as much ire at the TC.

I realize that many Taurians won't like it (I'm not particularly fond of it either), but it is something that needs to be considered.

Can't wait to see which way MA takes it.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 27, 2013, 09:17:02 AM

Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers Field HQ
Tabernas Wastelands, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 22, 3025

“How many are following Slocum?” Michael Hasek-Davion gritted his teeth as he asked his staff the question.

There was a pause and the men and women in his command center looked at each other before one sighed.  “Your Grace, every unit—except for your own command headquarters—has reported at least a few desertions.  The ‘Mech battalions and armored regiments have the fewest . . . but we have lost the entire support command and nearly half of infantry.”

“Damn that traitor Russert,” Michael hissed as he stared down at the map.  Then he glared at his aerospace commander.  “Can your fighters get to his DropShips while he is in the air?”

“No, Your Grace—they have already lifted off and should be landing at Edward’s surrender coordinates now.”

Michael didn’t respond; he just looked at the map and then he nodded.  “We need to show those peasants that Edward’s offer is false—that he means to kill them all.  Otherwise, gentlemen, we will piss away our strength to the point where we stand no chance of taking Port Sheridan and holding until relief arrives.”

“Relief, my Lord?” one of the armor commanders asked in a sudden start.

The corners of Michael’s mouth twitched.  “Relief, Tom.  Whether it comes from my supporters in the March or from . . . other avenues, we will receive reinforcements.  But we must hold the Sixth together until they arrive,” he finished as he considered the map.  And then he nodded.

“How will our soldiers react if they see Edward has used this surrender point as a trap to eliminate our assets?  If say, the boy prince of Taurus instead of putting them to work in a POW camp or penal colony instead just drops a nuclear weapon atop of them?”  Gasps erupted from the staff and line officers alike, and Michael ginned.  “We know that the Taurians have an obsession with weapons of mass destruction—what happens if Eddie boy drops one right atop of Slocum?”

“He won’t, Your Grace,” stated Karl Oldendorf bluntly.  “He’s not that stupid—if he did, the Fusiliers that survived would never surrender; they would fight to the death because that would be the only choice they had.”

“Yes, they would, wouldn’t they?” Michael agreed with a broad smile on his face.  “I want an ASF strike package assembled—if the Taurians play true to form, they will intercept us as we head to hit Slocum.”  Michael paused and he smiled.  “And who’s to say which side drops the nuke atop of that traitor?  Am I understood?”

Nods answered the Duke and Michael sighed.  “Of course, we open ourselves up to counter-attack . . . which is why we must launch our ground offensive immediately.  The Sixth must break through the Taurian defenses and secure Port Sheridan to keep Edward’s people from nuking us in retaliation.”

“That won’t be easy,” the Fusiliers executive officer, Major General Orville Corn said slowly.  “The scouts are reporting dense minefields and prepared positions between us and the Port—with ‘Mechs and armor in place defending, along with infantry and artillery.”

“We aren’t going to charge in like the Light Brigade, gentlemen,” Michael shook his head.  “We have enough anti-mine munitions in the field artillery to clear a path—and every fighter, both aerospace and conventional—that isn’t delivering our message to Slocum and Edward—will be concentrated here,” he said pointed at the map.

“There are weaker points on their defensive line,” one of the armor battalion commanders mused.

“Which are intended to draw us into a trap—those weak points will let the Taurians catch our formations in an enfilade with entrenched forces on our flanks . . . and more defenses on the far side.  No,” Michael ordered as he tapped the map.  “We won’t play their game—we will hit them here and smash right through them after the artillery clears us a lane.  If we are fast enough, if we are good enough, we can get inside Port Sheridan before they redeploy and hold it until our relief arrives.  Make no mistake, gentlemen,” Michael said in a grim voice.  “If we fail to accomplish this task, each and every one of us are dead—we have to take those civilians as shields and secure the parts and provisions in their warehouses or we have no chance whatsoever.  Between the simple fact that we are in a vise and ‘Edward’s’ first use of nuclear weapons on Slocum, you should have all that you need to amply motivate your men.”

There was a moment of silence and then—one-by-one—the senior officers began to nod their agreement.  “Then let’s get cracking.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 28, 2013, 12:08:59 AM

TDF Field Headquarters
Tabernas Wastelands, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 23, 3025

Edward and Arden entered the communications room at a run, and the young Taurian saw the ashen looks on the assembled officers and staff as a frantic voice continued to emerge from the speakers.

“Look, I don’t have much time—this is an atrocity that I cannot let happen.  You have to stop the fighters!  You have to!”

Cory lifted the transmitter and the fury of his expression caused Edward to wince.  “Colonel Bragg . . . you claim that Michael Hasek-Davion is going to use a nuclear weapon on his own men?  On Taurian soil?  And blame us for it?”

“Yes, yes, you damned fool!  That’s what I’ve been telling you!  The fighter strike is getting ready to launch right now—you’ve got to stop to this!  I can’t!  He’s going to kill them all—our own people!  And then you will respond and we will all die in this miserable damned desert!”

Ardan cursed and Edward’s face blanched.

There was a pause, and in the background a faint voice was heard.  “BRAGG!  You traitor!”

“No, I can exp- . . .,” but the voice was cut off with the sound of gunfire . . . and then the radio transmission ended.

“Are the Fusiliers launching fighters?” Edward asked.

Cory nodded.  “Two strikes—one is inbound against the southern flank of our defensive lines and the second is still forming up,” he paused and looked at the map.  “Recon reports that Fusiliers are moving en masse towards the 1st Hyades Lights,” the old man shook his head.  “Are they deliberately trying to get us to split our response?  Make us chase after this smaller force of ASF while they pummel our lines undisturbed?”

Ardan shook his head.  “No.  This is just like Michael—he sees the men who surrendered as betraying him personally . . . and he wants to exact his revenge,” he winced.  “And Colonel Russert has confirmed that Michael has a dozen Alamos at his disposal, taken from the Strategic Weapons Depot on New Syrtis.”

“Can our fighters intercept theirs?” Edward asked.

“It’ll be tight,” Cory said after a moment.  “The big problem is their base is almost a hundred klicks closer to the surrender point than our fighter bases—and our fighters will have to move through their incoming strike to get to the second flight.  Fifty-fifty,” he finished with a shrug.

Edward shook—it wasn’t fear that was causing the young man to shake, Ardan realized, but absolute, implacable fury.  “We have four thousand of our own people—three-quarters of them civilians!—there to provide medical care and security for those who quietly stood down.  What about in orbit?  Where’s Fleet Marshal Vickers?”

“Sam suffered an engineering casualty after her jump,” Cory said with a sigh.  “She’s making her way from the jump point to orbit—but she’s limping and still an hour out.  Those guardships are in orbit, however, and they carry four fighters each.”

“Michaels got twelve Corsairs and eight Stukas in that strike,” Ardan pointed out.  “Not good odds at 5-2.”

“Better than nothing,” Edward growled.  “Get them moving, Marshal Calderon,” and he stood up straight and took a deep breath.  “As Ambassador Plenipotentiary for Protector Thomas Calderon, and acting as the Protector’s Heir, I, Edward Calderon, do hereby instruct you, Marshal Calderon, that the retaliatory use of nuclear weapons has now been authorized.”

Ardan’s head snapped around; his jaw dropped and he began to protest.

“NOT NOW!” Edward barked.  “Michael Hasek-Davion wants to unleash the nuclear genie on Taurian soil?  In order to intimidate us?  He will kill civilians—and his own captured personnel—just in an attempt to intimidate and cow ME?  Not today, Colonel Sortek—not today nor ever will any Calderon submit to nuclear blackmail.”

The command center was silent.  “Cory,” Edward said in a softer voice.  “You have a squadron of Stingrays on alert, do you not?”

“I do—armed with F61s,” the old Marshal answered.

“Do we have a fix on Michael’s headquarters?”

One of the staff officers nodded.  “It’s on the move—but we have it.”

“Marshal Calderon—show Michael Hasek-Davion the errors of his judgment,” Edward ordered in a dead flat voice.  “I want maximum yields on the devices, mind you.”

Cory smiled and he nodded, then began to bark orders.

“Just his command headquarters?” asked Ardan quietly, in a voice that was somewhat relieved.  “Not the entire combat formations of the Sixth?”

“They haven’t ordered the detonation of a nuclear weapon on Taurian soil, Ardan—Michael has.  And besides,” Edward smiled grimly, “the forward elements of the Sixth are too close to risk using nukes unless I want to accept heavy losses from collateral damage.”

“With Alamos?  That’s the only fighter delivered ordnance,” Ardan asked in a skeptical voice.  “Even six might not take out his HQ if he is dispersed.

“Alamos are the only fighter-deployable nuclear-tipped missile in service, Ardan,” Edward corrected.  “The F61 is a gravity bomb—capable of adjusting the yield from a minimum of 10 kilotons to a maximum of approximately 200 kilotons.”

“TWO HUNDRED KILOTONS!” Ardan barked.  “That’s the yield of four Santa Annas!”   He paused and then he shook his head.  “Your crews are going on a suicide run, Edward.”

Edward snorted.  “Bombers have delivered nukes like this for centuries, Ardan—ever hear of the loft bombing technique?  The aircraft approaches the target very fast at low level—and then it climbs steeply on maximum thrust.  At a certain point, the pilot releases the bomb, which continues up and forward on an arc as the aircraft rolls over and retreats,” Edward smiled.  “It’s very effective at delivering ordnance when you don’t want to be in the neighborhood at detonation.  Our pilots practice that—for just such an occasion as this.”

And then the smile faded.  “Damn Michael for making me do this,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to, Edward,” Ardan said just as quietly.  “We have the firepower to take the Sixth conventionally.”

“No, Ardan—I have to do this.  I cannot—literally can not—let this go unanswered.  If I did, the public would demand my head . . . and Father would give it to them.”  Edward paused.  “And the Old Man would be right in doing so.  We’ve warned everyone since the fall of the Star League—use a weapon of mass destruction on our soil and we WILL retaliate in kind and with an order of magnitude greater destruction.  I won’t be the Calderon who showed the galaxy that threat was a bluff, Ardan—I won’t.  I can’t.”

Cory walked over the two men and he nodded.  “They’re airborne—it’ll be about twelve minutes, my Lord,” he said with a bow of his head.

“And Michael’s strike?”

Cory paused and then he shook his head.  “They’ll be in range of Alamos in seven minutes—our own fighters will take at least eight to catch up; well, except for the ones in the orbit, but as your friend here said, five-to-two is long odds.”

“SIR!” one of the enlisted technicians yelled out.  “IT’S TITAN!  She’s diving into the atmosphere alongside her fighters!”

“WHAT?” shouted Cory, Edward, and Ardan at the same time.  “She’s not rated for atmospheric operations!” screamed the Taurian Marshal.

“Space Master Liam Zahra on-speaker, Sir,” the com tech reported—and Cory snatched up the microphone.

“What the hell do you think you are doing, Zahra?” he thundered.

“Going to the sound of the guns, Sir,” a distorted voice broke through the static.  “She’ll hold together.”

“She wasn’t designed to fly in an atmosphere, you damn fool!”

Static hissed, “. . . –ck about what she was designed to do, Marshal, she can take it!  She’ll hold toget- . . .,” and the speaker crackled with static again.

“Can she?  Can that ship get in range of the incoming strike?” Edward asked.

“If she doesn’t break up in the upper atmosphere?  If she doesn’t lose control over the target?  If she doesn't shear off her radars and fire control systems—and weapons—during reentry?” snapped Cory.  “If she holds together—she might.  She just might.”  Cory paused, and then he nodded.  “Damn me if I wouldn’t have done the same,” he said with a sigh.  “I think, my Lord Calderon, that if Zahra survives—and if I don’t throttle the imbecile—he might be worthy of the Standard of Taurus.”

“If he stops that nuke, I’ll recommend the Brand myself,” Edward replied, and Cory nodded. 

“Just let me sear it into his flesh.  Damn all pilots—doesn’t matter that he is flying twenty-five thousand tons of ship, he still thinks and acts like a fighter jock!”

“Stand in line, Cory—stand in line,” Edward said with a grim chuckle that held no humor . . . but his hand was caressing the beads of his rosary and cross.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 28, 2013, 06:10:27 AM

Good stuff!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 28, 2013, 09:54:47 AM

Really excellent Hasek was expecting cappies to help him.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 28, 2013, 12:42:28 PM

Taurian Concordat Navy GuardShip Titan
Local Space, New Vallis System
Taurian Concordat
November 23, 3025

Sweat poured off the face of Space Master Liam Zahra as the immense—and aerodynamically unstable—DropShip plunged down into the atmosphere.  Titan shuddered and she groaned with a metallic shriek as she was buffeted by the unyielding atmosphere.

“Main radar dish off-line!” a rating reported, then he paused.  “The dish is gone—it tore off the hull.”

“Secondary arrays?” asked Zahra.

“Resolution degraded—but still with us, skipper.”

Alarms were beeping and hooting and emitting shrill tones, amid the red and yellow flashing lights of warnings and cautions.  “Keep it together, baby,” he muttered, and then there was a ripping sound and a massive thud.

“We’ve lost turrets Six through Eleven!  Hull breach on Decks Three, Four, and Five!”

“Maneuvering, shallow our descent angle . . . raise the nose seven—no nine!—degrees.”

“Increasing positive nine degrees on Z axis, aye, sir,” the helm crew chief answered.  “Just tap the forward ventral and stern dorsal RCS, Perez—easy now,” he paused and looked over at the commander.  “She’s wallowing like a pig in slop, skipper.”

“She’ll hold, Chief—she’ll hold.  Reduce mains to ten percent power,” Zahra ordered.  “Let gravity finish bringing us in.”

“Mains at One Zero percent military power,” the chief answered.  And the rough shaking began to subside.  “She’s settling down—we are dropping like a rock, skipper.”

“Understood, Chief.  Tracking, do you have a fix on the FedRat strike?”

“Rough locus, Space Master,” the technician answered.  “No hard fix—twenty birds . . . intercept in thirty seconds.”

“Tie the tertiary Targeting and Tracking Arrays into the sensors—get me a lock, damn you!”

“Aye, sir—TTAs are on-line . . . negative weapons lock, sir.”

“Guns,” Zahra growled.

“We’ve lost half the forward battery, Skipper, and the nose tracking arrays took heavy damage from reentry—recommend we rotate thirty-five degrees to port to unmask the starboard battery.”

“We ain’t in vacuum, Guns.”

“I know that, Skipper—fifteen seconds to weapons range.”

Zahra clenched his fist and then he nodded.  “Maneuvering, rotate thirty-five degrees to port—maintain descent angle and take the mains to standby.”

“Rotating ship Three Five degrees to port, mains on standby,” the helm crew answered . . . and the severe shaking resumed.  “Rate of descent is increasing—she’s fighting me!” And in a softer voice, the man continued.  “It’s like flying with a herd of bloody damned rhinos on your back!”

“Starboard TTAs are LOCKED!” targeting cried.  “Starboard battery is clear!”

“GUNS!” Zahra barked.

The gunnery officer twisted a key and then pressed a single button.  “Take this, you sons-of-bitches,” he muttered.


Headhunter Lead, 80th Syrtis Aerospace Wing
Inbound to target, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 23, 3025

“Headhunter Able,” Major Fred Larson called out as he armed the two Alamo missiles beneath the wings of his Stuka, “go hot on the special ordnance.  Headhunter Baker and Charlie, keep those Taurians off our ass.”

“Baker Two to Headhunter Lead,” the radio crackled, “I’ve got incoming descending from orbit . . . got a lot of clutter here, but it looks like eight medium-weights and a shit-load of debri- . . . HOLY SHIT!  Incoming DropShip!”

Larson looked up from his sensors and he sucked in a deep breath as he saw the massive fireball that surrounded the DropShip plunging down through the atmosphere—and then it swung around and he recognized it.  Oh fuck, he thought.

“ALL HEADHUNTERS!  EVASIVE MANEUVERS!” he yelled as he jerked his own stick to the left and rolled.  But at that moment, sixteen Class 2 autocannons, four LRM-15 launchers, four PPCs, four Large Lasers, six Class 5 autocannons, four Class 10 autocannons, six Medium Lasers, two Class 20 autocannons, four SRM-6 launchers, ten Small Lasers, and sixteen Machine-Guns began to spit fire as the massive DropShip plunged into range.

The staggered formation of the Headhunters broke apart in chaos as a third of the fighters either exploded or spun out of control—and then the Fusiliers pilots entered the opposite side of the DropShip and fresh weapon batteries began to fire missiles and shells and beams.


Taurian Concordat Navy GuardShip Titan
Local Space, New Vallis System
Taurian Concordat
November 23, 3025

“FULL POWER ON THE MAINS!” Zahra barked.  “Alter course to pursuit vector—I want those survivors to have the fear of God Almighty put into them!”

“Going to military power on the main drives,” maneuvering reported—and Zahra slammed back into his seat as the powerful transit drives accelerated at six-Gs.  “Pursuit vector . . . stabilized,” the Chief reported with a shake of his head.  “She’s holding steady at ten thousand, skipper,” then there was a groan and THUD as another piece of hull plating and armor tore loose and slammed against the hull before falling towards the ground.  “But she can’t take much more of this.”

“She can.  She will, Chief,” Zahra answered.  “Guns?”

“We are overtaking the Feddies, skipper . . . forward battery will engage in  . . . fifteen seconds.”


]Headhunter Lead, 80th Syrtis Aerospace Wing
Inbound to target, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 23, 3025

“She’s chasing us—she’s gaining on us,” a panicked voice called out over the radio.

Larson gritted his teeth . . . with full external loads, the Stukas flew much like a brick; the assault-weight fighters were slow and relatively unable to maneuver—and that Taurian bastard back there was ignoring the escorting Corsairs and concentrating on the fighters carrying the nuclear ordnance.

“Sixty seconds to target, Able Three—sixty seconds.”

“We ain’t gonna last thirty seconds, Lead!” the radio crackled with static, and then the other pilot sighed.  “Who the hell put so many damn AC-2s on a frigging DropShip?”  The sole remaining Stuka—other than Larson’s own bird—began to shiver and smoke as a hail of light slugs slammed home, followed by flight after flight of LRMs.  “EJECTING, EJECTING, EJECTING!” the pilot cried as the hundred ton fighter’s engine suddenly died and it rolled over and began to spin towards the ground.

“SHIT!” cried Larson as he wildly maneuvered his Stuka.  “Baker and Charlie—where the hell is my cover?”

“Baker Two, Lead—the Taurian fighters have arrived . . . we are keeping them off your ass . . . SIR.”

Larson looked at his scope and he shook his head.  He would never survive to launch range—not with this hulking monster on his tail—and two Alamos would do jack and shit to the dispersed formations unless he deliberately aimed for the hastily erected buildings that sported the universal sign of non-combatants on their roofs . . . a big red cross in a white circle.

He cursed under his breath, and pulled back on the stick while pressing the throttle to the stops.  “You want to play chicken, you Taurian SOB?” he growled as he locked the Alamos onto the oncoming DropShip.  “Well let’s play.”

As the shrill tone of a lock sounded in his ear-piece, Fred Larson pulled the trigger; first one and then the second missile streaked away from the rails—just moments before his fighter ran head-long into a storm of shells, missiles, and beams.


Taurian Concordat Navy GuardShip Titan
Local Space, New Vallis System
Taurian Concordat
November 23, 3025

The damaged and overstressed sensors of Titan never saw the two small missiles that sped forward—not until it was too late to respond.  Liam Zahra heard the cry of, “INCOMING NUKES!”, but before he could even open his mouth the Alamos slammed home against the nose . . . and detonated.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: barbarossa rotbart on July 28, 2013, 12:52:01 PM

With the nukes fired at the dropship H-D's plan just went to the next level of hell.  ;D

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 28, 2013, 01:18:38 PM

The Titan may of died but they accomplished their mission and brought the fear of God Almighty to the traitors.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: shwagpo on July 28, 2013, 03:45:51 PM

Or the dropship falls like a rock, and its reactor core goes off in the middle of the sensible portion of the 6th....

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 28, 2013, 03:50:26 PM

Ohh  bad bad thing to happen. Random fragements hits Hasek's  mech dead on. I like that idea

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: lrose on July 28, 2013, 05:04:21 PM

Since the Sam is 60 minutes from orbit, I figure Duke Michael has 61 minutes until his command center is flattened by an orbital strike.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on July 28, 2013, 06:11:07 PM

Wow, now that is action. Great chapter!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on July 29, 2013, 12:16:08 AM

Hammer Flight, Taurian Aerospace Command, New Vallis Detachment
Inbound to Point Sunshine, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 23, 3025

“Approaching Sunshine, Hammers,” Cornet Shelly Lee said crisply; “Eagle Lead are we go/no-go to deploy?”

The lead pilot of the four escorting Stingrays of Eagle Flight clicked his transmitter twice.  “Hammer Lead, the sky is clear of all bogies—you are GO for mission.  Eagle Flight is breaking off and returning to base—good hunting, Hammers.”

Shelly inhaled deeply and she made certain her oxygen mask was tight against her face.  She looked left and right, and then at the rear display . . . the three remaining Stingrays of her wing were tucked in tight as they flew low and fast over the parched wastes below.

“Arm the weapons,” she ordered as she toggled two switches and lifted a safety cover to slide a third home.  On her HUD, the icons of the two F61 bombs changed from red to green—all systems go.  “Confirm tritium injection for maximum yield,” she continued, double-checking her own gauges . . . all were good.

“Hammer Two, confirm.”

“Hammer Three, confirm.”

“Hammer Four, good to go—it’s Hammer Time, boss.”

“Central, Hammer Flight is go for loft toss . . . request final authorization,” she broadcast.

“Hammer Flight, Central—you are GO.  Repeat GO for delivery.”

“Roger that, Central—ten seconds to Initial Point,” Shelly broadcast.  “Stand by for maximum overthrust climb.”

As the counter in her HUD raced down to zero, she slammed the throttle to the firewall and pulled back on the stick, making certain to keep her bird steady—the slightest rocking of the wings could send these firecrackers kilometers off target . . . and she wasn’t about to waste two 200-kt warheads on empty desert.

The Stingrays accelerated as they climbed steeper and steeper, clawing towards the vertical—and all of the pilots felt the crushing pressure as the G’s piled on their bodies.  But still they climbed . . . until the HUDs flashed green and Shelly squeezed the pickle once, and then a second time as she yanked the stick back and hard to her right. 

The Stingray rolled over onto its back and righted itself, rocketing away along its original course as it dove, adding still more speed to the stressed airframe as it put kilometers of distance between Shelly and her target with each passing moment.  The two F61 bombs, however, they flew up and away on a ballistic course now in the capable hands of Sir Isaac Newton . . . well, him and the local jetstream.

Eight nuclear weapons flew up on the curve of a parabola—until gravity remembered that it was charge here; the bombs reached the apex and then they began their long descent towards the target far, far below them.  Down they plunged towards the silent desert, separating slightly to box in the target between the eight detonation points.  At 610 meters above the desert floor, a pressure detonator in each of the F61s clicked on . . . and eight massive fireballs blossomed into momentary existence, heralding the release of almost unimaginable amounts of energy.

Energy that slammed into the Command Headquarters of the Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers from all sides before hurricane force winds ablaze with fire formed into eight mushroom-shaped columns of ash and soot and dust visible for scores of kilometers.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Shadow_Wraith on July 29, 2013, 12:49:10 AM

 ;D  Wow that was awesome!!! 

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 29, 2013, 08:20:52 AM

Really Really Awesome

Title: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: AlexiDrake on July 29, 2013, 12:26:21 PM

Ouch Time!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on July 29, 2013, 12:49:18 PM

Yeah OUCH TIME FOR SURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: XaosGorilla on July 29, 2013, 01:43:42 PM

Purged with (Nuclear) Fire.  Quick, effective, and most likely the neatest way to deal with the problem.  (I hear a lot of "It was War." being said in the future).

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Warclaw on July 29, 2013, 01:46:30 PM

Actually, IF Michael was there in the command post, I rather doubt he felt a whole lot of anything.

8 Nukes, in a rough circle around the command post, with a constricting blast-wave pattern?  No, at most he had a split-second to wonder what the pretty bright light was, then nothing but oblivion.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on August 02, 2013, 12:57:52 PM

Command Lance, 1st Hyades Light Infantry, TDF
Tabernas Wastelands, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 23, 3025

Smoke rose from the shattered hulls of scores—hundreds—of armored fighting vehicles strewn across the rocky and broken ground.  Brigadier Tanis Verbet shook her head, sending droplets of sweat flying across the cockpit of her Griffin.  The Fusiliers might be idiots to follow that idiot Michael into the grave, she thought, but none here today could deny their courage.  Fountains of dirt showered into the air as their artillery landed yet another barrage—piled atop the craters left by the supporting aerospace fighters.

She hadn’t thought—not really, not in her heart—that the Fusiliers would press the assault, not after Edward had destroyed their headquarters in nuclear fire.  But they had.  Four regiments of armor had thrown themselves forward . . . and if they had gutted themselves in the process, they had managed to shatter the armor and infantry defenders of the New Vallis garrison—and no few of her BattleMechs as well.  She had started the day with forty-six BattleMechs under her command . . . all lights and mediums that she had thrown into the fire again and again to support the tanks and entrenched infantry.  Of those, just twenty-three remained; all were short on ammunition and many had little-to-no armor remaining.

But the relentless waves of former Davion tanks—Manticores and von Luckners, Shreks and Demolishers, Vedettes and Bulldogs and Scorpions—had done their job.  The minefields had been cleared, the defenders were exhausted . . . and now the full force of the Fusilier’s ‘Mechs were approaching.  Untouched heavy-weight BattleMechs.

“Nomad Alpha Six Actual,” she broadcast over the radio.  “They’ve started the real assault—we can’t hold for long.”

There was a crackle of static, and then a voice answered her.  “Roger that, Nomad Alpha Six Actual; you are authorized to bug-out when your position becomes untenable.  Be aware, the hammer is about to drop.”

Tanis chuckled grimly and she didn’t answer the Marshal—she just double-clicked the transmitter to let him know that she had received the message.  Untenable.  Twenty-three heavily damaged ‘Mechs, low on munitions and armor, less than forty tanks (out of the three hundred which had begun this fight), and a few handfuls of shell-shocked infantry.  No more minefields, air support was all but fought out, and her artillery support had exhausted their stocks of shells.  It was already untenable.

“Nomad Alpha and support elements,” she croaked through a painfully dry throat.  “Pull back—fighting withdrawal.  Let’s suck them in a little bit more,” she paused.  “Lord Edward and Marshal Cory are closing the jaws of the trap on these bastards—payback is incoming, people.”

Mutters of exhausted voices answered her as the tracks began to reverse down the slope of the ridge and infantry piled into the few remaining transports, her ‘Mechs covering their retreat . . . and in the distance, the Fusilier ‘Mechs began to pick up their pace.

Tanis smiled.  They think we are running—damn fools, she thought.  Brave fools, but fools nonetheless.  And then she snorted.  It won’t matter how foolish they are if they catch you, Tanis, she thought as the first ignitions of long-range missiles blossomed among their point-guard.  Time to go, and she stood on her jump jet trigger and took cover behind the sheltering ridge.


TDF Field Headquarters
Tabernas Wastelands, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 23, 3025

“I thought she would have taken less casualties,” Edward said quietly as he stared at the map; the map where Taurian staff moved markers representing Colonel Jameson’s force of Wylie’s Coyotes and two Taurian ‘Mech battalions down from the Glimmerstream . . . they almost in range to fall on the northern flank of the advancing Fusiliers.  From the south, Colonel Erwin Tyrell and his volunteers of the combined noble’s regiments of New Vallis advanced as well.  And in the center, moving towards the retreating Taurians under the command of Tanis, the Calderon Red Hand and the Foxhounds were moving as well—the anvil on which the Sixth Fusiliers would break and die this day.

“Young Edward,” Cory answered just as quietly, “just because a man fights for a cause you consider wrong, it does not necessarily follow that he will fight ineptly.  Those boys and girls out there are skilled and experienced—and they have no lack of courage.  They know they are going to die—and they want to drag as many Taurians down to Hell with them as they can before they fall.”  Cory sighed.  “She’s held at bay more than four hundred tanks and three thousand infantry for four hours—with just forty-six ‘Mechs, three hundred tanks, and two thousand infantry of her own.  Outnumbered in artillery—and outweighed, since most of the guns supporting Tanis are Thumpers, whereas all thirty-six of the ones that the Fusiliers have are Long Toms—and ground-strike ASF and conventional fighters . . . no, Edward,” Cory sighed again.  “She did damn good to pull as much out as she has—and she shattered the conventional elements of the Fusiliers in the process.”

Edward didn’t answer, he just nodded, and Cory laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “It’s never easy to watch and wait from the sidelines, Eddie boy.  You have to put your trust in the men and women out there now—Colonels Jameson, Tyrell, and . . .,” Cory winced as he shook his head at the irony, “Sortek will end this invasion today.  We’ll be picking the pieces, though, for months to come.”

“Do they have enough?” Edward asked.  “If they are bound and determined to fight us to the last breath—do we have enough?”

Cory snorted.  “The enemy has a standard FedRat ‘Mech regiment over there—around one hundred and thirty-two ‘Mechs at full strength, boy!  We have damn close to three hundred and fifty fresh ‘Mechs of our own about to hit them.  Plus the fighter reserve, and the artillery that we held back until theirs exhausts their stockpiles of munitions—and they must be scrapping the bottom of the barrel.  No,” Cory shook his head.  “We have enough, Lord Calderon—enough, at least, that I am not about to throw you and your company of bodyguards into the fray,” he finished with a chuckle.

Now Edward sighed.  “It was worth a shot,” he said in a quiet voice.  “Should I give them one last chance to lay down their arms?”

“These are the hard-core fanatics that followed Michael of their own free will, Eddie.  You’ve given the FedRat assholes more chances than I would have—and a good number abandoned the Sixth to accept your offer.  All another warning would do is give them a chance to try and escape before we spring this trap shut on them,” Cory answered and then he shook his head.  “Fleet Marshal Vickers is in orbit now,” he mused.  “We could pull everyone back and let her bombard the shit out of them—we could win this without losing another Taurian life.”

Edward shook his head sadly.  “We’re going to need that salvage to recover our losses, Marshal Calderon.  Ortillery, if the lectures at the Ècole Militaire I sat through were correct, doesn’t leave much usable material behind.  But I wish that we could—too many of our own are going to die out there today.  Too many already have,” he finished in a quieter voice.

“They were, and we do need the salvage,” Cory replied.  “Just wanted to see if you would admit that to yourself, Eddie—or if you are still viewing the world through those rose-tinted glasses.  People die, son.  We do our best to cut the losses to the minimum—but we don’t always succeed.  We fuck up; we make mistakes—and people die.  Our people.”  Cory paused.  “Even if we get everything right—people die in war, son.  As a commander on the field, you can change a good many things—but you can’t change that one simple, sad rule:  no matter how you try to prevent it, people will die.  Others lose limbs.  Some lose their souls.  And you can’t stop that—no matter how hard you try.  We do our best to give our boys and girls every last chance . . . but in the end, it is their bravery, their courage, their willingness to risk life and limb in defense of the Concordat; in the end, they are the willing sacrifice that we have to place on the altar.  And pray that God sends us a ram before the knife falls.”

There was no answer—no verbal answer, anyway—but Edward nodded.

“Sirs,” one of the staff officers interrupted.  “Colonel Tyrell reports his command is in position—so is Colonel Jameson.  Colonel Sortek and Brigadier Montoya are ready to commence their assault upon your final authorization—artillery and close-air-support are standing by.”

Edward stood straight and he nodded.  “Marshal Calderon, will you pass the final orders?”

Cory nodded.  “Send to all commands—finish it.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on August 03, 2013, 12:55:47 AM

More good stuff

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on August 05, 2013, 10:31:55 PM

Chapter Three

ComStar Executive Medical Facility
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
November 24, 3025

Julian Tiepolo woke with a sudden gasp—he attempted to sit up, but a sudden weakness caused him to collapse back upon the bed.  He tried to speak, but his throat was extremely dry and only a hacking cough emerged.

“The sleeper wakes,” a quiet voice said as the lights slowly increased the room’s illumination.  “Here, Primus—sip this,” and the face of a sandy-haired Precentor came into Julian’s vision holding a cup with a straw sticking out of the lid.

Julian tried to sip, but his throat was too dry, too constricted, and the man sighed.  He raised the cup at an angle and slowly water trickled down the straw and Julian gratefully swallowed.

“Enough, Primus?” the man asked as he took away the cup—and Julian nodded.

“Ves-Ves-Vesar?” Julian stammered.

“Ah, the Primus does remember after all,” Vesar Kristofur said with a bow.  “How are you feeling?” he asked with a slightly sardonic smile on his face.  “No chest pains?  No numbness in the hands?”

“Where is Nicolas?” Julian whispered.

“Dead—my successor as Precentor ROM is dead, Primus,” Vesar said bluntly and he smiled as Julian looked up in alarm.  “So is Myndo Waterly—the two idiots nearly destroyed Hilton Head in the war they fought against each other; the rest of the First Circuit were simply . . . collateral damage.”

Julian blinked.  “How long was . . .,”

“Were you sleeping?  The doctors have kept you in a medically induced coma for the past month, Primus.  To ensure your eventual recovery.”

“A MONTH?” Julian hissed in alarm.

“Yes—well, twenty-seven days to be exact since your heart attack and stroke.”

“Wh-who’s in charge?”

“Well, since you asked,” Vesar chuckled as he pointed a thumb at his own chest.

“I exiled you, Vesar.”

“Yes.  Yes you did, Julian,” he said as he shook his head.  “But given the recent . . . calamity in the Concordat, certain members of our Order here on Terra . . . suggested that I return.  I was already en route when you suffered your attack and ComStar nearly suffered a schism which we could ill afford.”

“You will address me as Primus,” Julian growled.

“No, old man—you will address ME as Primus.  For that is now my title.”

Julian blanched.  “You do not have the support,” he whispered.

“I did not—not when you controlled the First Circuit so tightly, old friend,” Vesar smiled again.  “But Nicholas and Myndo managed to eliminate them with quite the bang—and you weren’t here.  No one was here to stop me from putting an end to the violence.  For reminding our people of what ComStar has as its mission—to unite Mankind once more under our rule.  Rule from Terra, Julian.”

“I’ll fight you—you know that.”

“I do.  But it is a small matter, Julian.  You have been complacent and failed—I shall not.  Blood calls to blood, after all,” and he grinned.

Julian jerked himself upright, but then he collapsed back on the bed again—out of breath from the exertion.  “No, you dare not—we have no proof, Vesar.”

“I have all the proof that I need, Julian.  Jaime Wolf and his Dragoons are but the vanguard of what is to come—and they remain my people’s mortal enemies.  They will be dealt with—once and for all.  After I finished cleaning up your mess,” he ended with a scowl.

“You threaten all that ComStar stands for—the Hidden must remain Hidden,” Julian pleaded.

“Old man, you are the threat.  You have allowed these periphery barbarians under Thomas Calderon to seize control of the HPGs; you are an embarrassment.  An asteroid?  Playing puppet-master with Liao and Hasek?  Sending the Fleet—what little there is—to Taurus?  You would take us from the shadows when we are not ready, Julian.  I will not allow it to happen—the Taurians will pay; all who oppose ComStar and the Blood WILL pay.”

“Enlighten me,” Julian said in a bitter voice.

“Have you forgotten your history?  The Core means nothing without scientists and engineers to decipher it—the ship means nothing without a trained crew.  Holy Shroud III will take care of those individuals . . . even if it requires years.”

Julian winced.  “We haven’t enough agents in place,” he protested.

“Soon enough we shall.  I have issued orders already—and the Blood are moving to bolster ROM.  Burn the books, burn the teachers; and the Bulls will gain nothing but misery from their possession of this Core.  As for Thomas,” Vesar shrugged.  “He will pay as well.  The ruler must bear the price of his people’s sins . . . Thomas and his heirs will die.”

“We have never acted so boldly, Vesar—you are risking it all.”

“I am saving humanity, Julian,” the new Primus of ComStar said simply.  “If Thomas needs to die for that to happen, so be it.” 

“He’s not the threat—this alliance between Hanse Davion and Katrina Steiner should be our prime concern.”

Vesar snorted.  “An Alliance that requires just one additional thing, Julian.  One little act where two people—a man and woman—exchange their vows.  Stop that simple ceremony and the alliance will never be born.”

“You are mad,” Julian whispered from the bed.  “We have never struck directly at the leaders of the Great Houses—they will destroy you.  And ComStar.  And your precious Blood.”

“Only if they know who is responsible; it matters not the least that you object . . . the orders to terminate Melissa Steiner are already dispatched.  With her death, this Federated Commonwealth nonsense will be stillborn—and we can devote our attention to the true threat that is coming.”

Vesar stood as a doctor entered the room, and he sighed.  “Time for your medicine, Julian.  I’d wish you rest in the security of Blake’s paradise . . . but I don’t believe in that nonsense anymore than you do.  Goodbye.”

Julian began to struggle—but he was weak and exhausted; he began to whimper as the doctor filled a syringe with air and injected it into the intravenous drip inserted into his veins.  And when the embolism hit his heart, Julian Tiepolo no longer saw or whimpered any longer.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Shadow_Wraith on August 05, 2013, 10:39:29 PM

 :)  An interesting twist!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on August 05, 2013, 11:19:50 PM

Very interesting!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on August 05, 2013, 11:28:46 PM

Hmmmmmmmmm It seems the Shadows do move.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: CJvR on August 06, 2013, 09:13:14 AM

Vesar is back? Someone needs to tell Natasha...

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on August 06, 2013, 05:12:33 PM

First Circuit of ComStar
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
November 25, 3025

Vesar Kristofur waited until the last of the sixteen members of First Circuit had entered the chamber and then he nodded at the guards.  In response, they bowed low and sealed the doors—completing the enclosure of the Faraday cage built into the walls, isolating the First Circuit from all eavesdropping.

All sixteen were new to their posts; their predecessors having died during the October Coup . . . or the month that had passed since.  Yet, new to their posts they may have been, some still had questions for their so-recently ascended Primus.  Questions . . . and concerns about the orders which he had issued.

Vesar smiled and he nodded.  So be it, he thought.  I do not want sycophants advising me or serving me—that path leads to me like Julian Tiepolo and Myndo Waterly.  And he nodded to himself.  Give me men and women strong enough to question me—to make me consider my actions.  A Council worthy of the Blood.

“Precentors, the Chamber is sealed,” he began.  “Ask of me your questions—and I shall answer them plainly.”

“This plan, this order, that you have sent out,” snarled Vincent Palmer, Precentor Oriente, “Holy Shroud II failed to accomplish its goals—yet you seek to start this Operation a third time?”

“Our goals are not as ambitious—Holy Shroud I and II both sought to destroy the research accomplished by scientists of the Inner Sphere (and the scientists as well) throughout the entirety of the Inner Sphere.  Destroying information on two thousand separate worlds is an ambitious goal, one that we are not attempting to duplicate.  Holy Shroud III will be concerned solely with the Taurian Concordat,” Vesar said with a grim smile.  “I do believe that ROM and our special operations units augmenting them will be able to deal with scientists and researchers and educators on a mere thirty-eight worlds.  We need not destroy the Taurian Core, ladies and gentlemen; if we kill those who can unlock its secrets than it poses to us no threat.”

“The Taurians have already shown that they are not willing to be pushed—look at the blow they dealt to McCarron’s Armored Cavalry!” interjected Tabitha Shaw, Precentor Sian.

“Ah, Tabitha,” Vesar laughed.  “But here there is no invasion of the Concordat.  No hated foe which to focus the Taurian people against . . . it is a war of knives in the shadows.  A war that we excel at . . . and the Taurians will not realize we are coming until it is too late.  Their domestic intelligence services are good, I will grant—but they are not in the same league as ROM.  Do you disagree?”

“No, Primus,” Precentor Sian answered.  “I would caution, however, that Thomas Calderon is not one to underestimate; others—in this very chamber—have already done so to their great regret.”

“You need fear nothing upon that score, Tabitha,” Vesar nodded his agreement.  “He may be a barbarian from the Periphery—but he is a crafty and cunning barbarian.  Rest assured that soon enough, Thomas will be of no concern to us; nor his family.”  The Primus smiled.  “In fact, with the demise of the Calderons, I would expect that internal turmoil will occupy the Concordat for years to come.”

“There are a great many Calderons, Primus,” warned Neil Kikwete, Precentor Altair.  “Destroying them all is rather . . . ambitious.”

“Forgive me, Precentor Altair,” Vesar laughed.  “I should have said the ruling line of the Calderons—once Thomas, his brother and sister—and all of their children—have been eliminated, strife between the remaining Calderons will need no prodding from us to commence.  We will, of course, be targeting high-ranking Calderons in their government and military, as well as the ruling line . . . leaving only those distant relations who will squabble and,” Vesar smiled, “with any luck, instigate a Civil War in the Hyades.”

“True,” added Precentor New Avalon, Janice Kirk, “but as you have said, Primus; the Taurian domestic intelligence is rather good.  Their security for the Protector—and his family—is substantial.”

“ROM has already considered that . . . haven’t you, Charles?” Vesar answered with a nod at the very young man whom he had appointed to run ComStar’s intelligence agency.

Charles Seneca nodded and he smiled.  “We have indeed.  It helps that the Calderons do not isolate themselves or their families behind fortifications; they are seen among the denizens of their capital quite frequently . . . which gives my people a shot at accomplishing this task.”

Dennis Rainer (Precentor Tharkad) snorted.  “That’s all well and good—but I can tell you for a fact that Melissa Arthur Steiner is a far more difficult target than any of the Calderons.”

Vesar laughed.  “She is indeed—but she has a wild heart, Dennis.  I do believe that I read in the dossier that she loves to leave behind the Triad and wander in the wilds surrounding Tharkad City . . . with a very small detail trailing her.”  He shivered theatrically.  “Brings to mind several faerie tales of little princesses getting lost in the woods, all alone.  But this faerie tale will not end well for little Melissa; no, not this time.”

“It won’t be as easy as that, Primus,” Dennis said as he shook his head.

“Nothing ever is, Precentor Tharkad,” Vesar answered with a bow.  “Any further questions?  Inquiries?  Requests?”

For a moment there was silence, and then Jan Chow, Precentor Dieron looked up from his podium.  “I would know of this . . . sect within our Order known as the Blood.  Before this week, I had never heard of them; and yet, with your assumption of power, they are now coming out into the open in great numbers and being set over men and women who have earned their place in our ranks.  Primus, I would know who these people are—what is their purpose?  And why have they been hidden?”

“Excellent questions, Precentor Dieron,” Vesar answered.  “I must ask that you all bear with me—because the story of the Blood is a long one.  And I cannot tell you all—but I shall tell you what I can.  In 2825, an unknown military unit using SLDF Regular Army equipment and markings attack four worlds in the Draconis Combine:  Svelvik, Trondheim, Jarett, and Richmond; in that order.  Primus Toyama, fearing that General Kerensky had chosen to return to the Inner Sphere, dispatched a force under the command of Precentor Emilo Travis to investigate this band of soldiers who refused to communicate with anyone."

Vesar paused.  "Today, we know these invaders as the Minnesota Tribe . . . so named because of the discovery of two combat patches on the body of one soldier killed during the attacks.  The first patch resembled that of the 331st Royal BattleMech Division . . . and contained an outline of the North American province of Minnesota.  The second patch was that of a white Wolverine with bloody fangs."

Several of the assembled Precentors nodded . . . so far, the tale was what they had learned long ago.  Vesar smiled.  "Here, is where truth and reality depart from common knowledge.  Precentor Travis DID succeed in making contact with the Tribe . . . the last survivors of a faction of Kerensky's Exodus known as Clan Wolverine.  The full tale of why they fled is far too long to recite here today . . . but Precentors, know this.  Out there, among the stars, the remnants of Kerensky's Army waits.  One day they will return to enslave us all."

The Primus paused again as he turned his gaze on each and every one of the men and women who comprised his First Circuit.  "Learning of the plight of these refugees, and no doubt desiring to incorporate yet more of the former SLDF under his own command, Primus Toyama extended to the Tribe his hand in friendship.  He offered them refuge in exchange for information concerning the descendants of the SLDF; more than that, he offered the Tribe the opportunity of one day securing their vengeance against the Children of Kerensky."

"You must understand," Vesar said quietly.  "The Tribe was all but broken; all but vanquished.  Fewer than one-in-twenty of the Warriors who defended them had survived; young Warriors for the most, fresh from training and led by a merest handful of scarred veterans.  But the Tribe consisted not only of those Warriors . . .it had civilians to protect.  And so, they accepted Toyama's offer.  Travis led them through dead systems until they reached Terra . . . but here, Toyama's paranoia poised more difficulties."

Several members of First Council bristled at this statement, but Vesar only smiled sadly.  "You believe that Conrad Toyama was infallible, Vincent?  You are mistaken.  Toyama was but a man with all of the baggage that being a human being carries with him.  He feared the Tribe . . . and once they arrived on the surface of Terra, he attempted to disarm them."

Vesar snorted.  “Toyama quickly learned the difference in quality between his security forces and the Wolverine soldiers of the Blood Cluster.  Despite his fears, the First Circuit managed to convince the Primus—well, along with the three WarShips possessed by the Tribe in orbit over Terra—that a conflict would only harm us all.  The Tribe were settled in southern Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego, where they mostly remain to this day.  It was good that Toyama overcame his distrust, because the Blood had information on several Star League caches . . . worlds abandoned by Kerensky, yet still filled with valuable—priceless!—equipment much needed here on Terra.”

“Over the next century we looted the Five Hidden Worlds,” Vesar shrugged.  “Their populations were long gone, lost in the cataclysms of the Succession Wars and to internal conflicts . . . but we salvaged enough to restore the BattleMech factories here on Terra—and the Titan Yards—to full capacity.  Tribe scientists worked hand-in-glove with our own researchers and we rebuilt our society . . . but as a part of Earth.  Of Terra.  Of humanity—not Clan.”

Vesar paused again.  “It is funny,” he said finally, “ironic, perhaps is the best word choice.  When my ancestors left Kerensky’s dream so long ago, they had just begun experimentations on improving humanity—altering it.  Corrupting it.  The Clans of Kerensky are the threat that we must be prepared to face, Precentors.  They believe in no law, but the law of the gun—might makes right in their society.  And if one is not a Warrior . . . well,” Vesar shrugged.  “Then he is worthless and has no voice.”

Shocked disbelief registered on the faces of the Precentors and Vesar nodded.  “Each one of you—intelligent, educated, and trained to lead would have no voice and no place in their society.  That is reserved only for the Warriors who take what—and whom—they want for their own pleasure and gain.  Which is why my ancestors fled; Kerensky and his sons abandoned the ideals of the Star League to make a pact with the devil himself.  Khan Sarah sacrificed herself and ninety-five percent of the Wolverine Touman in order to give those so very few civilians of her Clan a chance at freedom.”

Silence hung over the chamber, until at last one voice spoke up.  “What assets can they provide us with, Primus?” asked Diana Barker, Precentor New Earth.

“Not much at the moment, Precentor,” Vesar said with a sigh.  “Short-sighted Primus’ such as Tiepolo and his predecessors limited the Blood in what they could build and train.  Fearing a leak, they even prevented my people from conducting research into weapons—weapons that make Star League equipment appear as nothing more than the toys of children playing at war.  But that is now changed,” he continued as he lifted his head and nodded.  “I have issued orders for our prototypes to be placed in production; for new training cadres to be raised here on Terra; for the ship-yards to restore to working order ALL of our Fleet.”

“It will take time, Precentors—time for us to complete this task.  And to do so, we must stop the knowledge of the Taurian Core from spreading and we must end this talk of a Steiner-Davion Alliance.”  Vesar bared his teeth and he smiled a wicked smile.  “And we must put an end to the Clan spies who lurk among us.”

And on the monitor screen in the background, the emblem of Wolf’s Dragoons appeared.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: barbarossa rotbart on August 08, 2013, 09:35:49 AM

Oh sh..! A member of Clan Wolverine leading Comstar! And they know the truth about Wolf's Dragoons... But WolfNet is better than ROM...
And BTW the efficiency of ROM is totally overrated. Because Comstar is already infilrated by at least the ISF.

Comstar's plans will eventually fail and that will perhaps lead to a war between Comstar and the rest of the Inner Sphere.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on August 08, 2013, 04:48:13 PM

I doubt some of the new Precentors will be happy to go along for the ride and this should all be very interesting when the Clans eventually invade.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on August 09, 2013, 11:37:03 AM

Cháteau des Calderon
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 27, 3025

“Happy birthday to you; happy birthday to you; happy birthday, dear Thomas (Uncle, Dad); happy birthday to you!”

Thomas Calderon tried his best to look surprised at the song as the lights snapped on in the third-floor parlor with its balcony overlooking the lake.  And through the double doors which led to the hall (and the elevators beyond), the staff were wheeling in a cart and with it, the frosted cake bearing forty-one lit candles.

“Happy birthday, Tom,” his brother Raoul laughed amid the chaos created by Thomas’s three youngest children (well, until the arrival of his next child, for Katherine was visibly expecting), Raoul’s twins, and their sister Nicole’s three!  Of his immediate family, only Edward was absent today—and Thomas smiled at the thought of his eldest son.

He was proud of the boy—proud of the way he had conducted himself on New Vallis, and prouder still that he was proving himself a worthy heir to the seat of Samantha Calderon herself.  The final battle on New Vallis had proven every bit as bloody as he had feared . . . and it would be months before the forces there managed to recover their full strength, if not a full year or more; Thomas frowned at that.  But the salvage recovered—both Taurian and Davion—was sufficient to not only restore those battalions to their pre-fight strength, but might just prove enough to raise another regular force battalion of the TDF.

Thomas snorted as he stepped up the cake and nodded his head at his kin (and security), raising one hand to get (somewhat) silence.

“Thank you all for this wonderful surprise,” he began—although it hadn’t been a surprise, not really anyway.  “I have presents of my own for the Concordat—from messages that I received just a short time ago.  First, there is an inquiry by Colonel Jaime Wolf of Wolf’s Dragoons as to whether or not the Taurian Concordat would be interested in hiring his Regiments for a five-year contract to garrison our worlds and act as a training OpFor for the TDF to hone its edge.”

“Son of a bitch,” Brenda Calderon—newly returned to Taurus from her fight over MacLeod’s Land—whispered in a shocked voice.  Shock that was mirrored on the faces of many of the other adults.  Shock that quickly faded into glee as Thomas nodded his head, telling them, yes, this is the truth.

With the Wolves on the border watching the Federated Suns and Capellan Confederation, the fears and warmongering of many of his most Davion-phobic supporters would be—somewhat—relieved.  Contracting Wolf would increase the overall strength of the TDF by at least a third . . . and no one in the Inner Sphere discounted the sheer élan and experience of Jaime Wolf and his command.  The shot-in-the-arm for morale alone would be worth the expense; the possibility of having Wolf’s troopers teaching their hard-won knowledge to Thomas’s men and women was of inestimable value.

“And secondly,” Thomas’ face grew solemn.  “I have received a message from ComStar.  Julian Tiepolo has suffered a severe stroke following our actions here in the Concordat,” and a cheer went up from the guests as Thomas smiled, “and he is not expected to live out the month.  Primus . . . Kristofur,” he paused to make certain that he got the name correct, “has inquired as to how we want Julian’s head delivered—and when we can begin talks to work out our current . . . differences.”

“Tell them they can stuff their talks up their freakin- . . .,” muttered Raoul, and Thomas laughed.  And then he sighed.

“I wish we could, but Vandenberg Mechanized Industries and Taurus Territorial Industries, among others, are already complaining—vehemently!—about the loss of foreign revenue since we have been cut off from ComStar’s banking.  And I did tell ComStar that we would talk about a resolution if they sent me Tiepolo’s head,” he snorted.  “Wouldn’t want them to think we Taurians don’t keep to our word.”

“They’re gonna ship his head from Terra to Taurus?  ICK!” commented Janice, the five-year old daughter of Thomas.

“They want to send a delegation to Taurus?” asked Henri Jouett—one of the few non-family members present today.

“They’ve offered just that—or a meeting on a neutral planet of our choice.  And Primus Kristofur has informed me that due to the crimes committed against the Taurian people by Precentor Taurus, he will not be demanding the return of that individual—although he does expect to see a trial under Taurian law.  Should we—somehow—find the good Precentor innocent of the charges levied against him, the Primus did indicate that ComStar will prosecute him for abuse of his power on station here.  In fact, they already have in absentia and found him guilty—sentenced him to death, to be precise.”

“Holy shit,” whispered Henri—and now the shocked silence was deafening.

“If this offer is genuine,” Thomas continued, “we need to consider it,” and then he scowled.  “Of course, they are going to want their HPGs back, so it might not come to much.”

“Enough politics, Tom,” Katherine ordered as she stepped forward and handed the Protector a knife.  “You’ve got candles to blow out, the ice cream is starting to melt, and the children—even the grown-up children—want a slice of cake.”

“Yes, dear,” Thomas laughed as he took the knife and leaned over the cake.

“MAKE A WISH!” the children yelled and Thomas closed his eyes and smiled.  Then he BLEW.  And applause erupted as the forty-one candles were extinguished.

“What did you wish for, Uncle Thomas?” Isabella asked.

“No, dummy,” chimed in Amelia, “you can’t tell anyone your wish or you don’t get it to come true!”

“Not true!”

“Is too!”

“CHILDREN!” boomed Thomas, and the twins stopped their argument.  “If you are going to argue, you aren’t getting any of my cake!” he threatened with a wide smile, and the noise level immediately dropped.

“And when everyone has their cake and ice cream,” Raoul said as he walked over and put his arm around Thomas’ shoulders.  “Then we will retire to the theatre where Tom will get his present.”

“The theatre?”

“Yes.  You have NO IDEA how difficult it was to find an original copy of your favorite movie—or what it took for Taurus Light & Magic to restore it.”

“My fav-. . .,” Thomas sputtered, his eye growing wide.  “You got me an original copy of The Magnificent Seven?  Not that bull-shit remake from the 2400s?”

“Language, Thomas!  There are children here,” Katherine growled, and Thomas waved one hand, acknowledging the point.

“Remastered and the score performed by the Samantha City Symphony Orchestra—complete with performances by that bald-headed fellow you like so much.”  He nodded to Nicole, who smiled and she turned on the intercom and the theme from that ancient film began to play throughout the room.

“Oh my god,” whispered Thomas, and then he smiled.  “This is the best birthday, EVER.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: lrose on August 09, 2013, 12:26:56 PM

I hope it's not his last....

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Shadow_Wraith on August 09, 2013, 01:36:23 PM

Well at least he gets to celebrate his birthday!   Looking forward to see what happens if WD does move to the TC.   More please!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on August 09, 2013, 03:59:07 PM

Keep it coming MA!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on August 09, 2013, 11:12:32 PM

University of Taurus Campus Quad
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 27, 3025

“Max, don’t get too close,” the whispered voice emerged from the wireless receiver hooked over Maxwell Danforth’s right ear.

“Right, CONTROL,” the SAFE agent answered as he sat down on a bench and unfolded his copy of the Samantha City Tribune—one of eight daily newspapers that the Taurian capital boasted of.  And probably the best for hard news reporting, Max thought as he opened the old-fashioned hard-copy to a random page and pretended to read . . . while he was actually watching a group of surprisingly fit ‘students’ moving crates into the Performing Arts Center.  A structure that was located less than a hundred meters across the tree-lined boulevard from the heavily guarded Computer Sciences Center.

Max sighed and he turned the page, peering over the edge of the news sheets and he shook his head slightly.  While today was a national holiday in the Taurian Concordat—the Protector’s Birthday—the campus wasn’t as deserted as he would have thought.  No, like the rest of the population of the city, the Taurians had turned out for a PARTY.  And Max smiled.  Live bands were set up, and the students—and people of similar age and mindset!—were dancing in the streets, sampling food from a hundred different grills and chests, drinking beer and alcohol and coffee alike . . . all waiting for the sun to go down and the fireworks to begin.

The SAFE agent snorted to himself.  It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the Taurians—of all of the major and minor Houses throughout the Inner Sphere and Periphery—were in love with fireworks of all kinds.  The official program listed no fewer than eighty-two different displays in the hours leading up to midnight . . . capped off by the multi-million bull display paid for the Calderon family themselves.  Never mind the fireworks purchased by individuals who were already letting off screamers and sparklers and poppers.

Max turned the page again as a woman sat down beside him and he glanced across at her and returned her smile.

“You aren’t having any fun, sweetheart,” she said with a bat of her eyes.  “Buy a girl a drink?”

“Oh, but I am having fun, my dear,” Max answered as he folded his newspaper and stood, tipping his hat to the young lady.  “Watching you and the rest is quite the experience.”

“New to Samantha City?”

“Not really—but this is the first major holiday I’ve spent here,” the field agent answered.  “Are they all so . . . raucous?”

She laughed.  “Christmas is quiet . . . usually cold and snowing too.  The Protector’s Birthday is one of the big ones, though . . . only the Fall and Exodus Celebrations are bigger and louder.  Founding Day,” January 23, Max thought, “comes close.”

Max nodded.  Only the Taurians had a national holiday celebrating the Fall of the Star League; August 12 of each year.  Then, on July 8, they had yet another holiday commemorating the Exodus of the Star League Defense Forces into the unknown.  He reached into his pocket and handed the young woman a five-note.  “While I don’t have time to buy you a drink, I’ll let you buy one for yourself,” he said with a smile.

The girl beamed at him and she stood and kissed Max on the cheek.  “You get some free time tonight, come back and dance with me!”  Then she sashayed away, and Max sighed.

“Focus, Maxwell,” said a different voice—a woman’s voice—in his earbug.

“On it, CONTROL,” he answered as folded the newspaper and looked at the very well-defined rear-end of the young lady walking away.  “I do have to stay in character though—are you getting the picture okay?”

“We’re getting the picture,” the woman snarled.  “The whole picture.”

“Okay—making my pass.  Record their faces; we can hope that we have their IDs loaded in the facial recognition program,” he ordered as he placed the newspaper under his arm, adjusted his hat and tie, and then walked down the street and right next to the van that the ‘students’ were unloading.

One of them looked up at Max as he approached, and the agent suddenly took a tumble, holding his ankle and cursing—the man shook his head and ignored Max as he picked up another box and headed inside.

“That wasn’t smart, Maxwell,” the woman hissed.

“You okay?” another student—this one actually looking like a student!—asked Max as he knelt down next to him.  “We’ve got an aid station set up right down the street if you need help.”

“Only my pride is bruised, thank you sir,” Max answered.  “If you could give me a hand?” he asked as he held out one hand—and the athletic student helped him up as Max looked at his hand-held phone . . . and the blood drained from his cheeks as the device translated the data from the sensor concealed in his right shoe heel.

“Sure you’re okay?  You look a little pale,” the good Samaritan asked in a worried tone.

“I’ll be fine, thanks—if you could help me to my car right there?”

“Sure,” the young man answered and he assisted Max to the cheap sedan commonly used by junior instructors at the University, and after reassuring the man that he was indeed fine to drive, Max shut the door and started the engine.

“Uploading the sensor runs now, CONTROL,” he announced.  “I picked up traces of Plutonium-239; they’ve either got, or have been close to, a fissile package.”

There was silence for a moment and then the earbug crackled.  “We confirm, Max.  How many?”

“At least a dozen, CONTROL—too many for us to deal with.”

“Alert Taurian security?” the woman asked as Max started the car and began to back out, then put it in drive and rolled slowly down the street—being careful to keep his eyes away from the van and those unloading it.

“We do that, we lose any chance at nabbing the Core ourselves,” he answered after a moment.  “The Bulls will move it and triple security across the board.”

“And we lose it if that bomb goes off, too.”

“You know, CONTROL, my grand-father always said that half-a-loaf is better than no loaf at all.”

“No.  No.  No, Maxwell Danforth, we are NOT going to invite MI-4 and the others to get in on our play.”

“Option 1, we do nothing and we lose the Core when the big firecracker goes off.  Option 2, we call the Taurians and lose the Core because they move it—and the big firecracker might STILL go off.  Option 3, we already know they are here—the other agencies.  We can’t take these guys alone—I’ll bet you a thousand C-Bills they are Death Commandoes or DEST, probably here on a suicide run.  But if we team up, we might still get a copy of the Core and save tens—if not hundreds—of thousands of innocent lives.  Depending on how big the firecracker really is.”

The woman groaned.  “Central Command on Atreus will go freaking ballistic—we will never get a promotion or a good field assignment again!”

“If you have another idea, I’m open to suggestions,” Max said and then he began to count.  Before he reached five, the woman sighed.

“I don’t.  And I guess that you know where they are?  The Davions and Centrellas and the Steiners and probably even the O’Reilly’s!”

“As a matter of fact, I do know a local café, CONTROL,” Max said with a smile.  “Just do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Keep that ass Krogh behind a desk in the Embassy—he’s screwed up this op more than enough already.”

“Done.  I left the Ambassador my own handcuffs.”

“The padded ones?” Max asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, darling, I keep those for you.”

And Maxwell Danforth laughed as he cautiously drove through the celebrating streets of the Taurian capital.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on August 10, 2013, 07:34:49 AM

Secret team up. Interesting.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: barbarossa rotbart on August 10, 2013, 09:29:08 AM

I've got the feeling that the suicide commando is neither Death Commandos nor DEST but ROM.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on August 11, 2013, 01:08:04 PM

Café la Fleur
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 27, 3025

Not again, Phil thought as a shadow fell across the table he was sitting at in the bustling café and he looked up at the man who was joining him.  It had been a pleasant day, warm for the late autumn, but with a nice gentle breeze blowing through the trees that lined the streets.  Streets that were filled with celebrating people and music.

“You have to acknowledge that the Taurians do know how to throw a party,” Victor Li mused as he sat down at the table and sipped at his cup of espresso.

“What do you want?” the MI-4 agent asked sourly, setting down his own cup of sweet—too sweet—iced tea.

“Some of those bar-b-que oysters on the half-shell would be nice—say, is that the famous la Fleur stuffed artichoke you have there?”

Phil frowned, and then he sighed and slid the plates across the table; Victor smiled and he lifted a piece of the artichoke stuffed with peppers and crab meat and placed it within his mouth—he smiled as he chewed with his eyes closed.

“Oh, that is good,” he said after swallowing.

“What do you want?” Phil asked again, and then he frowned as he saw the Samantha City Metro ticket that the Capellan had set on the table.  “Going somewhere?  Not staying around for the fireworks tonight?”

Victor smiled and he shrugged.  “I hear the fishing is good along the coast—they are biting tonight.”

Phil’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head.  “Your boys are making a play for the Core tonight—we both know that they are.  Why are you leaving before the job is done?”

“Not my boys—they don’t work for me,” the Capellan answered as he placed the ticket back in his jacket pocket.  “And they don’t play by the normal rules, Phil,” he warned.

The Davion agent nodded slowly.  “Didn’t think they looked like normal field agents from the Mask—Death Commandoes?”

Victor smiled, but he said nothing, and Phil nodded again.

“The Chancellors bully-boys themselves; they planning on shooting their way in and extracting the Core?”

“Phil,” Victor chuckled.  “I do like you—you are one of the better agents that Quintus has out here in the real world.  You know I cannot answer that.”

“I know that you wouldn’t be leaving on the eve of the mission getting underway . . . unless,” Phil suddenly cursed and he sucked in a deep breath of air.

“The fireworks will be rather . . . spectacular tonight, so I understand,” the Capellan said with a nod.  And then his face grew rather serious.  “If things go according to plan, I would imagine that you could see them from orbit!”

Phil looked around, but the two men were—relatively—isolated in the bustling open-air patio.  He leaned forward and whispered.  “Are they out of their fucking minds?”

Victor shrugged again.  “To those men, the mission comes first—and if the Chancellor cannot have the Core, then no one will.”

“The Bulls will go berserk, Victor,” Phil hissed quietly, and then he blanched.  “Michael.  You got Davion warheads from Michael, didn’t you?”

Victor smiled—but he didn’t answer.  He didn’t need to.

“Shit, shit, shit,” whispered Phil.  “Why tell me?”

“I respect you—you are a worthy opponent, Phil Sheridan.  You can do as I am doing—and leave Samantha City before the . . . display erupts.  Or, you can try to stop them from lighting the fuse.  Either way, I owe you for the time you saved my life on Kittery.  Consider that debt payed, whichever choice you make.”

Phil sat back and he exhaled slowly . . . and he nodded.  Field intelligence work sometimes made for strange bed-fellows, he thought.  And if Victor Li was anything, it was honorable.  Or as honorable as the job allowed for.

“You won’t be lending a hand, I presume?”

“Against loyal Capellans operating at—what has to be—the direct authority of the Chancellor?  Would you go against an operation that you knew Hanse Davion had started—even if you objected?”

“I’d like to think so,” muttered Phil, “but it would all depend on the circumstances.”

Victor bowed his head, lifting one hand to acknowledge the point. 

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” Phil asked in a bitter voice.  “I’ve got two other field agents—both MI-4—tasked with observing this cluster-fuck, not getting in the way.  There are at least a dozen of those Commandoes—how the hell can I stop them by myself?”

“Well, you can ask for help,” chuckled a woman’s soprano voice, and Phil groaned as Victor smiled.

“Nicky Kirkland,” the Capellan said as he rose to his feet.  “It is good to see you again,” he told the MIM agent.  “And your companion?”

“Victor Li, Phil Sheridan,” she said with a smile, “may I introduce Hauptmann-Kommandant Gerhadt Manstein.”

“Retired Hauptmann-Kommandant, my dear,” the Lyran added.  “Now, I am just a Lyran businessman who seeks to return a profit to my home.”

Phil cursed again, and Victor chuckled.  “And business is good, ja?” the Capellan asked.

“Business . . . could be better,” Gerhadt answered.  “It has been difficult to break into the Taurian markets.  At least through conventional practices.”

“This just gets better and better,” muttered Phil.  “A Norn and Nicky.  This is my backup?  To stop your guys?”

“They are not my guys,” Victor repeated.  And then his smile got even larger.  “And it looks as if we have two more guests arriving.”

“Does everyone on this freaking planet know we are foreign agents?” Phil muttered.

“Only those of us who take the time and effort to observe, Mister Sheridan,” Maxwell Danforth answered as he took off his hat and bowed to the Canopian agent, “Madame, it is a pleasure,” he said as he kissed the back of her hand.

“Phil, you could learn a thing or two from this gentlemen . . . who is?” Nicky cooed as she batted her eyelids.

“Maxwell Danforth—agent of SAFE,” the Marik spy answered.

“SAFE?” four surprised voices sputtered in unison.

“SAFE,” Maxwell said with a grin, “you don’t think we are ALL as incompetent as Walter Krogh, do you?”

No one answered and Max laughed.  “And may I introduce to you Osami Koga, of the Draconis Combine Internal Security Force.”

“Who’s next—the Outworlders?”

“They are busy trying to find the Core on the Gamma continent,” Maxwell answered with a grin.  “But we—we six—have something that we must discuss.  A certain Death Commando operation that will kill many, many innocent Taurians this very night unless we manage to stop it.”

“I am here because you asked, Danforth,” replied the Kurita, “but why should I care about the lives of Taurians, innocent or otherwise?”

“Because the Commandoes will be destroying the Core that your master sent you to recover, Osami,” Max answered simply.  “The Core that we are ALL tasked with recovering.  I doubt that any of you have orders NOT to cooperate with other agents—I know I don’t.”

“That’s because it is so insane that none of our superiors would WRITE such an order!” sputtered Phil, and there were nods of agreement.

“A dozen Death Commandoes and at least one nuclear device, ladies and gentlemen,” Maxwell continued.  “Alone, we cannot stop them from reaching the Core and destroying it—along with a good part of Samantha City.  Together?  Ah, together,” he said with a smile.  “Together, we can stop them AND recover a copy of the Core for our superiors.”

“You say that as if we do not have our own plans for the Core,” replied Nicky.

“You mean those two nubile young women you have snuck into the chief researcher’s bed, Miss Kirkland?  Yes, they will DIE tonight when the Death Commandoes barge in . . . and those Commandoes will seize their copy of the Core that they are making.  And then the nuke will go off.”

She started.  “How the hell did you . . .,” she began.

“We aren’t all Walter Krogh, my dear.  My team and I have been watching you since you arrived on Taurus—and I have access to certain . . . equipment that can even the odds.”

There was silence for a moment and then Phil sighed again.  “We team up and stop the Death Commandoes and get a copy of the Core—what’s going to keep one of us from back-stabbing the rest and running off with it?”

Maxwell laughed.  “My dear Phil—the game will be afoot!  That is all part of the fun.”

And one by one, each of the field agents slowly nodded—even Victor and Phil.

“Good.  We don’t have a lot of time, so if you will join me at my safe house, we have MUCH to discuss and prepare for,” Maxwell finished as he stood and threw a hundred-bull note on the table. 

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: barbarossa rotbart on August 11, 2013, 01:21:38 PM

And all of them are after the fakre core... ;)

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Warclaw on August 11, 2013, 01:54:03 PM

They are....but, as a special salt to the dish, if they get caught, they'll have been caught trying to stop a nuke from going off in a Taurian City.  One cannot but think that that would buy them SOME goodwill. 

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Shadow_Wraith on August 11, 2013, 04:04:25 PM

Hopefully they will be around for when the ROM agents get their turn at destroying all of the TC society.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Blacknova on August 11, 2013, 06:44:09 PM

I take the core is buried under a "big W"?

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on August 11, 2013, 09:38:20 PM

Quote from: barbarossa rotbart on August 11, 2013, 01:21:38 PM

And all of them are after the fakre core... ;)

Duh, only Fitzhugh and Millbarge can stumble into the real core. They are that damn good. ;D

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on August 12, 2013, 09:17:11 AM

Okay a movie a year older than me but that I know. LOL  ;D ::)

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on November 03, 2013, 03:47:13 PM

MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: barbarossa rotbart on November 03, 2013, 03:54:57 PM

I doubt that there will be more, because (like so many times here) the writer has already started a new AU. :(

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Taron Storm on November 03, 2013, 03:57:54 PM

Damn, I hate it when I get a message that there is activity on a thread I'm watching, and it turns out to be nothing from the story.  8)

As for any further material coming from MA on this story, wait and see is my best guess.  Sometimes his muse takes a while to get him back to a storyline.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on November 03, 2013, 04:02:05 PM

We need to chain her and him to a desk. Sorry about the false alarm just want more.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Kwic on November 06, 2013, 06:11:11 PM

Which new AU?

I can't keep up

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on February 04, 2014, 08:55:57 PM

At long last, the story of By the Horns continues.  A few words before we begin. As I started examining this story again, I realized that I had written myself into a bind by bringing the Blood and Wolverines into the story with Vesar. It just didn't work . . . and so I have changed it. I will be reposting from Chapter Three with the re-written sections of that arc. I hope that it works better. New parts will resume starting tomorrow morning.

Enjoy.

MA

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on February 04, 2014, 08:58:54 PM

Chapter Three

ComStar Executive Medical Facility
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
November 24, 3025

Julian Tiepolo woke with a sudden gasp—he attempted to sit up, but a sudden weakness caused him to collapse back upon the bed.  He tried to speak, but his throat was extremely dry and only a hacking cough emerged.

“The sleeper wakes,” a quiet voice said as the lights slowly increased the room’s illumination.  “Here—sip this,” and the face of a dark-haired, rough-hewn physician came into Julian’s vision holding a cup with a straw sticking out of the lid.

Julian tried to sip, but his throat was too dry, too constricted, and the man sighed.  He raised the cup at an angle and slowly water trickled down the straw and Julian gratefully swallowed.

“Enough, Primus?” the man asked as he took away the cup—and Julian nodded.

“Do not try to speak yet,” the doctor ordered as he checked his patients vital signs and returned the cup to a tray.  “I called for those in charge of this mad-house when you began to emerge from your coma.”

“C-c-oma?” Julian asked in a weak voice, and he began to cough.

“It was necessary to allow your heart and brain to recover—you suffered a near-fatal combination of cardiac arrest and a mid-grade stroke.”  The doctor snorted in amusement.  “Perhaps it should have been fatal; but the equipment you people have here is astonishing.”

The Primus blinked.  And then he realized he didn’t recognize this physician—and he knew personally all of ComStar’s senior medical personnel on Terra.  He began to open his mouth, but the door swung open and a smiling man with hair the color of sand entered the room.  He was tall, lean, and he wore the pure white robes only allowed to the holder of the title Primus.

“Ves-Ves-Vesar?” Julian stammered.

“Ah, you do remember after all,” Vesar Kristofur said with a bow.  “How are you feeling?” he asked with a slightly sardonic smile on his face.  “No chest pains?  No numbness in the hands?”

“Where is Nicolas?” Julian whispered.

“Dead—my successor as Precentor ROM is dead, Julian,” Vesar said bluntly and Julian looked up in alarm.  “So is Myndo Waterly—the two idiots nearly destroyed Hilton Head in the war they fought against each other; the rest of the First Circuit were simply . . . collateral damage.”

Julian blinked.  “How long was . . .,”

“Were you sleeping?  The doctors have kept you in a medically induced coma for the past month, Primus.  To ensure your eventual recovery.”

“A MONTH?” Julian hissed in alarm.

“Yes—well, twenty-seven days to be exact since your heart attack and stroke.”

“Wh-who’s in charge?”

“Well, since you asked,” Vesar chuckled as he pointed a thumb at his own chest and the robes he wore.

“I exiled you, Vesar.”

“Yes.  Yes you did, Julian,” he said as he shook his head.  “But given the recent . . . events in the Concordat, certain members of the First Circuit . . . suggested that I return.  I was already en route when you suffered your attack and ComStar nearly suffered a schism which we could ill afford.”

Julian blanched.  “You do not have the support,” he whispered.

“I did not—not when you controlled the First Circuit so tightly, old friend,” Vesar smiled again.  “But Nicholas and Myndo managed to eliminate them with quite the bang—and you weren’t here.  No one was here to stop me from putting an end to the violence.  For reminding our people of what ComStar has as its mission—to unite Mankind once more under our rule.  Rule from Terra, Julian.”

“I’ll fight you—you know that.”

“I do.  But it is a small matter, Julian.  You have been complacent and failed—I shall not.  This matter with the Taurians has gotten too far out of hand when it should have been handled far more directly far sooner,” and he grinned.

 â€œYou threaten all that ComStar stands for,” Julian pleaded.

“Old man, you are the threat.  You have allowed these periphery barbarians under Thomas Calderon to seize control of the HPGs; you are an embarrassment.  An asteroid?  Playing puppet-master with Liao and Hasek?  Sending the Fleet—what little there is—to Taurus?  An outline of a plan to kidnap Edward Calderon and replace him with a dupe . . . or brainwash him into your puppet?  You would take us from the shadows when we are not ready, Julian.  I will not allow it to happen—the Taurians will pay; all who oppose ComStar WILL pay.”

“Enlighten me,” Julian said in a bitter voice.

“Have you forgotten your history?  The Core means nothing without scientists and engineers to decipher it—the ship means nothing without a trained crew.  Holy Shroud III will take care of those individuals . . . even if it requires years.”

Julian winced.  “We haven’t enough agents in place,” he protested.

“Soon enough we shall.  I have issued orders already—and ROM is moving.  Soon enough the assets will be in place and we will strike at the heart of the matter.  Burn the books, burn the teachers; and the Bulls will gain nothing but misery from their possession of this Core.  As for Thomas,” Vesar shrugged.  “He will pay as well.  The ruler must bear the price of his people’s sins . . . Thomas and his heirs will die.”

“We have never acted so boldly, Vesar—you are risking it all.”

“I am saving humanity, Julian,” the new Primus of ComStar said simply.  “If Thomas needs to die for that to happen, so be it.”

“He’s not the threat—this alliance between Hanse Davion and Katrina Steiner should be your concern.”

Vesar snorted.  “An Alliance that requires just one additional thing, Julian.  One little act where two people—a man and woman—exchange their vows.  Stop that simple ceremony and the alliance will never be born.”

“You are mad,” Julian whispered from the bed.  “We have never struck directly at the leaders of the Great Houses—they will destroy you.  And ComStar.”

“Only if they know who is responsible; it matters not the least that you object . . . the orders to terminate Melissa Steiner are already dispatched.  With her death, this Federated Commonwealth nonsense will be stillborn—and we can devote our attention to the true threat that is coming.”

Vesar stood as a doctor entered the room, and he sighed.  “I fear that it is past time for your reign to end, Julian.  The good surgeon here—one of my people, mind you—has the final dose of your medications.  I’d wish you a peaceful rest in Blake’s arms . . . but I don’t believe in that nonsense anymore than you do.  Goodbye.”  Vesar turned and he exited the room as the physician approached with a syringe in his hand.

Julian began to struggle—but he was weak and exhausted; he began to whimper as the doctor inserted the needle into the intravenous drip connected to his veins, and he began to cry as the cold liquid entered his blood-stream.  All around him faded to black and his limbs felt as heavy as lead; within minutes Julian Tiepolo no longer saw or whimpered any longer as his eyes closed for the last time.


First Circuit of ComStar
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
November 25, 3025

Vesar Kristofur waited until the last of the sixteen members of First Circuit had entered the chamber and then he nodded at the guards.  In response, they bowed low and sealed the doors—completing the enclosure of the Faraday cage built into the walls, isolating the First Circuit from all eavesdropping.

All sixteen were new to their posts; their predecessors having died during the October Coup . . . or the month that had passed since.  Yet, new to their posts they may have been, some still had questions for their so-recently ascended Primus.  Questions . . . and concerns about the orders which he had issued.

Vesar smiled and he nodded.  So be it, he thought.  I do not want sycophants advising me or serving me—that path leads to me like Julian Tiepolo and Myndo Waterly.  And he nodded to himself.  Give me men and women strong enough to question me—to make me consider my actions.  A Council worthy of serving me—serving Terra.

“Precentors, the Chamber is sealed,” he began.  “Ask of me your questions—and I shall answer them plainly.”

“This plan, this order, that you have sent out,” snarled Vincent Palmer, Precentor Oriente, “Holy Shroud II failed to accomplish its goals—yet you seek to start this Operation a third time?”

“Our goals are not as ambitious—Holy Shroud I and II both sought to destroy the research accomplished by scientists of the Inner Sphere, and the scientists as well, throughout the entirety of the Inner Sphere.  Destroying information on two thousand separate worlds is an ambitious goal, one that we are not attempting to duplicate.  Holy Shroud III will be concerned solely with the Taurian Concordat,” Vesar said with a grim smile.  “I do believe that ROM and our special operations units augmenting them will be able to deal with scientists and researchers and educators on a mere thirty-eight worlds.  We need not destroy the Taurian Core, ladies and gentlemen; if we kill those who can unlock its secrets than it poses to us no threat.”

“The Taurians have already shown that they are not willing to be pushed—look at the blow they dealt to McCarron’s Armored Cavalry!” interjected Tabitha Shaw, Precentor Sian.

“Ah, Tabitha,” Vesar laughed.  “But here there is no invasion of the Concordat.  No hated foe which to focus the Taurian people against . . . it is a war of knives in the shadows.  A war that we excel at . . . and the Taurians will not realize we are coming until it is too late.  Their domestic intelligence services are good, I will grant—but they are not in the same league as ROM.  Do you disagree?”

“No, Primus,” Precentor Sian answered.  “I would caution, however, that Thomas Calderon is not one to underestimate; others—in this very chamber—have already done so to their great regret.”

“You need fear nothing upon that score, Tabitha,” Vesar nodded his agreement.  “He may be a barbarian from the Periphery—but he is a crafty and cunning barbarian.  Rest assured that soon enough, Thomas will be of no concern to us; nor his family.”  The Primus smiled.  “In fact, with the demise of the Calderons, I would expect that internal turmoil will occupy the Concordat for years to come.”

“There are a great many Calderons, Primus,” warned Neil Kikwete, Precentor Altair.  “Destroying them all is rather . . . ambitious.”

“Forgive me, Precentor Altair,” Vesar laughed.  “I should have said the ruling line of the Calderons—once Thomas, his brother and sister—and all of their children—have been eliminated, strife between the remaining Calderons will need no prodding from us to commence.  We will, of course, be targeting high-ranking Calderons in their government and military, as well as the ruling line . . . leaving only those distant relations who will squabble and,” Vesar smiled, “with no small amount of gentle prodding, instigate a Civil War in the Hyades.”

“True,” added Precentor New Avalon, Janice Kirk, “but as you have said, Primus; the Taurian domestic intelligence is rather good.  Their security for the Protector—and his family—is substantial.”

“ROM has already considered that . . . haven’t you, Charles?” Vesar answered with a nod at the very young man whom he had appointed to run ComStar’s intelligence agency.

Charles Seneca nodded and he smiled.  “We have indeed.  It helps that the Calderons do not isolate themselves or their families behind fortifications; they are seen among the denizens of their capital quite frequently . . . which gives my people a shot at accomplishing this task.”

Dennis Rainer (Precentor Tharkad) snorted.  “That’s all well and good—but I can tell you for a fact that Melissa Arthur Steiner is a far more difficult target.”

Vesar laughed.  “She is indeed—but she has a wild heart, Dennis.  I do believe that I read in the dossier that she loves to leave behind the Triad and wander in the wilds surrounding Tharkad City . . . with a very small detail trailing her.”  He shivered theatrically.  “Brings to mind several faerie tales of little princesses getting lost in the woods, all alone.  But this faerie tale will not end well for little Melissa; no, not this time.”

“It won’t be as easy as that, Primus,” Dennis said as he shook his head.

“Nothing ever is, Precentor Tharkad,” Vesar answered with a bow.  “Any further questions?  Inquiries?  Requests?”

For a moment there was silence, and then Jan Chow, Precentor Dieron looked up from his podium.  “I would know of these . . . foreign mercenaries which you brought with you to Terra.  They are not ComStar, but now?  With your assumption of power?  Now, they are here in great numbers, even more arriving with every DropShip—and their equipment!”  Chow barked in trepidation.  “These are no mere mercenaries, there are not enough mercenaries available for you to have hired them on such short notice!”

Vesar laughed.  “I was exiled to the Periphery after the Marik Civil War, Precentor Dieron.  Not to serve as an honored Precentor on Canopus or Taurus or Alphard—no,” he continued in a sour, bitter voice.  “Julian Tiepolo sent me away to die in ignominy.  But he never considered what I might discover out there in the long-lost stars of what was once the Rim Worlds Republic.”  Vesar paused and then he nodded.

“I discovered—rediscovered,” he corrected himself with a smile, “a group of eight worlds reduced to barbarism almost eight years ago,” and his smile vanished.  “Eight years.  It is hard to believe that such time has passed, for I have been busy in the Periphery.”  He paused again and nodded, then he continued.  “Kerensky and his campaign was thorough in the Rim Worlds—and the Lyrans finished that realm after the Exodus.  But the man wasn’t a god and the speed with which he had to finish the campaign and turn his attention to Stefan Amaris on Terra; well,” he grinned again.  “Let us say that he missed some choice assets that Amaris had gone to a great deal of trouble to conceal.”

“Rim-worlders?” Precentor Kirk asked in an incredulous voice.

Vesar nodded his head.  “Incredible, is it not?  Eight worlds that lost the ability to travel between the stars—whose populations reverted to barbarism and a mythology concerning Stefan the ‘Great’ and his promise to one day return to them.  The factories there were long-ruined, but for many, many years after they lost contact with the Inner Sphere and Stefan Amaris, they continued to produce and store military equipment.  The same factories that provided the Territorial States with the hidden armies they used to good effect in the Uprising.”

A shocked gasp emerged from the ranks of the Precentors and Vesar’s grin grew larger.  “They may be barbarians and unused to our amenities—quite mocking of the truth of Blake’s Word as well—but they retained their warrior culture.  And they have agreed to serve me.  Only me,” he said sternly as the smile vanished and the temperature in the First Circuit seemed to drop several degrees.

“How large a force are we speaking of?” asked Precentor Shaw.

“They have three thousand ‘Mechs in storage—ten times that number of tanks.  And in a few years time, they will have enough trained soldiers to man all of that equipment.”

“Rim Worlds equipment from before the Coup—our own ComGuard and Militia uses advanced Star League combat vehicles and ‘Mechs.  Will not this dilute our force strength?” Tabitha Shaw continued.

Vesar laughed a second time.  “Quantity has a quality all its own, Tabitha.  And twenty-seven plus regiments of ‘Mechs—ten times of armor—is a force that make even the Great Houses stand up and take notice.”

The Precentors began to exchange glances with each other, nervous and worried.  “Can you trust these neo-barbarians from the Rim, Primus?” Palmer asked.

And now the laughter of Vesar Kristofur deepened and he slapped his own knee in amusement.  “I do not trust you, Precentor Oriente—I trust no one.  Not anymore,” he said after he finished his laughter.  “The ComGuard will be expanding as well and when we recover all of their equipment, then we will dispose of the Periphery trash piloting those ‘Mechs.  And replace them with good, loyal members of ComStar.”  His grinned became infectious.  “Firm believers in the Word of Blake and the Supremacy of Terra one and all.”  He gestured at the First Circuit.  “Unless, that is, one of you have a better plan to deal with all of the many threats arrayed against this organization at this time?”

For several moments there was only silence as one by one, the Precentors exchanged glances and then slowly nodded.  Finally, Precentor Atreus spoke.  “I move that the First Circuit approve the plans suggested by the Primus—by acclamation.  I see no need to bring it to an official vote; is there a second?”

“Aye,” another Precentor whispered.

“All in favor?” Vesar said in an amiable voice—and he smiled wider as each and every member of the First Circuit spoke at the same time.  “Good.  Then let us begin.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on February 04, 2014, 09:01:20 PM

Cháteau des Calderon
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 27, 3025

“Happy birthday to you; happy birthday to you; happy birthday, dear Thomas (Uncle, Dad); happy birthday to you!”

Thomas Calderon tried his best to look surprised at the song as the lights snapped on in the third-floor parlor with its balcony overlooking the lake.  And through the double doors which led to the hall (and the elevators beyond), the staff were wheeling in a cart and with it, the frosted cake bearing forty-one lit candles.

“Happy birthday, Tom,” his brother Raoul laughed amid the chaos created by Thomas’s three youngest children (well, until the arrival of his next child, for Katherine was visibly expecting), Raoul’s twins, and their sister Nicole’s three!  Of his immediate family, only Edward was absent today—and Thomas smiled at the thought of his eldest son.

He was proud of the boy—proud of the way he had conducted himself on New Vallis, and prouder still that he was proving himself a worthy heir to the seat of Samantha Calderon herself.  The final battle on New Vallis had proven every bit as bloody as he had feared . . . and it would be months before the forces there managed to recover their full strength, if not a full year or more; Thomas frowned at that.  But the salvage recovered—both Taurian and Davion—was sufficient to not only restore those battalions to their pre-fight strength, but might just prove enough to raise another regular force battalion of the TDF.

Thomas snorted as he stepped up the cake and nodded his head at his kin (and security), raising one hand to get (somewhat) silence.

“Thank you all for this wonderful surprise,” he began—although it hadn’t been a surprise, not really anyway.  “I have presents of my own for the Concordat—from messages that I received just a short time ago.  First, there is an inquiry by Colonel Jaime Wolf of Wolf’s Dragoons as to whether or not the Taurian Concordat would be interested in hiring his Regiments for a five-year contract to garrison our worlds and act as a training OpFor for the TDF to hone its edge.”

“Son of a bitch,” Brenda Calderon—newly returned to Taurus from her fight over MacLeod’s Land—whispered in a shocked voice.  Shock that was mirrored on the faces of many of the other adults.  Shock that quickly faded into glee as Thomas nodded his head, telling them, yes, this is the truth.

With the Wolves on the border watching the Federated Suns and Capellan Confederation, the fears and warmongering of many of his most Davion-phobic supporters would be—somewhat—relieved.  Contracting Wolf would increase the overall strength of the TDF by at least a third . . . and no one in the Inner Sphere discounted the sheer élan and experience of Jaime Wolf and his command.  The shot-in-the-arm for morale alone would be worth the expense; the possibility of having Wolf’s troopers teaching their hard-won knowledge to Thomas’s men and women was of inestimable value.

“And secondly,” Thomas’ face grew solemn.  “I have received a message from ComStar.  Julian Tiepolo has suffered a severe stroke following our actions here in the Concordat,” and a cheer went up from the guests as Thomas smiled, “and he is not expected to live out the month.  Primus . . . Kristofur,” he paused to make certain that he got the name correct, “has inquired as to how we want Julian’s head delivered—and when we can begin talks to work out our current . . . differences.”

“Tell them they can stuff their talks up their freakin- . . .,” muttered Raoul, and Thomas laughed.  And then he sighed.

“I wish we could, but Vandenberg Mechanized Industries and Taurus Territorial Industries, among others, are already complaining—vehemently!—about the loss of foreign revenue since we have been cut off from ComStar’s banking.  And I did tell ComStar that we would talk about a resolution if they sent me Tiepolo’s head,” he snorted.  “Wouldn’t want them to think we Taurians don’t keep to our word.”

“They’re gonna ship his head from Terra to Taurus?  ICK!” commented Janice, the five-year old daughter of Thomas.

“They want to send a delegation to Taurus?” asked Henri Jouett—one of the few non-family members present today.

“They’ve offered just that—or a meeting on a neutral planet of our choice.  And Primus Kristofur has informed me that due to the crimes committed against the Taurian people by Precentor Taurus, he will not be demanding the return of that individual—although he does expect to see a trial under Taurian law.  Should we—somehow—find the good Precentor innocent of the charges levied against him, the Primus did indicate that ComStar will prosecute him for abuse of his power on station here.  In fact, they already have in absentia and found him guilty—sentenced him to death, to be precise.”

“Holy shit,” whispered Henri—and now the shocked silence was deafening.

“If this offer is genuine,” Thomas continued, “we need to consider it,” and then he scowled.  “Of course, they are going to want their HPGs back, so it might not come to much.”

“Enough politics, Tom,” Katherine ordered as she stepped forward and handed the Protector a knife.  “You’ve got candles to blow out, the ice cream is starting to melt, and the children—even the grown-up children—want a slice of cake.”

“Yes, dear,” Thomas laughed as he took the knife and leaned over the cake.

“MAKE A WISH!” the children yelled and Thomas closed his eyes and smiled.  Then he BLEW.  And applause erupted as the forty-one candles were extinguished.

“What did you wish for, Uncle Thomas?” Isabella asked.

“No, dummy,” chimed in Amelia, “you can’t tell anyone your wish or you don’t get it to come true!”

“Not true!”

“Is too!”

“CHILDREN!” boomed Thomas, and the twins stopped their argument.  “If you are going to argue, you aren’t getting any of my cake!” he threatened with a wide smile, and the noise level immediately dropped.

“And when everyone has their cake and ice cream,” Raoul said as he walked over and put his arm around Thomas’ shoulders.  “Then we will retire to the theatre where Tom will get his present.”

“The theatre?”

“Yes.  You have NO IDEA how difficult it was to find an original copy of your favorite movie—or what it took for Taurus Light & Magic to restore it.”

“My fav-. . .,” Thomas sputtered, his eye growing wide.  “You got me an original copy of The Magnificent Seven?  Not that bull-shit remake from the 2400s?”

“Language, Thomas!  There are children here,” Katherine growled, and Thomas waved one hand, acknowledging the point.

“Remastered and the score performed by the Samantha City Symphony Orchestra—complete with performances by that bald-headed fellow you like so much.”  He nodded to Nicole, who smiled and she turned on the intercom and the theme from that ancient film began to play throughout the room.

“Oh my god,” whispered Thomas, and then he smiled.  “This is the best birthday, EVER.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on February 04, 2014, 09:03:05 PM

University of Taurus Campus Quad
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 27, 3025

“Max, don’t get too close,” the whispered voice emerged from the wireless receiver hooked over Maxwell Danforth’s right ear.

“Right, CONTROL,” the SAFE agent answered as he sat down on a bench and unfolded his copy of the Samantha City Tribune—one of eight daily newspapers that the Taurian capital boasted of.  And probably the best for hard news reporting, Max thought as he opened the old-fashioned hard-copy to a random page and pretended to read . . . while he was actually watching a group of surprisingly fit ‘students’ moving crates into the Performing Arts Center.  A structure that was located less than a hundred meters across the tree-lined boulevard from the heavily guarded Computer Sciences Center.

Max sighed and he turned the page, peering over the edge of the news sheets and he shook his head slightly.  While today was a national holiday in the Taurian Concordat—the Protector’s Birthday—the campus wasn’t as deserted as he would have thought.  No, like the rest of the population of the city, the Taurians had turned out for a PARTY.  And Max smiled.  Live bands were set up, and the students—and people of similar age and mindset!—were dancing in the streets, sampling food from a hundred different grills and chests, drinking beer and alcohol and coffee alike . . . all waiting for the sun to go down and the fireworks to begin.

The SAFE agent snorted to himself.  It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the Taurians—of all of the major and minor Houses throughout the Inner Sphere and Periphery—were in love with fireworks of all kinds.  The official program listed no fewer than eighty-two different displays in the hours leading up to midnight . . . capped off by the multi-million bull display paid for the Calderon family themselves.  Never mind the fireworks purchased by individuals who were already letting off screamers and sparklers and poppers.

Max turned the page again as a woman sat down beside him and he glanced across at her and returned her smile.

“You aren’t having any fun, sweetheart,” she said with a bat of her eyes.  “Buy a girl a drink?”

“Oh, but I am having fun, my dear,” Max answered as he folded his newspaper and stood, tipping his hat to the young lady.  “Watching you and the rest is quite the experience.”

“New to Samantha City?”

“Not really—but this is the first major holiday I’ve spent here,” the field agent answered.  “Are they all so . . . raucous?”

She laughed.  “Christmas is quiet . . . usually cold and snowing too.  The Protector’s Birthday is one of the big ones, though . . . only the Fall and Exodus Celebrations are bigger and louder.  Founding Day,” January 23, Max thought, “comes close.”

Max nodded.  Only the Taurians had a national holiday celebrating the Fall of the Star League; August 12 of each year.  Then, on July 8, they had yet another holiday commemorating the Exodus of the Star League Defense Forces into the unknown.  He reached into his pocket and handed the young woman a five-note.  “While I don’t have time to buy you a drink, I’ll let you buy one for yourself,” he said with a smile.

The girl beamed at him and she stood and kissed Max on the cheek.  “You get some free time tonight, come back and dance with me!”  Then she sashayed away, and Max sighed.

“Focus, Maxwell,” said a different voice—a woman’s voice—in his earbug.

“On it, CONTROL,” he answered as folded the newspaper and looked at the very well-defined rear-end of the young lady walking away.  “I do have to stay in character though—are you getting the picture okay?”

“We’re getting the picture,” the woman snarled.  “The whole picture.”

“Okay—making my pass.  Record their faces; we can hope that we have their IDs loaded in the facial recognition program,” he ordered as he placed the newspaper under his arm, adjusted his hat and tie, and then walked down the street and right next to the van that the ‘students’ were unloading.

One of them looked up at Max as he approached, and the agent suddenly took a tumble, holding his ankle and cursing—the man shook his head and ignored Max as he picked up another box and headed inside.

“That wasn’t smart, Maxwell,” the woman hissed.

“You okay?” another student—this one actually looking like a student!—asked Max as he knelt down next to him.  “We’ve got an aid station set up right down the street if you need help.”

“Only my pride is bruised, thank you sir,” Max answered.  “If you could give me a hand?” he asked as he held out one hand—and the athletic student helped him up as Max looked at his hand-held phone . . . and the blood drained from his cheeks as the device translated the data from the sensor concealed in his right shoe heel.

“Sure you’re okay?  You look a little pale,” the good Samaritan asked in a worried tone.

“I’ll be fine, thanks—if you could help me to my car right there?”

“Sure,” the young man answered and he assisted Max to the cheap sedan commonly used by junior instructors at the University, and after reassuring the man that he was indeed fine to drive, Max shut the door and started the engine.

“Uploading the sensor runs now, CONTROL,” he announced.  “I picked up traces of Plutonium-239; they’ve either got, or have been close, to a fissile package.”

There was silence for a moment and then the earbug crackled.  “We confirm, Max.  How many?”

“At least a dozen, CONTROL—too many for us to deal with.”

“Alert Taurian security?” the woman asked as Max started the car and began to back out, then put it in drive and rolled slowly down the street—being careful to keep his eyes away from the van and those unloading it.

“We do that, we lose any chance at nabbing the Core ourselves,” he answered after a moment.  “The Bulls will move it and triple security across the board.”

“And we lose it if that bomb goes off, too.”

“You know, CONTROL, my grand-father always said that half-a-loaf is better than no loaf at all.”

“No.  No.  No, Maxwell Danforth, we are NOT going to invite MI-4 and the others to get in on our play.”

“Option 1, we do nothing and we lose the Core when the big firecracker goes off.  Option 2, we call the Taurians and lose the Core because they move it—and the big firecracker might STILL go off.  Option 3, we already know they are here—the other agencies.  We can’t take these guys alone—I’ll bet you a thousand C-Bills they are Death Commandoes or DEST, probably here on a suicide run.  But if we team up, we might still get a copy of the Core and save tens—if not hundreds—of thousands of innocent lives.  Depending on how big the firecracker really is.”

The woman groaned.  “Central Command on Atreus will go freaking ballistic—we will never get a promotion or a good field assignment again!”

“If you have another idea, I’m open to suggestions,” Max said and then he began to count.  Before he reached five, the woman sighed.

“I don’t.  And I guess that you know where they are?  The Davions and Centrellas and the Steiners and probably even the O’Reilly’s!”

“As a matter of fact, I do know a local café, CONTROL,” Max said with a smile.  “Just do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Keep that ass Krogh behind a desk in the Embassy—he’s screwed up this op more than enough already.”

“Done.  I left the Ambassador my own handcuffs.”

“The padded ones?” Max asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, darling, I keep those for you.”

And Maxwell Danforth laughed as he cautiously drove through the celebrating streets of the Taurian capital.


Café la Fleur
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 27, 3025

Not again, Phil thought as a shadow fell across the table he was sitting at in the bustling café and he looked up at the man who was joining him.  It had been a pleasant day, warm for the late autumn, but with a nice gentle breeze blowing through the trees that lined the streets.  Streets that were filled with celebrating people and music.

“You have to acknowledge that the Taurians do know how to throw a party,” Victor Li mused as he sat down at the table and sipped at his cup of espresso.

“What do you want?” the MI-4 agent asked sourly, setting down his own cup of sweet—too sweet—iced tea.

“Some of those bar-b-que oysters on the half-shell would be nice—say, is that the famous la Fleur stuffed artichoke you have there?”

Phil frowned, and then he sighed and slid the plates across the table; Victor smiled and he lifted a piece of the artichoke stuffed with peppers and crab meat and placed it within his mouth—he smiled as he chewed with his eyes closed.

“Oh, that is good,” he said after swallowing.

“What do you want?” Phil asked again, and then he frowned as he saw the Samantha City Metro ticket that the Capellan had set on the table.  “Going somewhere?  Not staying around for the fireworks tonight?”

Victor smiled and he shrugged.  “I hear the fishing is good along the coast—they are biting tonight.”

Phil’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head.  “Your boys are making a play for the Core tonight—we both know that they are.  Why are you leaving before the job is done?”

“Not my boys—they don’t work for me,” the Capellan answered as he placed the ticket back in his jacket pocket.  “And they don’t play by the normal rules, Phil,” he warned.

The Davion agent nodded slowly.  “Didn’t think they looked like normal field agents from the Mask—Death Commandoes?”

Victor smiled, but he said nothing, and Phil nodded again.

“The Chancellors bully-boys themselves; they planning on shooting their way in and extracting the Core?”

“Phil,” Victor chuckled.  “I do like you—you are one of the better agents that Quintus has out here in the real world.  You know I cannot answer that.”

“I know that you wouldn’t be leaving on the eve of the mission getting underway . . . unless,” Phil suddenly cursed and he sucked in a deep breath of air.

“The fireworks will be rather . . . spectacular tonight, so I understand,” the Capellan said with a nod.  And then his face grew rather serious.  “If things go according to plan, I would imagine that you could see them from orbit!”

Phil looked around, but the two men were—relatively—isolated in the bustling open-air patio.  He leaned forward and whispered.  “Are they out of their fucking minds?”

Victor shrugged again.  “To those men, the mission comes first—and if the Chancellor cannot have the Core, then no one will.”

“The Bulls will go berserk, Victor,” Phil hissed quietly, and then he blanched.  “Michael.  You got Davion warheads from Michael, didn’t you?”

Victor smiled—but he didn’t answer.  He didn’t need to.

“Shit, shit, shit,” whispered Phil.  “Why tell me?”

“I respect you—you are a worthy opponent, Phil Sheridan.  You can do as I am doing—and leave Samantha City before the . . . display erupts.  Or, you can try to stop them from lighting the fuse.  Either way, I owe you for the time you saved my life on Kittery.  Consider that debt paid, whichever choice you make.”

Phil sat back and he exhaled slowly . . . and he nodded.  Field intelligence work sometimes made for strange bed-fellows, he thought.  And if Victor Li was anything, it was honorable.  Or as honorable as the job allowed for.

“You won’t be lending a hand, I presume?”

“Against loyal Capellans operating at—what has to be—the direct authority of the Chancellor?  Would you go against an operation that you knew Hanse Davion had started—even if you objected?”

“I’d like to think so,” muttered Phil, “but it would all depend on the circumstances.”

Victor bowed his head, lifting one hand to acknowledge the point. 

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” Phil asked in a bitter voice.  “I’ve got two other field agents—both MI-4—tasked with observing this cluster-fuck, not getting in the way.  There are at least a dozen of those Commandoes—how the hell can I stop them by myself?”

“Well, you can ask for help,” chuckled a woman’s soprano voice, and Phil groaned as Victor smiled.

“Nicky Kirkland,” the Capellan said as he rose to his feet.  “It is good to see you again,” he told the MIM agent.  “And your companion?”

“Victor Li, Phil Sheridan,” she said with a smile, “may I introduce Hauptmann-Kommandant Gerhadt Manstein.”

“Retired Hauptmann-Kommandant, my dear,” the Lyran added.  “Now, I am just a Lyran businessman who seeks to return a profit to my home.”

Phil cursed again, and Victor chuckled.  “And business is good, ja?” the Capellan asked.

“Business . . . could be better,” Gerhadt answered.  “It has been difficult to break into the Taurian markets.  At least through conventional practices.”

“This just gets better and better,” muttered Phil.  “A Norn and Nicky.  This is my backup?  To stop your guys?”

“They are not my guys,” Victor repeated.  And then his smile got even larger.  “And it looks as if we have two more guests arriving.”

“Does everyone on this freaking planet know we are foreign agents?” Phil muttered.

“Only those of us who take the time and effort to observe, Mister Sheridan,” Maxwell Danforth answered as he took off his hat and bowed to the Canopian agent, “Madame, it is a pleasure,” he said as he kissed the back of her hand.

“Phil, you could learn a thing or two from this gentlemen . . . who is?” Nicky cooed as she batted her eyelids.

“Maxwell Danforth—agent of SAFE,” the Marik spy answered.

“SAFE?” four surprised voices sputtered in unison.

“SAFE,” Maxwell said with a grin, “you don’t think we are ALL as incompetent as Walter Krogh, do you?”

No one answered and Max laughed.  “And may I introduce to you Osami Koga, of the Draconis Combine Internal Security Force.”

“Who’s next—the Outworlders?”

“They are busy trying to find the Core on the Gamma continent,” Maxwell answered with a grin.  “But we—we six—have something that we must discuss.  A certain Death Commando operation that will kill many, many innocent Taurians this very night unless we manage to stop it.”

“I am here because you asked, Danforth,” replied the Kurita, “but why should I care about the lives of Taurians, innocent or otherwise?”

“Because the Commandoes will be destroying the Core that your master sent you to recover, Osami,” Max answered simply.  “The Core that we are ALL tasked with recovering.  I doubt that any of you have orders NOT to cooperate with other agents—I know I don’t.”

“That’s because it is so insane that none of our superiors would WRITE such an order!” sputtered Phil, and there were nods of agreement.

“A dozen Death Commandoes and at least one nuclear device, ladies and gentlemen,” Maxwell continued.  “Alone, we cannot stop them from reaching the Core and destroying it—along with a good part of Samantha City.  Together?  Ah, together,” he said with a smile.  “Together, we can stop them AND recover a copy of the Core for our superiors.”

“You say that as if we do not have our own plans for the Core,” replied Nicky.

“You mean those two nubile young women you have snuck into the chief researcher’s bed, Miss Kirkland?  Yes, they will DIE tonight when the Death Commandoes barge in . . . and those Commandoes will seize their copy of the Core that they are making.  And then the nuke will go off.”

She started.  “How the hell did you . . .,” she began.

“We aren’t all Walter Krogh, my dear.  My team and I have been watching you since you arrived on Taurus—and I have access to certain . . . equipment that can even the odds.”

There was silence for a moment and then Phil sighed again.  “We team up and stop the Death Commandoes and get a copy of the Core—what’s going to keep one of us from back-stabbing the rest and running off with it?”

Maxwell laughed.  “My dear Phil—the game will be afoot!  That is all part of the fun.”

And one by one, each of the field agents slowly nodded—even Victor and Phil.

“Good.  We don’t have a lot of time, so if you will join me at my safe house, we have MUCH to discuss and prepare for,” Maxwell finished as he stood and threw a hundred-bull note on the table. 

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Shadow_Wraith on February 04, 2014, 09:20:18 PM

Woo Hoo!!!  Nice to see this updated/changed!  Nice to see Vesar is as psychotic if not more than Myndo Waterly.  Looking forward to more!!  ;D

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on February 04, 2014, 10:28:37 PM

Ivan Patrice Computer Sciences Center, University of Taurus
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 27, 3025

“Sandra, my dear, you are a genius—genius, I say!” exclaimed Karl Mosley as he finished running the last diagnostic on the Vickers Core where it stood upright in the center of the room . . . right beside an identical (albeit empty) core.  “Suggesting that we borrow the empty core from the Navy War Museum saved us weeks—weeks!—of work on bypassing the lock-outs and safe-guards on the prize.”

“But we couldn’t have done it without your work, Doctor Mosley,” Sandra Ingram whispered in his ear as she stroked the Taurian scientist’s back (and ego) with one firm hand.  “I just thought that since we had this old, empty core sitting in the museum, you could compare the two and see what modifications the Navy made—and what extra traps they installed.”

Karl chuckled and he turned around to give his assistant a quick peck on the cheek.  “Of course, darling,” he drawled with a chuckle.  “I am the foremost authority on Taurus on these cores,” and then he frowned.  “I still wonder, though, how the Science Museum managed to misplace their core example.  We had two—one in the Naval Museum and the second here on Taurus, but the second one is missing.  Pity.  It was in better shape than this one.”  He sighed.  “But ah well.  We will make bricks without straw—as usual.”  He paused and then leered at Sandra.  “What say you, me, and Angelina celebrate tonight?  My apartment?”

“Whatever you want, Doctor Mosley—whatever you want,” Sandra answered in a husky voice as she nibbled on his ear lobe playfully.

There was a click from the Vickers Core as the diagnostic finished running—and Karl began to grin.  “All safe-guards are bypassed—starting decryption protocols . . . now.”

“You are certain that this is the correct decryption key?” Sandra asked, and Karl frowned.

“My dear, I am the expert here.  Yes, the key is working and in . . . fifteen minutes . . . the core will be accessible.”

“Good, Karl,” Sandra whispered as she nibbled again.  And began to work his way down his body; as her head passed his waist, the scientists trousers hit the floor—and he flinched as he felt a sharp fingernail poke him in his now bare buttocks.  But the pleasure he was receiving from his assistant put the momentary discomfort from his mind.  Especially when Angelina entered the room and passionately kissed him, even as Sandra kept working on him.  So caught up in the moment was Karl that he never noticed when he could no longer feel his muscles—not until he collapsed onto the floor with a thud.

“Nice technique,” Angelina said as the Core beeped and she began to transfer the unlocked information to the scarred example borrowed from the museum.

“Curare takes ten-to-fifteen minutes to work—had to keep him occupied,” Sandra said as she wiped her mouth on a paper towel.  “Got the plastique?”

“In the bag—according to Nicky we’ve got fifteen—maybe twenty—minutes before those Death Commandoes come barging in.  Will the down-load be complete?  And did you get his signature on the order transferring this Core back to the museum?”

“Yes and yes—and you don’t want to know how,” Sandra said with a grimace as she pulled the explosives from the bag and attached them to the outside of the Vickers Core.  “Pig,” she muttered as she kicked Karl in the head.  “The bigger question is can we get this thing out of here and away from the blast radius in time?”

“She says she and some ‘friends’ are working on that,” and the two Cores beeped in unison. 

“That’s it,” said Sandra as she armed the explosives, setting the timer for five minutes.  “Time to leave.”

“The guards are just going to let us walk this out of here?” Angelina asked as she loaded the museum core into its transport case.

Sandra waved a sheaf of papers.  “Signed authorization to move the museum core back to storage,” she said with a laugh.  “And the serial numbers match.  They’ll send two guards with us . . . but if you can’t handle two Taurians at once, I think we need to send you back for a refresher course, Angel.”

The second MIM agent stuck out her tongue, and then lifted the case.  “You're right, past time to go,” she said.  “What about him?” she asked, pointing at Mosley.

“What about him?”  Sandra answered and she kicked him again.  “Either the explosion will kill him, or the Death Commandoes will kill him, or Protector Thomas will kill him for giving us access.”

“Yeah . . . but he’s still awake and aware.  Are you really going to torture him with not knowing his fate?”

“Damn straight, Angel.  Let’s go,” Sandra answered as she held open the door to the lab . . . leaving Dr. Karl Mosley lying helpless on the ground unable to make a single sound or lift a finger.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on February 05, 2014, 05:13:24 AM

Great to see this one back. I'll have to reread it from the start. Why did the Blood paint you into a corner?

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: barbarossa rotbart on February 05, 2014, 05:16:47 AM

I believe the Wolverines were the problem.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on February 05, 2014, 06:49:20 AM

Quote from: barbarossa rotbart on February 05, 2014, 05:16:47 AM

I believe the Wolverines were the problem.

I was hoping for some non spoiler specifics that could shed some light on writing such a story.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on February 05, 2014, 08:25:33 AM

Quote from: Takiro on February 05, 2014, 05:13:24 AM

Great to see this one back. I'll have to reread it from the start. Why did the Blood paint you into a corner?

As I was outlining where I wanted the story to go, it occured to me that by introducing the Blood and Wolverines, I no longer had any reason NOT to have ComStar fully prepped and ready to fight the Clans (when/if) they return.  And with extreme measures (aka, bio-weapons from the Hidden Worlds) as well.  It made for too many changes, too fast, and the more I looked at it, the greater my unease at what I had opened myself up to.  So I changed it to remove those references and instead went with Vesar finding one of the lost Rim World depot worlds out in the Periphery.  Another idea from canon that we haven't seen fleshed out, by the way.

In short, the Blood/Wolverine arc would have taken my story in a direction I decided was wrong for the story I am telling.  It wasn't working for ME, so I changed it.

MA

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: barbarossa rotbart on February 05, 2014, 09:24:51 AM

I doubt that your characterisation of Kristofur is correct, because "The Spider and the Wolf" depicts him as ambitious but also lacking any subtlety. Thus his mission to find the source of the military hardware of Wolf's Dragoons was doomed from the start (and the Primus knew that). Second he was sent to Alpha Hydrii, according to Kristofur 5 parsec from any inhabitated region. So he cannot find a forgotten Star League warehouse because if there was something Comstar would have already claimed it and he would not have been sent there.

Kristofur as Primus is far worse than Myndo Waterly. But that also means that all his plans are already doomed, because he lacks the skill and subtlety of Myndo Waterly.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: MechRat on February 05, 2014, 10:54:51 AM

Good to see you back and writing this or any of your stories, MA! Thank you! I was going through withdrawal symptoms!  ;D

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on February 05, 2014, 11:22:58 AM

Me 2 It was very BAD :-[

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on February 05, 2014, 11:32:13 AM

Quote from: barbarossa rotbart on February 05, 2014, 09:24:51 AM

I doubt that your characterisation of Kristofur is correct, because "The Spider and the Wolf" depicts him as ambitious but also lacking any subtlety. Thus his mission to find the source of the military hardware of Wolf's Dragoons was doomed from the start (and the Primus knew that). Second he was sent to Alpha Hydrii, according to Kristofur 5 parsec from any inhabitated region. So he cannot find a forgotten Star League warehouse because if there was something Comstar would have already claimed it and he would not have been sent there.

Kristofur as Primus is far worse than Myndo Waterly. But that also means that all his plans are already doomed, because he lacks the skill and subtlety of Myndo Waterly.

On the first part (lack of subtlety), did you consider that in the years of his exile he might have learned such?  After all, he failed and was then sent to the back-end of nowhere; might that have inspired him to greater development while retaining his ambitions?

And for the second . . . who said he STAYED at Alpha Hydrii?  Or that the Rim-barbarians are from that region?

MA

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: barbarossa rotbart on February 05, 2014, 11:54:46 AM

Quote from: masterarminas on February 05, 2014, 11:32:13 AM

On the first part (lack of subtlety), did you consider that in the years of his exile he might have learned such?  After all, he failed and was then sent to the back-end of nowhere; might that have inspired him to greater development while retaining his ambitions?

Or made him bitter. I think that he is so full of hate and so strong in his believe in the Word of Blake that he does not believe that he needs to be subtle. The others do not know what kind of genius he is. Comstar has done such things in the past, why shouldn't it work again? To bad that he does not realize that the successor states of the 31st century are not the successor states of 29th century and thus the methods of Holy Shroud will not work again (they did not really work during Holy Shroud II).

Quote from: masterarminas on February 05, 2014, 11:32:13 AM

And for the second . . . who said he STAYED at Alpha Hydrii?  Or that the Rim-barbarians are from that region?

Accordimng to canon he joined a band of pirates (and became their leader). So I think that he could only leave by finding some sort of transportation on his own. So if the pirates do not raid Alpha Hydrii he is stranded there. And if they raid the planet I really doubt that they will transport him into the Inner Sphere.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on February 05, 2014, 09:04:14 PM

Stormwater Drainage Tunnels
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 27, 3025

“You are positive of this, Danforth?” Phil asked in a sour voice as he walked through the ankle-high runoff seeping down into the deeply buried pipes and conduits that ran beneath Samantha City.  The pale blue illumination of a cold-light glowstick gave little relief from the oppressive darkness—or the squealing of the rats and chittering of insects.  “I’ve examined the building plans—these pipes don’t connect to the research facility.”

“Officially?” Max answered without pausing as he slogged onward.  “You’re right—there is no connection and it isn’t on the building plans.  Unofficially?”  The SAFE agent shrugged.  “You think people as paranoid as the Taurians wouldn’t have an emergency means of evacuating their main computer research lab?  A route that doesn’t appear on any blue-print or schematic available to the public?”

Phil cursed as he stepped on another rat—the offended creature squeaked and scurried away.  “Please tell me that you have more than a hunch.”

Max stopped and he turned around; his grin was wide as he tapped a ladder leading up towards the surface.  “Check your map, Mister Sheridan.”

The MI-4 agent pulled a small electronic tablet from inside the water-proof lining of his coveralls and he shook his head.  “That isn’t on the plans—how did you know?”

“SAFE isn’t always incompetent; indeed, we have very good analysts and information gatherers working for us—it just doesn’t always get translated into effective action, mind you.  Thirty years ago, a contractor was brought in to perform maintenance work on these drains—and he bored a new tunnel at the direct request of the Taurian government.  Went out of business ten years ago—gambling debts are such anchors dragging at a man’s life, after all—and sold off the schematics that he kept,” Max smiled again, “schematics that he shouldn’t have kept in the first place, to one of our folks for a tidy little sum that managed to keep his knees from being broken by a local loanshark.”

He paused and looked up at the ladder.  “This should lead up to a floor hatch in a supply room just outside of the main research lab,” he tested the ladder for  weakness and then satisfied that it would support his weight, he pressed a button on the radio clipped to his belt.  “Control, we are in position.”

“Roger that,” a woman answered.  “Be advised that Team Two is preparing to enter the building—and the honey-bees have just exited bearing gifts and are awaiting transport.”

“Damn it Nicky,” Phil swore.

Max just chuckled.  “Transport has been arranged, Ninety-Nine?”

There was a pause and then a frosty voice answered.  “Maintain communications protocol.  And yes—their transport is waiting . . . just not the one they are expecting.  Team three has managed to bypass the remote alarms on the lab sub-lev- . . . wait one,” the voice paused.  “The honey-bees are away and none too soon.  Our opposition has taken the field and local security at the front doors are down.  Game time.  Team Two is . . . in.”

“Acknowledged, Control,” Max answered as he turned to face Phil.  “Ready with the cutting torch?”

“Ready.  How the hell did I get stuck down in these tunnels with you?”

“Would you rather be upstairs with the swordsmen slowing down the visiting team?” Max asked as Phil began to climb the ten meter ladder to the metal hatch above.

“I’d rather be in the van—my job is to observe and report, not crawl through rodent-infested tunnels, get into a fire-fight with Death Commandoes, and incidentally to defuse a nuclear weapon.”

“Maybe you could submit a voucher for a bonus based on performance above and beyond the call of duty?” Max suggested.

“Yeah, right.  You don’t know what a freaking tight-wad Quintus Allard is.  Commendations?  Sure.  Medals?  Plenty of ‘em.  Money?  Not on your life.”

“Well, maybe he will give you a vacation at least,” the SAFE agent replied as he began to ascend the ladder behind Phil.

At the top, Phil pulled on a pair of goggles and lit the tip of the cutting torch.  “Last time Quintus suggested I take a vacation I landed up here, on Taurus.  'You'll love it, Phil', he said.  'Nice, quiet duty station where you can enjoy the beach and the girls because nothing ever happens on that front'.  Not again; never again,” and the Davion agent gritted his teeth as the flame began to cut through the metal sending drops of molten slag to hiss in the dirty water below.  Max continued to climb and from his bag he extracted two hand-holds that he applied to the hatch, their adhesives bonding almost instantly.

“Got it,” he said as Phil continued to cut.

And then he grunted as the hatch fell towards him, but he pushed it up and to one side.  Phil dropped the torch and rapidly climbed up the ladder, drawing his needler pistol in one smooth motion.  Then he reached down and help Max up and out.

“Ready?” Max asked as he laid one hand lightly on the control of the door.  Phil nodded and Max pressed the control; the door hissed open and he bounced into the lab, swiveling left and right to confirm that there were no hostiles here waiting to open fire.  Max was right on his heels.

“Clear,” Phil snapped.

“Clear,” answered Max.

And then the two of them saw the paralyzed Doctor Mosley and the bomb attached to the casing of the Memory Core . . . a bomb whose timer passed 1:00 and continued on to :59, :58, :57.

“Nicky, I swear when we get out of here, I’m going to give you the spanking of your life,” Phil muttered.  "And you are not going to enjoy it."

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on February 07, 2014, 12:33:50 AM

OOOPPPSSSSSSSS

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on February 08, 2014, 11:08:39 AM

Ivan Patrice Computer Sciences Center, University of Taurus
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 27, 3025

Victor Li grunted quietly as he slapped the disconnect on the straps securing him to the glider; bending his legs, he dropped the four meters to the roof of the computer sciences building, landing in a roll that hid him behind the facilities main air intake shaft.  A second soft thud—almost lost amongst the cracking and thundering of fireworks in the sky—signaled the arrival of Osami Koga.

One of the security guards stationed on the roof turned at the faint sound and Victor held his breath as the beam of the flashlight played over the rooftop structures.  There was a faint crunching sound as the guard took a step closer—but at that moment, there was a loud BANG against the side of the building.

“He’s distracted,” Control’s voice emerged from Victor’s ear-piece.  “Alarms are remotely bypassed on the shaft, Two—you are go for descent.”

Victor didn’t bother to answer; instead he stood and lifted the access hatch as Koga crawled inside the narrow shaft and began to lower himself down.  Taking care not to make a sound, Victor followed, lowering the hatch shut behind him.

“Guards weren’t expecting a fireworks misfire,” whispered Control in his ear.  “But you are behind schedule, gentlemen.  Move.”

With their hips against one wall of the shaft, feet on the opposite, and gloved hands braced against the two side walls, the agents quickly climbed down bypassing ventilation tunnels that opened intermittently. 

“This junction,” Control ordered.  “North fifteen meters and you hit the elevator shaft.  Be advised—your opponents have just entered the building.”

“Not very subtle are they,” whispered Koga as faint alarms began to sound.

“They are Death Commandoes on a suicide run—subtle isn’t as important as completing the mission.”

“You are certain that Riese will be the one carrying the nuke?”

“Mostly,” answered Victor with a chuckle as he pulled himself into the horizontal tunnel and began to crawl after Koga towards the elevator shaft. 

“What if he has a dead-man’s trigger?”

“Then we are dead—but I doubt that he does.  If he gets killed in the initial assault, then the device goes off.  And the lab with the core is five levels underground and heavily reinforced—damn thing is a bloody bunker, and their nuke isn't that big.  He’ll die at the Chancellor’s order, but not for nothing.  No,” Victor mused as he reached the elevator shaft and pulled himself into it’s cavernous interior.  “It’s on a timer with a manual trigger so that if he goes down another member of his team can get the device down there and then set it off.”

Koga grunted his agreement as he hooked Victor’s cable-grab onto the proper elevator cables; his own was already hooked up.  “Control is certain that the elevator is only way down?”

“If I weren’t don’t you think I would have already told you?” she answered dryly.  “This shaft is the only passage from the main building to sub-level five—no stairs, no alternate route.  It requires a key-card pass . . . which the opposition has probably pulled from one of the dead guards.  Slut reports they are approaching the elevator; engaging in a fire-fight with the internal guards.”

Victor snorted.  Nicky was furious with the Marik agent for the code-name she had been assigned; not that Control had seemed in the least affected by her displeasure.

“Mandarin,” she continued and Victor nodded as he recognized the code-name for one of Phil’s juniors, “reports that armor and infantry from Fort Snowden have hit the streets en route.  ETA . . . five minutes in the current traffic congestion.  Songbird,” a Marik observer drafted from the embassy, “says ‘Mechs are scrambling from Fort Gaines.”

“Game time,” muttered Victor.  “You ready for this, old man?”

Koga snorted as he loosened the katana that he wore in a sheath on his back.  “I was one of Takashi’s chosen samurai long before I joined the ISF, Capellan.  This does bring back memories, I must say, of comrades long dead and fell deeds long past.”

“All right, then.  Three,” he looked down and grimaced at the dark shaft, “two,” he took a deep breath, and then he bent his knees and prepared to jump from the girder he was standing on, “GO!” he snapped and the two men plunged down into the darkness.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on February 08, 2014, 04:59:27 PM

Lets get this party started! ;)

About the previous entry for the Primus' new secret army it screams ugly historical parallel to the Amaris Coup. A lot of people in the Order can't be happy that RimJobs are back on Earth helping their new leader. I'm thinking revolt a brewing.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: barbarossa rotbart on February 08, 2014, 05:55:13 PM

Well, Kristofur is a lttle bit too arrogant and naive believing that Comstar will accept something like that. I see a revolt inside Comstar coming...

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Shadow_Wraith on February 08, 2014, 07:33:14 PM

The new members of the First Circuit know that they don't currently have any power to oppose Kristofur and too just go along with his plan.  Too bad his over confidence in ROM, his belief in Comstar(the Word of Blake) and his view that Terra must rule all is clouding his judgement in the current reality of the inner sphere and the periphery.

The descendants of the Rim World returning to help Comstar should be a nice addition to the story!  :)

   I'm just wondering how Wolf's Dragoon's will react when they notice that there is a fully operational Battleship in the TC.  Looking forward to more!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Gabriel on February 09, 2014, 08:11:53 AM

SEYLA

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: dgb11o6 on February 09, 2014, 01:48:50 PM

Thank goodness you are writing again!
More,more,more, and more please!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on February 14, 2014, 11:23:53 AM

Ivan Patrice Computer Sciences Center, University of Taurus
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 27, 3025

“Elevator is on its way down, Phil—hurry up,” Max said as he finished assembling a compact assault rifle and chambered a live round, before beginning work on a second.

“Disarming a bomb isn’t that easy,” Phil snarled as beads of sweat popped out on his forehead.  “I cut the wrong wire here and we are toast,” he finished softly as the digital counter continued to slowly click down towards zero.  “Got it,” he said in a relieved voice as the display blinked twice and then froze at :17. 

“Get the Core in its travel case—without the bomb, Phil.  Company is coming.”

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered the Davion agent as he removed the explosive from the side of the ancient Taurian memory storage unit and set it on the floor.  He opened the case and lifted the Core before setting it gently in the padded interior—and then he froze.

“Tell me those aren’t what I think they are,” he asked with a sigh, jerking his chin towards a pair of pressurized cylinders resting on a shelf against the far wall, and bearing hazardous material warnings—along with three black, blocky letter:  VXM.

Max looked over and he cursed.  “If you are thinking Taurian VXM nerve gas dating back to the Reunification War, then I could tell you they aren’t—but I’d be lying.”

Setting the Core inside, Phil closed and secured the case, sliding it across the floor to Max, who slid it into the anteroom to rest beside the hole cut in the floor.  He then stood and walked over the deadly gas cylinders and gingerly touched one.

“I’d leave those alone—four hundred years has a tendency to fatigue metal, after all,” the SAFE agent warned.  “But the gas inside should still be lethal . . . unless,” he mused, “they drained the cylinders.”

“That’s a negative,” Phil answered as he checked the gauges.  “Full pressure on both—god, I really hate Taurian paranoia.”

“All the more reason to leave them the hell alone,” Max said.  “Ten seconds,” he cautioned as the elevator display showed the car was still descending.

“Except . . .,” Phil muttered in a sour voice, “in a few moments there are going to be bullets flying—what happens to that four-hundred year old metal if one of them gets grazed?”

Max stopped and he turned his head to stare at Phil and then he nodded.  “You see anything solid to put the gas cylinders behind?” he asked.

“Nothing I’d trust to stop a bullet cold,” the agent from MI-4 muttered as he lifted two of the cylinders gently and quickly looked around the room . . . and he began to grin as he saw the paralyzed researcher sprawled on the floor.  “But bodies are pretty good at absorbing bullets,” he continued as he knelt down and pulled Karl Mosley up and onto his side before sliding the cylinders down the front of the Taurian scienists pants.  “There we go,” Phil muttered as sweat began to pour off of the good doctor’s face and the Davion agent turned his body so that his back was facing the elevator.

And with that, Phil rushed over to lift the second assault rifle, taking shelter behind the edge of the door to the lab—just as the elevator DINGED and the doors began to slide open.

"For what we are about to receive," Phil spoke sarcastically. 

"Amen," whispered Max.

And the two squeezed their triggers in unison.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on October 19, 2021, 07:43:55 PM

Ivan Patrice Computer Sciences Center, University of Taurus
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 27, 3025

Julius Riese rechecked his weapons magazine as the elevator descended towards the underground research laboratory.  And the six other Death Commandos with him were doing the same.  He nodded; each with a veteran of many operations and knew well enough that sometimes an almost full magazine simply was not enough to get the job done.  And then he frowned.

Seven commandos—including himself—here, another seven topside to keep the Taurian reinforcements from interrupting their play to destroy the Core.  And two men—his most trusted men—sitting idle back at the safe house and waiting for their chance to try and destroy, or at the least, disable that damned Taurian WarShip!

Ideally, he would have conducted both operations simultaneously.  After all, chaos often led to the other side making mistakes that would not otherwise have.  But the WarShip had rather suddenly disengaged from the orbital station nine days ago and burned outsystem to Gateway . . . accelerating at a full 2.5-G’s to get there quicker.  That was no hanger queen, he though glumly to himself, but (or so it seemed to him, anyway) a rather pissed-off close-to-fully operational disaster that needed to get somewhere fast.  And if the rumors flying around the planet were true, that Michael Hasek-Davion had invaded the Concordat, well . . . Riese’s frown turned into a smile. 

Hasek-Davion had proven useful to House Liao, but it just well might be better for all concerned if he (and his not-so-secret ambitions) died in the fury of bombardment from a battleship in orbit.

And the smile faded.  Because that fool daughter of the Chancellor had pissed away a sizeable portion of the Confederation Armed Forces in her own misguided attempt at invading just weeks earlier.  It must have been Romano; Candace was not a fool; McCarron would not have committed his troops on his own without orders, and no officer in the CCAF would dared to have ordered such an ambitious plan without the Chancellor’s approval.  Which Maximillian Liao would not have given.  And with that open act of aggression, Riese feared that the Chancellor’s plans for getting Taurus in the Capellan camp would be for naught.

He shook his head.  Enough, he though to himself.  “Game faces, people,” he barked.  “Intel says one researcher and perhaps two assistants are working on the Core.  No guards, but these are Taurians and they might be armed.  Kill them all and then we set the device and try to extricate.  Got it?”

And six faces nodded their confirmation.

Good enough, Riese thought as the elevator slid to a halt and he chambered a round in his submachine gun as the doors began to open.

And Hell erupted around him.

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

Osami Koga and Victor Li slid down the elevator shaft trailing taut rope lines behind them.  As they approached the upper surface of the elevator, each of the two gripped their descenders hard and their descent slowed until they came to a halt just above the surface of the now motionless elevator.

Unbuckling his harness, Victor dropped silently the last two inches to the roof of the elevator car, the Combine operative beside him just as silent.  And both men pulled free their swords as Victor grabbed the handle of the elevator’s escape hatch.

He looked at Koga and the older man nodded in reply as the sound of gunfire echoed within the dark shaft. 

“On three,” Victor whispered, and Koga nodded as he pulled a flash-bang grenade from his own tactical harness, sliding up the safety cover over the arming ring with one thumb and sliding one finger into the ring with the hand that held his sword.

“One,” he continued and he drew a deep breath as Koga pulled the pin and armed the grenade, wincing as the arming spoon TINKED against the roof of the elevator, but the sound was lost among the cacophony of gunfire below, “two,”  and his muscles tensed and the samurai held the live grenade over the cover of the hatch.  The gunfire below suddenly stopped; Phil and Max must be changing magazines; though it immediately resumed with a different tone; the Commandoes were returning fire.  “Three!” and he yanked open the hatch, Osami dropping the grenade in the same instant as Victor dropped it closed once again.

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

Phil pulled back the trigger again and again as the elevator doors slid open, Maxwell Danforth beside him also serving targets suddenly exposed to their weapons.  Damn it, the Davion agent thought to himself, I’m supposed to be an observer, not an operator!  But he still felt satisfaction as two Death Commandoes exposed by the opening doors dropped to the floor, their chests shattered by the heavy bullets of the automatic short-barreled rifles the pair of spies had brought to bear.

And then he heard a CLICK as he pulled the trigger and nothing happened.  He had run through the entire magazine, he realized as he hit the release catch with one finger and reached for another magazine with his left hand . . . just as four more Death Commandoes flopped down on the floor of the elevator and began spraying sub-machine gun fire into the research lab!

“Shit!” he yelled as he ducked down behind the metal filing cabinet that gave protection—more psychological than actual, but better than nothing against the hailstorm of bullets.  And from the corner of his eye he could see Max crouching behind a desk, slamming home a full magazine of his own into the receiver well of his rifle.  Max nodded at Phil, and the Davion agent cursed silently again.

And then the world exploded.

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

Riese had been standing to the side of the elevator as the doors began to open, leaving him out of the direct line of fire as the bullets began to slam into the first two of his men stepping forward.  The five survivors leaned hard into the elevator walls trusting—hoping—that the concrete walls and steel elevator sides would stop any bullets that punched into the narrow, the oh-so-narrow cover it afforded.

Two guards, he thought.  Automatic rifles . . . firing two round bursts.  Ten—or fifteen at the most—bursts and then they would be empty.  And sure enough, the gunfire died away.

“NOW!” he shouted, and four of his men moved into the breach, two dropping to the floor, the others hugging the sides of the elevator car as their SMGs barked flame and fury into the room. 

He never saw the hatch above him open, nor the falling grenade . . . not until it detonated at chest height.

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

The hatch flew back open as the flash-bang erupted in the elevator car below and Koga jumped down inside, followed a scant instant later by Victor.  The smoke—both from the grenade and the gunfire—obscured what little emergency lighting had survived the blast, but both the samurai and Victor were wearing light-intensification goggles.

Seven Commandoes lay sprawled across the car, either leaning against the walls or lying on the floor; all were bleeding, staggering, stunned, or dead.  But that did not stop Koga or Victor as they plunged their sword blades into their opponents chests or used the razor-sharp edges to slice through exposed throats.

And then, with a suddenness that took even Victor by surprise, it was over.

All seven of the Commandoes lay dead at his feet; well, his feet and those of Osami Koga.  Victor nodded at the old man, and Koga began to search the corpses for the bomb that they must have been carrying, while Victor stepped into the research lab.

“HOLD YOUR FIRE!” he shouted as he advanced, sheathing his sword and holding both hands up.

“Damn it!” shouted Phil at he stood from behind a filing cabinet riddled with bullet holes.  “You just had to drop a flash-bang, didn’t you, Victor?  Fuck, that rang my bell!”

“Better having your bell rung than buying the farm, Phil,” Victor answered with a smile.

“I swear, when I get back to New Avalon, Quintus is going to owe me,” Phil continued, “I’m MI-4, for God’s sake!  I’m just supposed to watch and report, not this commando bullshit!”

“And yet, you did this commando bullshit rather well, Phil Sheridan,” Max said as he too stood.  “Maybe Allard will transfer you to the Rabid Foxes, eh?”

“Fuck that shit,” Phil whispered.  “I’ve had enough of this . . . can we just grab the Core and go before the Taurians zip-line down the shaft as well?”

“Sounds good to me,” Max answered and Victor nodded his agreement as well.

“Unfortunately, we have a problem,” Koga announced as he walked into the remnants of the lab cradling the Capellan bomb in his hands.  “This thing is on a timer and there are only three minutes left.”

“Oh, fuck me,” whispered Phil.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on October 19, 2021, 08:27:46 PM

He's back!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on October 20, 2021, 03:18:27 PM

University of Taurus
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 27, 3025

Angelina Devereaux—known as Angel to her few friends—climbed into the back of the armored transport van and sat down beside Sandra.  Two Taurian soldiers, both wearing back-and-breast armor plating, along with combat helmets, sat opposite them, cradling assault rifles in their arms.  Between the soldiers and the two women the old Taurian data Core sat on the floor of the cargo bay.

A third soldier closed the bay door and slapped the vehicle on the side and it began to move off and away, bound for the Taurian Naval War Museum.  Angel smiled and she looked at Sandra, who nodded back at her.

“Twenty seconds,” the voice of Control whispered through the tiny ear-bud nestled inside her right ear and Angel drew a deep breath and waited.

She waited until both the soldiers sat up straight, one of them putting his own hand up near his ear and then she heard the BOOM of an explosion behind them, just as the transport left behind the campus for the busy streets of the Taurian capital.

“What was that?” yelled Sandra, right on cue, her face a reflection of pure fear.  She plays these roles well, Angel thought, as she bit her own lip and just tried to look worried.

One of the soldiers, the one with his hand near his ear, nodded and then spoke.  “Trouble back on the campus, but we have orders to get you and the empty core back to the museum.  Nothing for either of you to wor . . .,” his voice stopped mid-word as the second soldier pulled the trigger on a dart gun that he had drawn and pressed against the first soldier’s side.

Angel blinked.  Sandra froze.  Because that was not what was supposed to happen next.

The soldier who had just been shot collapsed and the second one trained the dart pistol on the two women.

“Really, ladies,” the ear-bug whispered.  “Trying to make off with the data from the first Core . . . and leaving that Core booby-trapped for Phil and Max?  Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

Angel cursed and the second soldier shook his head.  “Nein, fraulein, I would not try it,” Gerhardt Manstein with a chuckle.

“So, you are going to take our Core?” Angel snarled.  “After what we did to get it?”

The Lyran shook his head.  “We had a deal, fraulein.  Which Slut—and you two—agreed to.  And then broke.  Teams One and Two are in the building and we should have both Cores in a few . . .,” and Manstein’s voice trailed off.  “Control, are you hearing this?” he asked.

“Yes, damn it!”

Angel and Sandra exchanged a glance.  “Hear what?” Sandra asked, holding up her hands to placate the Lyran.

Manstein shook his head and reached up, toggling the van’s intercom and a voice emerged from the speakers in the cargo bay.

“. . ., to repeat.  Hostile forces are attacking the University of Taurus.  Suspects are fleeing the area in a TDF transport van, vehicle ID number KCL-4017.  Consider armed and extremely dangerous.  Use of lethal force is authorized for all Security and Defense Force personnel.”

“What the hell?” Angel sputtered.

“Control, what is going on?  This wasn’t the plan,” Manstein snarled.

“I don’t know, Templar,” the harried voice answered.  “Get off the main throughfare ASAP and ditch the vehicle until we figure out what is going on here.”  There was a pause.  “Teams One and Two have secured the prize . . . but the bad boys put their bomb on a timer; they are attempting to disarm the device now.”

“More bad news,” a third voice added, that of the driver up front in the cab.  “Seems like a couple of the Taurian ‘Mechs heading to campus have noticed us; they are coming this way!”

The van swerved as the driver hit the brakes and fishtailed into a tight turn, which was followed by an explosion that rocked the van . . . almost flipping it over.

“And now, they are shooting at us!” the driver shouted.

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

“Phil, what is the hold-up?” Victor asked.

“You want to disarm this nuclear demo charge, Victor?” a sweating Phil answered with a snarl.  He wiped his forearm with one sleeve and shook beads of sweat from his eyes as his fingers probed into the depths of the bomb.  “Standard nuclear demo pack . . . why did it register as fissile materials . . . ah, okay.  That’s why.  The Commandoes used their basic low-yield demo charge—laser-ignited, just like ours—but they put the plutonium around the hydrogen reservoir.”  He snorted.  “Smart.  The plutonium isn’t needed for the detonation, but it will be scattered to hell and back and give off the right radioactive signature . . . and I’d bet they got the plutonium from a Federated Suns facility somewhere in the Capellan March.  Just so the Bulls think that we Davions did it.”

“Discuss their brilliance later, Phil.  Just stop the timer,” Victor growled.

The Davion agent snorted as the digital display slowly counted down.  42.  41.  40.  “Ye of little faith, Victor,” he whispered.  “No conventional explosives, so . . .,” he paused and shook his head.  “If I’m right, and I hope I’m right, yanking the power supply will stop the laser ignition.”

“And if you are wrong?” Victor asked just as quietly.

“We will never know it,” Phil muttered.

“Great.  Just great.  What if they have two power supplies?”

36.  35.  34.

“Then yanking one will cause the other to discharge . . . but these demo charges don’t have a lot of room for an extra power source able to discharge enough energy to ignite the hydrogen reserve.  It shouldn’t.”

27.  26.  25.

“Shouldn’t.  Makes me feel oh-so-much better, Phil,” Victor scowled.

“You want to do this?”

And Max sighed.  “Later, gentlemen,” he said, Koga nodded his agreement.

21.  20.  19.

“Okay.  Here goes nothing,” Phil whispered and he pulled a heavy capacitor cell from the base of the demo charge through the access port he had already opened.  A single power cable connected the cell to the demolition pack and he nodded.  “Stand by.”

14.  13.  12.

He grabbed the capacitor in one hand and the cable in the other, and mouthing a silent prayer, he yanked the cable free.

And the display stopped, then the numbers faded as the demo charge powered down.

Phil looked down at the capacitor cell, then he dropped it on the floor, his hand shaking.  “Can we please go now?” he asked.  “Before something else goes wrong.”

But Max was holding one hand up to his ear.  “Say again, Control?  What do you mean the transport is under fire?”

And far above the four men, a faint BOOM sounded. 

“Tell me that is not the Taurian infantry swarming in to kill us all,” Phil said quietly.

Max shook his head.  “I really wish I could, Phil,” he answered.

“Time to go,” Victor snapped as he and Koga lifted the Core and headed for the escape tunnel. 

“Past time to go,” Phil added.

“What about him,” Max asked, pointing at the still paralyzed Taurian scientist.

“He’s one of their own . . . they shouldn’t kill him,” Victor declared.

“Shouldn’t.  Such a lovely word . . . but he still has those VXM cylinders stuffed down his trousers, and I really don’t want that stuff following us into the tunnel!” Phil snarled.

“Get the Core down into the tunnels,” Max said as he grabbed some paper and a marker.  “I’ve got this.”

A few moments later, the four men—and the Taurian Data Core—were down in the tunnels beneath the laboratory.  And when the Taurian infantry descended through the elevator shaft, and pounded into the shattered lab, they held their fire . . . because Dr. Mosley had three pages of paper taped to the back of his lab coat.

DO NOT SHOOT, said the first.  LIVE VXM GAS, said the second.  A THANK YOU WOULD BE NICE, said the third.

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

“A lance has peeled off from the column and they are chasing us!” the driver shouted over the intercom.  There was another explosion and the van took a sharp right.  “And shooting at us!”

“Schiesse,” muttered Manstein.  “Control, we are abandoning the vehicle.  Ladies,” he said as he stood and holstered the dart pistol.  “I hope you know how to drop and roll when jumping from a speeding vehicle.”  He put his hand on the handle for the rear hatch.

“What about the Core?” Sandra asked.

Another explosion rocked the van as a salvo of SRMs narrowly missed and the transport man another sharp turn.

“We have the other one!  Leave it!”

“Broke contact down an alley,” the driver snapped.  “Now or never, people!”

Manstein jerked the hatch open and he jumped out into the alley hitting the concrete hard; Angel and Sandra looked at each other, then they too jumped from the speeding van, almost hitting the driver as he dove out of the cab.

The van sped out of the alley—the driver must have wedged the gas pedal down, Angel thought . . . and then it exploded as four Taurian ‘Mechs on the next throughfare unleashed their full weapons load on it.

Angel shook her head and gingerly got to her feet, helping Sandra up as Manstein and the driver came running up to them.  “Time to go,” the Lyran said softly.  “This way; we’ll take the back streets until we are at the rendezvous.”

“Infantry coming to search the area,” Control spoke over the radio.  “Get clear, Templar.”

“Acknowledged, Control.”

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

Phil reached the sewers to find Koga and Max putting demo-charges—conventional demolition charges—against the sides of the tunnel, while Victor stood watch over the Core. 

“Thomas is going to blow a gasket over this,” he whispered.

“Rather have Taurian infantry and special forces coming at us from the rear?” the Capellan asked.

“With our luck they are going to come at us from all sides,” Phil answered quietly.  “How the hell did they identify the van that quickly?”

Max looked up as he armed the charges and he shook his head.  “Someone else is playing the game . . . perhaps that Adept West you encountered earlier.”

“ROM has no honor,” Koga snarled.

“And it is just the sort of thing that bastard would do,” agreed Phil.  “He likes it when other folks get blindsided, battered, and bruised.”

“Yeah, had no qualms about shooting down those Taurian security officers the other day,” Victor chimed in as he lifted the Core and began to trot through the tunnels.

“Probably the only way he can get it up without using a pharmacological,” Phil snapped in frustration.

Max snorted.  “But he isn’t dumb.  And if—IF—he ratted out the van and the duplicate Core, what does he have planned for us?”

“Lots of exits down here,” Victor mused.  “He can’t possibly cover them all.”

“With our luck, he’s sitting on the one we are going to use.  Probably with an auto-blazer or a flamer,” Phil muttered.

“Which is why we are not using any of the exits that exist at the moment,” Max interjected.

“Not use an exit?” Phil asked.  “You don’t mean . . .,” and he sighed.  “You do.  Thomas is gonna have a bloody cow with the damage we are doing to the Samantha City infrastructure, not to mention stealing the damn Core out from under his nose!”

“All part of the game, Phil.  All part of the game,” Max answered with a smile.  “Fire in the hole,” he added as he triggered the remote and the demo-packs left behind sealed the sewer tunnel behind them.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on October 20, 2021, 09:47:20 PM

Again it is great to see you back at this fanfic. I think the Saucy Sam is my favorite fanon BattleTech warship.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on October 21, 2021, 05:56:20 PM

Outskirts of Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
February 7, 3026

Max had been true to his word, Phil thought as he stepped through the breach in the side of the sewer tunnels that Marik agents had created in advance—just in case, they said.  The breach dropped down yet another level into the storm drains that removed any and all runoff from heavy precipitation and prevented the city from flooding.  And those drains emptied at the junction of the beach and the low bluff on which Samantha City had been constructed so long ago.

He slogged through the last meters of the drain and then stepped out onto the dark beach, the ground consisting of a mixture of rocks and finely grained sand.  Other than the faint distant sound of sirens in the distance, the only thing Phil heard was the gentle crash of the waves as they climbed up the beach and then receded back into the sea.

“Almost done, eh, Phil?” Victor asked as he slapped the MI-4 agent on the shoulder and smiled at him.

“Don’t taunt Murphy, Victor,” Phil pleaded.  “Please.  Please, don’t taunt that evil demon-imp of misfortune.”

Both Max and Victor laughed at this, while Koga only shook his head stoically with a disapproving frown on his face.  At least until Victor translated the phrase into Japanese, and then the old samurai suddenly grinned as he got it.

“Truth,” Osami Koga said at last.  “It is not done until it is done.  We still much to do before this Core gets to one of our masters . . . and while I do like you all and would hate to have to kill you,” he shrugged, “in the end there can only be one.”

“My dear friend, you do not believe I planned for this?” asked Max.  “While it would possibly better suit our masters to kill each other and the survivor make off with the Core . . . I’m not so certain that I would survive.  Or that House Marik would get the data contained within.  Which is why my team has six data-storage nodes waiting at the rendezvous.  It will take five or ten minutes to download the data, we will all have a copy, and then we can part ways amicably.”  He paused.  “Which also means none of us really have to die tonight.”

“We hope,” whispered Phil.

“We hope and we plan and we live—or die—with the consequences of our actions,” Max answered with a grin.

“The dying part I can do without,” Phil replied.

“As can we all,” chimed in Victor who was grinning; even Koga gave out a short bark of laughter.

Max stopped and he held up one hand; the others came to a halt behind him.  He raised a flashlight and triggered it four times; two fast flashes; a pause; another two fast flashes.

And in the distance, another light flashed.  Three fast flashes; a pause; one long flash; a pause; a second long flash.

“there they are,” he whispered just loud enough to be heard over the breakers rolling onshore.

The four men advanced along the beach and waiting for them was Barbara Hilton (otherwise known to the four as Control), Gerhadt Manstein, Nicky Kirkland, Sandra Ingram, and Angelina Devereaux—the later two wearing restraints on their wrists.

“You tried to blow us up!” Phil snarled as he approached Nicky.  “Left us down there with a bomb and two canisters of VXM—that was NOT the plan!  If that thing had gone off, you would have contaminated the bunker and half the city when that nuke had gone off!”

Nicky shrugged.  “It was a small nuke.  Might have contaminated a tenth of the city, at most.”  She smiled.  “Besides, you disarmed my bomb and the nuke, so why the bitching, Phil?”

“Why the . . .,” Phil sputtered and he balled up one fist as he shook.

“Phil,” whispered Victor.

“What?”

“Let it go, man.  Let it go.”

Phil just glared at him, then Max, and Koga, and Gerhadt,  and Barbara, then he nodded.  “All right, it was a smart play on her part, I’ll admit it.  Except for leaving the VXM in the freaking bunker!” he snarled.

“Mosley was an idiot,” Sandra spoke up.  “I tried to get him to secure the nerve gas, but he insisted it would be fine where it was; besides,” she said with a sudden grin, “our bomb was a fake just to make you waste time.  No explosives inside, just a pair of detonator caps.”

Phil’s eyes grew wide and his face turned red as Victor began to chuckle.

She shrugged.  “So did he live or did he die?”

“Don’t know; don’t really care,” answered Phil with a snarl as he realized how he had been played.

“Enough, people,” Max interjected.  “Ninety-nine, you’ve got the data-storage modules?”

“Don’t call me that, Danforth!  And yes, we’ve got the modules.”

Ninety-nine?  Mouthed Phil silently and Max grinned.

“A nickname she hates.  You see, back in the Academy, we were class-mates and she made a wager that she could hit the bull’s-eye on the gunnery range 100 times out of 100 shots.  Almost made it; she missed that last shot by this much,” he finished as he held up his thumb and forefinger barely separated.

“I missed that shot because you jostled my elbow at the last second!”

“Can’t expect perfect conditions in the field, can you?” Max answered with a grin.  “But enough of our past, Victor if you will open up the case, we can download the data from the Core and get out of here.”

“Yeah,” added Phil.  “It is past time to go our separate ways.”

Victor grunted and he sat down the case containing the Core and opened it as Barbara opened a case of her own and extracted six data storage modules and several fiber-optic cables.  Beside her Gerhadt turned on a small generator to power the Core and the modules as the data was transferred.

“Okay, we are good to go,” Victor said as there was a sudden sharp CRACK of a rifle shot!

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

Robert West lay prone as he looked through the scope of his anti-material rifle atop the bluff.  Adjusting the optics, he zoomed in to see the tiny figures far below and away from him gathered in the beachside cabana.  “Range?” he asked.

“Eight hundred forty-two meters,” his spotter answered.

“Wind?”

“Thirteen point seven kph at eight-four degrees.”

“Humidity?”

“Sixty-four percent.”

Robert made a few adjustments and he zoomed the optics in one more magnification setting.  And settled the crosshairs on the face of Phil Sheridan.  “There you are, old friend,” he whispered.  Then he shifted slightly and took aim on his target.

The crash of the rifle as it fired came as he squeezed the trigger gently.  And Robert West, Adept of ROM, smiled.

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

“SHIT!” shouted Phil as he dove down behind a flimsy chair; a chair that would not even slow a bullet.  But the beach house had little substantial cover and he was not the only one to find what shelter he could, as ineffective as it was.

But the first shot was also the last.  And slowly Phil raised his head.  “Anyone hit?” he asked softly.

“I’m good,” answered Victor.

“No damage,” said Max.

And one by one, each of the field agents answered.  None of them had been struck by the heavy projectile.

“Well, if we weren’t the target . . . oh, fuck,” Phil softly cursed as Victor lifted the Data Core from where it had fallen and he could see the hole in the Core left by the passage of the armor piercing bullet that had struck it.

“Right through the memory bank,” Max said as he shook his head.

“Can we recover . . .,” Phil began, but he stopped as Barbara Hilton and Gerhadt Manstein shook their own heads in a NO.

“All of this?  All of this?  For nothing?” Phil asked.

“Well, you still have me,” Victor said.

“And me,” added Nicky.

“Wonderful.  I’ve got you two, but not the Core, and Taurian Security has to be on their way to the beach—that rifle shot has to have been heard.”

Max stood up straight, and he ran one hand through his hair.  “Yes.  We need to leave and go our separate ways.”  And he shook his head in frustration as looked down on the still smoking Data Core.

Cháteau des Calderon
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
February 7, 3025

“HENRI!” Thomas bellowed as he entered his private office, the Taurian spy-master waiting for him.

“Yes, my Protector,” Henri Jouett answered simply.

“We had a fire fight on the campus of the University of Taurus, four of our ‘Mechs engaged one of our own transport vans blowing it to pieces—along with a good number of buildings around it!—the Core is missing, and I’ve got a research scientist traumatized by having canisters of live nerve gas stuffed down the front of his trousers as he lay paralyzed on the floor while at least two separate teams exchanged gunfire over WHO exactly would get to steal the damn Core!”

He stopped and he shook his head.  “The sewers are a mess, we’ve got damage all over the place, and . . .,” and he stopped in mid-tirade as Henri held up his hand.

“And not one civilian was physically injured.  Yes, we lost several security guards and there was infrastructure damage.  But the Core they stole was the decoy, my Protector.  And according to information that I received just tonight, we owe whoever stole the Core a sizeable debt for stopping that commando raid on the facility.  My people say that those were Liao Death Commandos . . . and that they had a nuclear demolition charge with them that their opponents defused in the field.”

Thomas began to sputter again and then he collected himself and took a deep breath.

“How certain are you it was the Death Commandos?”

“Not completely, but a high likelihood.  My source says they decided that getting the Core out would be a problem, so they—in typically Liao fashion—decided if they could not have it, then no one would.”

“Where is the that nuclear demolition charge?”

“One of my tech teams has recovered it.  Standard Inner Sphere design, no markings on the case, but,” and Henri shook his head.  “They tried to be clever.  The hydrogen core was surrounded with plutonium to make it look like a fission device.  If it had detonated.”

“Why would they want to make it look a fission weapon?” Thomas asked as he sat down.

“It would appear that one of our own people had decided—for some insane reason—to detonate a nuclear weapon on the campus of the University of Taurus, Tom.  Except we don’t use plutonium in our fission devices; I’d wager the plutonium came from a Davion facility somewhere.  Our analysts will confirm that in a matter of hours now that we have the device to examine.”

“Davions,” Thomas growled.

And Henri held up his hand again.  “Throws the scent off the Capellans rather nicely, doesn’t it, Tom?”

Thomas glowered for a moment longer and then he nodded.  “It does.  Damn it.”

He stood and began to pace.  “I want this whole thing shut down, Henri.  We can’t play games with my people—MY PEOPLE—like this!”

And Henri grinned.  “They stole the decoy Core, and the duplicate Core that Mosley’s two lab assistants made.  I’ll bet they are trying to smuggle those Cores off-world right now; and by the time they learn that the data within is utterly useless—pie-in-the-sky projects not possible either now or during the Star League—it will be too late.”

Thomas started to answer him, and then there was a knock on the door.  One of the guards outside opened it and a courier walked into the executive office and handed Henri a data-pad before he left again, the guard closing the door behind him.

Henri read the information quickly and frowned.  “Someone shot up the decoy Core on the beach below the city,” he finally said. 

“Why in the world would they do that?” asked Thomas.  “Did they transfer the data first?”

“Not according to this.  Seems there is another player that did not want the Core’s data getting out—he didn’t kill anyone, there wasn’t any blood, but there is god-awful huge hole in the decoy Core where he shot it with an anti-material rifle.”

Thomas sat down and he sighed.  “Tonight, Henri.  This ends tonight.”

“Yes, my Protector.”

Central Transit Station
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
February 8, 3026

Phil stood on the platform and looked at his ticket one last time.  The DropShip Emma Dale, departing Victor Taurens Spaceport at 0415 local time; bound for a rendezvous with the JumpShip White Rose, with destinations of New Vallis, Flintoff, New Syrtis, and points beyond.  He’d contact Quintus Allard once he got back in Davion space and let know exactly the cluster-fuck that had occurred out here on the Taurian capital. 

And maybe, just maybe, he could arrange for a transfer back somewhere in the center of the Federated Suns where he wouldn’t have to dodge bullets, disarm bombs, and have to deal with live nerve gas!

The train was running late, Phil thought as he looked at the clock again.  But he had plenty of time.  Plenty of time and there was not a great many people here on the platform at two in the morning.

There was whine of brakes and Phil looked down the tunnel to see the approaching lights.  Not too late, he thought as he picked up his suitcase and put the ticket in his jacket pocket.

“Mister Sheridan?  Phil Sheridan?” a voice behind him asked, and Phil forced his face to remain perfectly still as he turned around.

“Yes?  May I help you?”

Two men stood on the platform behind him, and one of them smiled.  “I hope so.  We are with the Office of Special Intelligence and Operations; Monsieur Jouett would like a word.  If you please, Mister Sheridan,” he finished, gesturing towards the platform exit with one hand.

Phil considered—briefly—running, but he noted another four men stationed to cover all of the exits.  He sighed.  Murphy strikes again, he thought to himself as he nodded to the OSIO operative and began to walk towards the exit with a confidence that he did not feel.

TCOSIO Headquarters
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
February 8, 3026

A middle-aged woman took Phil’s hat and coat—his suitcase had already been taken away by other OSIO personnel—and hung them on a coat rack outside the door to an office.  The building to which he had been escorted was rather nondescript, blending well into the seemingly endless vista of near identical apartment rows and office complexes to either side and across the boulevard. 

That façade had faded once Phil entered the building.  As he had expected.  The Headquarters of the OSIO was one of the best defended facilities in the entire Concordat . . . and no one here was taking any chances with him.  Which meant, Phil thought with a silent sigh, that they knew about him and the odds were not good that he would be walking back out those doors.

Rolled out on a gurney, bound for the morgue; that was far more likely.

“Monsieur Jouett will see you now,” the lady said with a faint smile and opened the outer door.  Past it was a small passage—no more than three meters long—that ended in a second door.  Phil recognized the high quality of the sound proofing on those doors and the walls; and if he had been a betting man would have put money on it being encased in a Faraday Cage as well to defeat any electronic listening devices.

He reached the inner door and he opened it, and was not surprised at the weight.  Armored, he thought.  Probably well enough to resist a missile strike; well, one missile strike anyway.

He stepped into the lair of the Taurian spymaster.

And came to a halt as he recognized the men and women sitting there in front of a rather normal—and full—desk.  Victor Li, Nicky Kirkland, Maxwell Danforth, Osami Koga, and Gerhadt Manstein.  Behind the desk there sat a man that simply had to be Henri Jouett, his fingers steepled together and he nodded at Phil with the faintest hint of a smile.

Oh, hell, he thought.  They’ve known about us the entire time.

“Mister Sheridan,” a smooth voice spoke up from behind the desk.  “Our last player in the game that will be joining us tonight.  Would you care to take a seat?”

Phil walked over and he sat down.

“Excellent.  My name is Henri Jouett and I am the Minister of the Office of Special Intelligence and Operations.  And each one of you are an agent of a foreign power, working in the Taurian Concordat under a non-official cover.  Spies.  I could have you all taken out and shot and no one in this building—or your own agencies—would blink an eye.  Or, I could throw you each in an isolated cell and interrogate you at my leisure.  I am certain that your own agencies would deny any knowledge of your existence; you would be mine to do with as I please.”

And he smiled again.  “But I would rather not do either.  Nor would Protector Thomas.”

Phil frowned.

“It appears, ladies and gentlemen, that the Taurian Concordat owes you a debt for your role in stopping the detonation of a nuclear device beneath the University of Taurus earlier this evening.  So, in repayment of that debt, I am prepared to release each of you—provided that you leave Taurus immediately and do not return.”

He paused and waited until each of the six nodded to show their understanding.

“Good.  Protector Thomas hates having debts, and he—as do I—believe that simply letting you leave with your lives is not enough to repay what he owes each of you.  Now, we will let you leave, but it is your choice if you do so with empty hands.  But, in return, I need questions answered—truthfully, ladies and gentlemen.”

He waited a moment before he resumed.  “Who destroyed the Data Core you stole from the research lab?  And where is the copy that you associates made that aboard the transport van you stole?”

Max and Phil exchanged a glance and then Phil nodded.  Max looked at Henri direct in the eyes and held his gaze for a second.

“Adept Robert West, agent of ROM.  We think that is who destroyed the Data Core,” Max said softly.

“The same bastard who shot your security officers at the Quick Pick that night,” Phil added.

Gerhadt Manstein chimed in.  “The duplicate Data Core was destroyed in the van; we did not have time to get it out once your ‘Mechs began shooting at us,” he thought for a moment.  “I suppose we have Adept West to thank for that as well.  Unless you identified us in some other manner.”

“That would be telling,” Henri said with a smile.  “But we owe you a debt, Herr Manstein.  No.  That was not any of our people that made that broadcast.  I suspect you are correct that it was this ComStar operative.  Which begs the question, why are they so determined to see the Data Core destroyed?”

“If they can’t have it, no one can?” Phil asked.

“Makes sense for any one of you; well, your governments, anyway.  But ComStar?  What does ComStar stand to gain from a Taurian Data Core from the last years of the 26th Century?”

No one answered the question, but Henri could see the wheels turning in their minds and one-by-one the agents nodded.

“They don’t want any of us to have that information,” Phil muttered in an angry voice.  “And those bastards got what they wanted.  None of us have the data in that Core now.  Not even you.”

“Ah,” Henri said with another smile.  “There is where you are wrong, Mister Sheridan.  The Data Core you were after was nothing but a decoy—the real Core is safe and sound at an extremely secure location; one not in Samantha City, by the way.  We have already made almost a dozen copies of the data—we had the correct decryption key from the start, after all.  And those copies have been dispersed to different locations.  The information on the Core is quite safe and secure, ladies and gentlemen.”

He paused and smiled again.

“And Thomas is more than willing to share it.”

Henri waited while the six agents suddenly sat up, their faces showing pure, unadulterated shock.

“Well.  Sell it, at the very least.  Tell you masters that Thomas is willing to negotiate for the price of a copy of this Data Core.  But do so via courier, not by HPG.  Since, after all, it does appear that ComStar is not beyond arranging the loss of this data if they know about it.”

And with that, Henri turned his head to look directly at Victor Li.  “This offer is extended by Protector Calderon to each of you—except for House Liao and the Capellan Confederation.  Not only did Romano Liao and Archibald McCarron invade the Concordat, but your Death Commandos planned to detonate a weapon of mass destruction on the soil of Taurus itself.”

“Michael-Hasek Davion also invaded,” Victor said softly.

“So he did.  And he was defeated, but before that defeat happened, before he and his Fusiliers set foot on New Vallis, First Price Hanse Davion declared him a rogue agent, a pirate, and his men guilty of mutiny and desertion.  I do not believe that Maximillian Liao has done anything similar; although it seems that ComStar—once again—has resolved to make it look as if McCarron’s Armored Cavalry was there at their invitation to secure their HPG stations from us periphery barbarians.”

“Maximillian Liao will not get a copy of the Data Core.  Indeed, he will be lucky if the Taurian Concordat does not decide to return the favor,” and Henri leaned back in his chair and raised his steepled hands to his lips.  “As you have no doubt already heard, our new Battleship took part in the engagement at New Vallis.  Make certain Lord Liao understands that if he ever tries such an action again, it will engage him at Sian.  And it will be loaded down with enough nuclear ordnance to ensure the obliteration of the Celestial City and all within it.”

Henri’s voice was cold and flat and not one of the agents in the room doubted either his sincerity or his resolve.

And Victor Li nodded.  “You wish me to convey this information to the Chancellor?”

“No.  He would kill you, if I may be blunt.  The message is being sent via other channels.  But you need to decide if you really want to return to the Capellan Confederation, Victor Li.  As I said, we owe you a debt.  And if you come to work for us, well, we can repay it in other ways than giving you a copy of the Core for the Chancellor.”

“It is a gracious offer, Monsieur,” Victor finally whispered.  “But one I must refuse.  I shall return home and you may consider your debt paid in full.”

“As you wish.  As you wish.”

Henri stood.  “The rest of you are free to go.  Take my message back to your masters and we shall begin to haggle for the price.”

He pressed a button on the desk and the inner door opened, two men entering to escort the agents away.

Each nodded at Henri in turn and then they left.

Henri sat down behind the desk again and pressed a blinking button on the phone.  “You heard, my Protector?” he asked.

“All of it,” the sound of Thomas Calderon’s voice came over the intercom. 

“Are you satisfied, my Lord?”

There was a pause and then he heard Thomas sigh.  “No.  I want to hang them all, debt or no.  But I can’t.  And getting their governments to funnel that much cash to us?  Edward is right, we can’t let the opportunity pass.  Will they do it?”

“Everyone last one of them, my Protector.  There is still the problem of ComStar; they are playing games despite what is coming from the leadership on Terra.”

“And now that we know they are, we can start doing something about that.  Good work tonight, Henri.  I—and the realm—owe you as well.”

And the line went dead as Thomas hung up.

Henri only smiled and he picked up a folder, opened it, and began to read yet another report.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on October 22, 2021, 12:26:03 PM

Chapter Four

Taurian Defense Force Military Reservation (I Corps HQ)
Port Sheridan, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
February 8, 3026

Ardan sighed.  “You don’t have to do this, Edward,” he spoke softly to the young man walking beside him.  “Marshal Calderon can do this just as well as you.”

“You are wrong, Ardan,” Edward replied in a voice just as soft—but one with a bitter edge. 

No, Ardan thought, he doesn’t like having to do this either.  But he is determined to see it through and once again, he shook his head at the similarity between this young man and the two brothers Davion he had served with over the years.

“I have to be the one who passes the sentence,” Edward continued after a moment.  “Not because of my rank, but because I am my father’s son.  And because I am the Heir Designate to Thomas Calderon.  If I don’t,” and he swallowed hard, “then my own people will see it as dereliction of duty.  A man cannot lead if he cannot stand by his given word.”

“I understand that all too well, Edward.  But there are two hundred and seventeen survivors of the final Fusilier assault.  You are going to have to sit on that dais, hear each and every one of them plead and beg for their lives, pass the sentence on them, and then watch them hang one by one until they are dead.”

Edward’s face pinched slightly at that, but he nodded.  “Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, Arden.  Still, we are lucky that it is only two hundred and seventeen that are being put on trial today.  We saved the lives of over six thousand by convincing the ones that defected,” the largest concentration of those being the former Sixth Fusiliers logistical and support elements that had deserted Michael en masse, “we weren’t going to hang them.  Michael’s dead, his command staff and headquarters are dead, and these two hundred and seventeen sons-of-bitches still attacked into the teeth of our defenses and could not find their death on the field of battle.  Well, today, they are going to find that death they sought.”  Edward paused, and in even a softer voice, he continued.  “And may God have mercy on their souls.  As well as my own.”

More than three thousand officers and men of the former Regimental Combat Team had already been killed on New Vallis.  Almost none of the MechWarriors who had followed the Duke had tried to make their way to the surrender point—just a bare dozen, only a single company.  Those twelve had been joined by a mere seven lances of tanks and combat vehicles and less than two battalions of infantry.  The rest of the Fusiliers combat forces had followed their leaders into the defensive lines and fought like madmen—died like madmen.

Outside of the support elements, no officer survived that ranked higher than a Captain.

Ardan winced at the thought.  The Fusiliers had fought bravely and fought well, though the cause—and the man—they fought for had not been worth the price they paid in the end.  And the Fusiliers had extracted a toll from the Taurian defenders—and their associated mercenaries, including Ardan’s own mercenaries-in-name-only—that was all too painful as well.  Tanis Verbet’s 1st Hyades Light Infantry had suffered the worse with over three-quarters of her ‘Mechs destroyed or disabled, although over seventy percent of those “destroyed” units were in good enough condition to be salvaged and returned to service.  Eventually returned to service; it would take months to make good all the repairs the battle had created the need for.

All of the defenders had taken some casualties, though it was relatively light compared to those of the 1st Hyades and the Sixth Fusiliers.  Especially once the Foxhounds and Calderon Red Hand had slammed into the advancing Fusiliers just as Wylie’s Coyotes, Colonel Fiona Jamesen, and Erwin Tyrell’s Nobles Regiment had smashed into their flanks.

Ardan had feared that not even that would be enough to break the Sixth, but in the end, they did break as ‘Mech after ‘Mech was shattered and the Fusiliers fighting power continued to shrink and shrink.  Well after it had been obvious that the battle was lost, the Fusilier MechWarriors had begun to surrender . . . and Edward had ordered that those surrenders be accepted.

Little had the Fusiliers known it was only to await this tribunal and a noose.

Oh, they had heard the broadcast, the MechWarriors who Michael had trusted as much as he trusted any man.  They knew that the Taurians—that Edward—had already told them if they fought and killed Taurians on their own soil, their lives were forfeit.  But either they hadn’t believed the message or they thought that this young man could be convinced to spare their lives.

Either way, they had been wrong.  And the time had come for the survivors to pay the price that the Taurian need for justice demanded.  And Ardan shook his head at that thought.  Not justice—vengeance.  And then he regretted that thought as he glanced at Edward still walking silent beside him.  No.  Not all of them see this as revenge.  Not all of them by far, though he will still go through with it because he has to.  If he wants the treaty with the Federated Suns, he has to, and Ardan winced at the thought of the price that had already been paid in blood and lives to give this treaty even the barest chance of success.

Paid for by both sides.  By Edward and by Hanse and by Ardan himself with some small part of his soul.

The two men approached the doors leading outside to the parade grounds where the Tribunal would sit and hear the appeals of those appearing before them.  Where they sat before the gallows that had been erected over the past week and would stand silent behind the survivors as those few pleaded and begged for mercy that could not be shown to them.

The guards on the doors opened them and Edward drew in a deep breath.  And then he took one step forward and Ardan advanced at his side.

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

Subaltern Jon Kincaide stood and the discussion around the dinner table came to a halt as the officers of the Taurian Defense Force, nobles of the Concordat, and their guests rose as well.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” the young man said firmly as the junior officer present at the table today.  “The Taurian Concordat!”

He raised his glass in salute and those gathered answered him, “The Taurian Concordat!”  And they drank a sip—some a swallow!

“The Protector!”

“The Protector!”

Another sip; another swallow.

“The Defense Force!”

“The Defense Force!”

And again, they drank.

Some began to sit, but Edward remained standing; Ardan looked at him in surprise.  Those three toasts were the only ones required by ritual.

“To our absent friends,” the young man said softly and raised his own glass again.

“To absent friends,” repeated Corey Calderon and Helena Vickers, followed quickly by every other person in the room.  They drank a fourth time and all watched Edward as they waited to see if he had any more surprises in store.

Now, Edward sat at the head of the table, followed by Marshal Calderon at the opposite end and then all of the others, and he leaned back in his seat as he appeared to be listening to the conversations around him, but the look in his eyes was haunted and he absently swirled the dark red wine in his glass without taking another sip.

And Helena Vickers, sitting at Edward’s right hand—just as Arden sat on his left—frowned.  She leaned forward.

“Never an easy thing, my boy, to send men to the gallows—or a firing squad.  Lord knows, I’ve done both and it has never been easy and never failed to turn my stomach as I watched.  Even if it was men that deserved it, it is not an easy thing to do.  Or at the least, it is not an easy thing for any officer—or Protector—that I want to serve under and or have serve under me,” she said in a soft voice.

“You’ve sent men—men you condemned with your own voice—to their deaths, Fleet Marshal?” Edward asked quietly.

“I have,” she answered and she took a sip of wine and gestured towards Edward’s own glass.  He gave a half-hearted smile and raised it, then took a sip as well.  “Better, young man.  I’ve sent enemies of the Concordat to the gallows and the firing squad and I’ve sent my people before them as well; men and women who betrayed the Concordat or deserted the Defense Force in a time of war.  It’s never been easy for me.  I pray it never becomes easy for you.”

She sighed.  “And there are many, many more that never committed any crime that I sent to their deaths—with my own voice—because I needed them to fight and die to buy time to save more than I sacrificed.  Those deaths weigh more heavy on me than the ones I’ve had to hang or shoot.  And I think that is true of you as well.  Absent friends, indeed.”

She took another sip, and Edward followed suit.

“I’m glad that I decided to come planet-side today for this . . .,” and she grimaced, “occasion.  Wasn’t sure I wanted to, but I got to meet you, boy.  I got to meet you here, in the field, and use the occasion to gauge the quality of your character.”

Edward sat down his glass and he looked the old woman directly in her eyes.  “And what did you decide about my character, Fleet Marshal?”

“That you are a Calderon, Lord Edward.  A true Calderon and one I am willing to follow when the day eventually comes.  If I don’t die before Thomas passes on, that is,” and she laughed.  “Of course, I’ve been called stubborn, so I’ll probably live to be two hundred, least a’ways as long as Thomas and you both keep me in my command chair up there.”  And she pointed up at the ceiling.  But Edward knew what she meant.

“So, you are the woman that Thomas appointed to command that battleship in orbit, then?” Arden asked.

Helena Vickers turned to stare deep in Ardan Sortek’s eyes and then she nodded.  “It is my distinct honor to be the commanding officer of the Taurian Concordat Ship Samantha Calderon.  And you are Ardan Sortek—you know when Thomas heard you were here with your . . . mercenaries,” and she chuckled, “he nearly had a stroke.  Almost sent you into exile, Lord Edward, so I wouldn’t make a habit of doing what you did.”

“Not planning on it, Fleet Marshal,” Edward answered.

“Doubt you planned on doing it at all,” Helena replied sharply.  “But there is a secret that we higher-ranking officers don’t really like spreading around—and the Protector is just about the highest-ranking officer we’ve got.”

Ardan smiled.  The woman was certainly charismatic, but there was something about her name that nagged at the back of his mind.  “And what exactly is that secret, Fleet Marshal?”

Helena snorted another bark of laughter.  “You know the secret I mean, Marshal Sortek—ah, excuse, Colonel Sortek.  The secret, Edward, is that the rules of what we are and aren’t supposed to do . . . well, sometimes you have to break them to get things done right.  You take your command where you know they would never let you, but you do it because it is the right thing to do.  You tell your boss NO when everyone else around you is scared shitless because it is the right thing to do.  You stand up to your father and your commanders and your people and you say, I will not be moved, because damn it what you want me to do is wrong.  Wrong for our people, wrong for the Concordat, wrong for the times.”

She paused and she took another sip of wine.  “You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you, Ardan Sortek?”

“I do,” he answered softly.  “As a soldier you obey orders—until those orders are the wrong orders.  And you make a call.”

“And you pay the price,” Helena added.  She looked at Edward.  “This time, Lord Edward, Thomas was willing to forgo the price.  Next time, he might not.  But you knew what might happen to you and you took a stand anyway,” she raised her glass and clinked it against Edward’s own.  “Welcome to the Club.  It is a rather exclusive club for there are not many men or women out there who are willing to take action against orders when they should.  Too worried about losing their exalted ranks and their damned privileges.  Now, we could have won the day without Sortek’s Foxhounds or Enzo Wiley’s Coyotes, but it would have been bloodier on our side.  You knew what you had to do to shore up the defenses of this world and you did it.  Knowing full well the consequences that could have fallen upon you.”

She paused and raised her glass again.  “That is leadership, Lord Edward.  That is a man that I, or Raphael Montoya, or Corey Calderon, or . . .,” and she smiled over at Ardan, “or even Ardan Sortek would be willing to follow.”

And Arden raised his own glass.

“At least until you dismiss him from service and he goes back to New Avalon as a Marshal of the AFFS,” and she laughed again.

“Touché, ma’am,” Ardan replied with a chuckle of his own.

Edward nodded as he took another sip of his own wine.  “Thank you, Fleet Marshal.  I needed to hear that.”

“I know.  I have been there, I have done that.  So has Ardan Sortek.  And tonight, I am going to break another order and put my own fate in the hands of the Protector,” she said with a smile.

“What order are breaking, Fleet Marshal?” asked Ardan Sortek.  “You are not going to blast away my Foxfounds from orbit, are you?”

“Nothing like that,” she answered.  “No.  I have a message for your Prince Hanse Davion.  You see, when viewed one way, I’m already way past two hundred years in age.  I was born in 2529, you see.  I’m that Helena Vickers, Marshal Sortek, and in three short years I will celebrate my 600th birthday.  Must be some sort of record for humanity, right there, eh?”

She laughed and Ardan began to chuckle . . . and then he saw Edward’s expression and he stopped.  He looked at her eyes and she nodded.

“Thomas didn’t find and salvage that ship, did he?” Ardan asked very quietly.

“No.  We had a misjump that sent us flying more than five centuries into the future.  My crew and I, Raphael Montoya and his Calderon Red Hand as well, we are combat veterans of the almost twenty years of Hell that you people today call the Reunification Wars.”

She paused, and then she nodded at Ardan.  “Go ahead.  Take a drink, you probably need one.”

Ardan raised his glass and took a deep swallow.  “Why?  Why tell me, for God’s sake?” he asked when he had recovered.

“You are a man of honor.  I can see that.  Edward trusts you, and even though you are a Davion, I think I do as well.  So.  I want you to tell Hanse Davion himself, that if he decides to try and take Lord Edward here as a hostage or invade the Concordat or seize Saucy Sam, I’ll be waiting for him.  I’ll be coming for him.  With a crew that knows that ship inside and out.  Not a bunch of spacers impressed into service from any available DropShip and JumpShip and trying to operate systems they don’t understand or know how to fix.  Not saying he can’t kill me and get the job done, but that job just got a Hell of a lot harder.  And I want him to know that.”

“He’s not planning on doing any of that!” Ardan snapped.

“I don’t know him.  I know you.  Now, if he keeps a man like you around him, well, maybe Edward is right and we can trust him.  To some degree.  Maybe Edward is wrong.  I don’t know.  And you don’t know—not deep down when you know that any ruler has to be willing to consider anything to preserve their own realm.  Their own people.”

Helena took a sip of her wine and she shook her head.  “You might think because we limped into orbit that Saucy Sam is on the verge of falling apart.  We found the fault yesterday; a fuel pump failed and two of our three main drives couldn’t get enough to provide any thrust.  A minor problem, already fixed.  Just took us a little bit of time to get done.  My ship, my crew, they are not a target, Ardan Sortek.  If the Protector wanted, I’d load up Edward and the Red Hand and personally escort him all the way to New Avalon.”

She sighed.  “But that would be seen as provocative . . . which is why I am having this conversation with you right now.”  She shook her head.  “I believe everyone, including your Hanse Davion, should get one warning—just one.”

“Don’t forget, Fleet Marshal, we learned a long time ago how to kill battleships and cruisers and carriers with just our own aerospace fighters,” Ardan said softly.

“Don’t I know it, boy.  I think this is what they used to call detente?  Right?  You can kill me and I can kill you, but all either one of us has to do to live is just back away from the edge.  If the other one also pulls back from brink, that is.”  She took the last sip of wine from her glass.  “I don’t want to go to New Avalon.  I don’t want to fight Hanse Davion.  Frankly, I’m sick and tired of war and could use a vacation—don’t think I’m going to get one any time soon, but I’d like to spend about a year on the beach drinking fruity drinks with little paper umbrellas and fucking the brains out of some twenty-year old massage therapist.”

Despite himself, Ardan let out a short bark of laughter and Helena nodded.

“And your Hanse Davion doesn’t want a war on the Taurian border either, or you wouldn’t be out here and we wouldn’t be talking.  So just tell the damn man my message,” she said as she stood.  “Lore Edward, you have a good evening.  Colonel Sortek.”

Edward stood.  “Fleet Marshal,” he said with a slight bow, and Helena smiled at him.

“You’ll do, boy.  You’ll do fine,” she whispered as she patted him on the shoulder and walked from the dining hall.

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

“Edward?”

Edward stopped and turned around.  He had been about to call it an evening and retire for the night, but the sound of Corey’s voice had stopped him.

“Uncle Corey,” he said with a slight bow.

“Leaving us so early?” the old man asked softly.

“Today was not the best of days, Uncle Corey,” Edward answered just as softly.

“No, it wasn’t.  But you did your duty, son, and I am proud of you.  Now, I know you want to retire for the night and torture yourself with how you might have been able to do something else instead of what you did,” and Corey chuckled sadly, “but before you go, I wanted you to meet some people.”

“Of course, Marshal Calderon.”

“I understand you are going out to the Detention Facility tomorrow.  Inspection tour?”

“I want to see how we are treating the others,” Edward finally said.

“Like human beings, son.  Like human beings,” Corey paused and he waved over at Erwin Tyrell.  The New Vallis nobleman began to make his way through the crowd, a young woman following him.

“Seriously,” Corey continued, “right now we are still processing them, treating any wounded, debriefing them,” and he smiled.  “You know, there was one cavalry recon company—the remains of one—that came in and had a horror story to tell us.  They ran into a nest of Demon Spiders out there in the Waste and damn near lost half their men to them.  Just for trying to stop and refill their water canteens.  Turns out Michael never briefed them about the dangers of the Wastes—guess he thought they wouldn’t be in it for more than a day and it would be easy to push us aside to get to Port Sheridan.”

“Guess he was wrong, Uncle Corey.”

“Damn straight, my lad.  Ah, Erwin!  Subaltern Edward Calderon, you know Colonel the Baron Erwin Tyrell.  But have you met his daughter?”

The young woman—Edward guessed she was about his own age—came forward and curtseyed.  Edward bowed in reply, and then he took a good look at her.

She was tall—almost taller than him—slender, with lovely honey-brown hair and expressive hazel eyes.

“Subaltern Calderon, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said in a soft soprano voice.

“Lord Edward,” Erwin Tyrell spoke up, “may I make known to you my daughter, Moira Tyrell.”

“My lady,” Edward said simply.  “The honor is mine.”

“Lady Moira is also Doctor Tyrell,” added Corey.  “She graduated from Santiago Medical on Samantha at damn near the top of her class.”

“I am impressed,” Edward said as he smiled.  “That is one of our most prestigious institutions.”

She nodded her head slightly, acknowledging the compliment.  “It is my understanding that you are coming to inspect the Detention Facility tomorrow?”

“I am,” Edward answered.  “But I was not aware that was common knowledge.”

“Oh, it’s not,” she replied with a smile—and Edward froze at the sight of her beaming face.  “I am running the medical side of the Facility until we get everyone treated and processed,” and her smile faded and she shook her head.  “Where they are going after that no one will tell me.”

Corey Calderon smiled and he took the young ladies arm.  “Perhaps, my dear, you might offer to show the Subaltern here around the Facility tomorrow?  You know it better than any other, right?”

“I do.  Lord Edward, it would be my pleasure to escort you around the compound, unless you are otherwise engaged?”

Edward started to speak, but suddenly had to swallow and he nodded.  “T-that would be fine, my lady,” he finally said.

“Eddie, why don’t you and Lady Moira—Doctor Tyrell,” he quickly corrected and she smiled at him, “go get a fresh drink and leave us old men here to talk.  Boring stuff you young folks don’t want to hear, you know.”

“My lady?” Edward asked, holding out his arm. 

Moira smiled and slid her own into his and the two of the them began to walk towards the bar, smiling and talking the entire way.

“My Lord Marshal,” Erwin said in an acrid tone, “just what the fuck are you playing at?”

“Well, he’s a single boy.  She’s a single girl.  They are both attractive, both young, both smart.  Who knows what might happen?”

“I know what could happen, and I really don’t want to have to kill Thomas’ heir in an Honor Duel.  That’s my daughter!” he snapped.

“Calm down, Erwin,” Corey replied with a laugh.  “I’ve known Eddie his entire life; he won’t do anything improper.  But I did want him to meet her before he left for New Avalon.”

“He might not—but she just might!” Erwin answered and then he sighed.  “Why?  Why did you want them to meet?”

“What?  Is a Calderon not good enough for your daughter, Lord Tyrell?”

“It’s not that . . . why tonight?  Why before he leaves?”

“He’s going to be on New Avalon—a Davion world—for weeks, perhaps months.  He might meet some pretty Davion girl.  Do you want him bringing home a Davion wife, Erwin?”  And Corey smiled as Erwin Tyrell began to sputter.  “Or do you want him thinking about that little vixen you raised that probably has him wound around her little finger by now,” and Corey looked over towards the bar where the two young people were smiling and chatting and completely ignoring everyone else in the room.

“God,” whispered Erwin.  “I need a drink.”

And Corey Calderon laughed.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on October 22, 2021, 04:05:05 PM

I got to put this altogether for good reading.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on October 25, 2021, 01:35:59 PM

Prisoner Detention and Processing Facility
Tabernas Wastelands, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
February 9, 3026

“We built this in two weeks?” asked Edward as he walked through the rows of hastily erected barracks, storage rooms, guard quarters, and mess-halls that had sprung up here on the northern edge of the Tabernas Wastes.  One side of the facility bordered the Glitterstream, and pipes drew up the water from that rushing river to be purified for the prisoners—and guards—to drink.

Jon Kincaide nodded, even as Corey, Erwin, and Ardan trailed along behind them.  “Most of these structures are pre-fabricated buildings that the Constabulary had in storage.  To the west we have the DropShip landing zone and the vehicle park where we interned their gear.  As the men and women came here to surrender, we took their weapons, got their names, ranks, and serials numbers, assigned them living quarters, and provided medical care to those in need.”

“And that area?” Edward pointed toward a collection of larger buildings and several tents.

“The Medical Facility, sir,” Jon answered.  “I believe that Doctor Tyrell is supposed to meet us there and finished the tour.”

“Good,” said Edward brightly.  “Uncle Corey, I want to meet those cavalry troopers you told me about last night—see how things are going from their perspective.”

“Of course, Edward.”

Edward turned back towards the medical facility where he spotted Moira Tyrell exiting one of the buildings and heading in his direction.  He smiled and began to wave . . . but then he saw the look on her face and his smile faded.

“Is this how the Calderons keep their word?” she snapped as she walked right up to Edward and pointed her finger at his chest.

“What are you . . . Moi—Dr. Tyell, what is wrong?” Edward asked.

“This morning, we were told by the new commander of the facility—a Constabulary officer appointed by Governor Dupont that the prisoners no longer required any further medical care.  We have been ordered to pack our things and leave camp.”

She stared at Edward with accusing eyes and he shook his head.  “I didn’t know,” he whispered.  “Corey?” he asked in a louder voice.

“Not my doing, Edward,” the old man answered.  “Dupont insisted that the Constabulary take over running this facility . . . and my infantry have more than enough to do cleaning up after that battle.”  He paused.  “First I’ve heard about the medical staff being dismissed, though.”

“Jon,” Edward spoke to his aide and bodyguard.  “Tell the commander of the facility that I want to meet with him—at once.  Take a squad of the Guards with you in case he doesn’t want to come.”

“Sir,” Jon Kincaide replied with a nod and he began to trot away, speaking into handheld radio as he went.

“Lord Edward,” Erwin began, and then he stopped.  “Look, I know Fredrik Dupont; the man is an ass, but he is also a loyal Taurian.  I’m sure he had his reasons for this.”

“I gave these folks my word, Erwin,” Edward snapped.  “They would be taken care of—that includes medical care for those who need it.  And I have no doubt that Governor Dupont is a loyal Taurian and is trying to do what he thinks is best, but he is undermining my given word.  As not only an officer, but as a Calderon!”

Erwin shook his head.  “Let’s not jump to conclusions.  We are going to be moving these men and women to one of our colony worlds pretty soon—maybe everyone that needed medical care has received it.”

Corey sighed.  “Fredrik Dupont is a rabid Davion-phobe; he was very much in league with Shraplen and his ilk.  I’ve got a feeling he is trying to find a ‘better’ solution than sending then prisoners to work on building up a colony on the frontier.”

Edward frowned and then he set his jaw.  “Marshal Calderon, if you would please inform Brigadier Montoya and the remainder of my Guard detachement, I would like their presence—and that of the Red Hand—here as soon as possible.”

“I can have the Foxhounds here in fifteen minutes,” Ardan spoke up, a worried look on his face.

Edward shook his head.  “No.  Having your troops—what with their former allegiance—thrown into the mix might just ignite a spark, Colonel Sortek.  We’ll deal with this with Taurian forces.”

He paused and looked a Moira.  “I will fix this, my lady,” he said softly and she smiled.

“I do think I believe you . . . my Lord,” she answered.

Behind the two, Corey smiled again and Erwin put one hand on his face.  “Edward and I are going to have a LONG talk after this, Corey.  You are a bastard, you know that?” he whispered.

“Yep,” the old man whispered back.

A jeep turned down the gap between the buildings and drew up close to the visitors.  From the passenger side, Jon Kincaide exited, while a thick, short balding man pulled his way out of the back.  An armored personnel carrier followed, disgorging a maniple of troopers from the Taurian Guards.

“Subaltern Calderon,” Jon announced, “may I present Brigadier Liam Cochrane, commander of the 17th New Vallis Infantry Battalion, Concordat Constabulary.”

“Brigadier,” Edward greeted the man.  “What the devil are you playing at here?”

“Excuse me?” Cochrane sputtered.  “What do you think gives you—a Subaltern—the right to question me—a Brigadier?”

“In that case, what the devil are playing at here?” snapped Corey Calderon.  “As the Commanding Marshal of I Corps, I do believe I outrank you.”

“Sir,” Cochrane answered and came to a position of attention—a very loose position of attention.  “I am doing my duty to the Concordat, sir.”

“And how exactly are you doing that, Brigadier?”

Cochrane paused and then he looked down.  And then he raised his head defiantly and stared Corey Calderon square in the eyes.  “By not letting these Fed Sons-of-Bitches get it easy, Marshal.  They don’t deserve to be treated any better than pirates and bandits—you hanged some yourself!”

“I—and Lord Edward, heir to the Protector—hung those who refused to surrender without a fight.  And we—the two of us—promised those who did they would be well treated.  Are you breaking our word, Brigadier?”

“I’m doing my duty, Marshal.  This facility is a civilian facility, manned by Constabulary assigned by the Governor—you have no say here.  Not since we took over.”

“Really?” asked Corey in a mild voice.  “Okay then.  Subaltern Kincaide, may I borrow that radio?”

The Subaltern handed him the hand-held device and Corey clicked it one.  “All units of I Corps, Taurian Defense Force.  This is Marshal Corey Calderon.  Assemble at the Prisoner Detention and Processing Facility as soon as possible to quell by force an armed insurrection by the Concordat Constabulary against the Taurian Concordat.  All those who refuse to lay down arms will be shot.”

Cochrane blanched and he shook his head.  “You can’t do that!”

Corey looked down at the radio in his hand and then back up at Cochrane.  “But I can—and I did.  So.  If you want to keep on breathing, Brigadier—soon to be Private—Cochrane, you will have your men stand down.  NOW.  The Taurian Defense Force is resuming the operation of his facility—your Constabulary will stand down,” and Corey smiled, “or they will be gunned down.  Your choice.”

“The Governor won’t stand for this, we aren’t under your command!  We’re under his!”

“Brigadier, Governors come and governors go.  But the long silent sleep of death is with you for eternity.  So which is it going to be?” Corey answered.


Outskirts of Prisoner Detention and Processing Facility
Tabernas Wastelands, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
February 9, 3026

“Put your backs into it!” the Taurian soldier snarled at the gaggle of former Federated Suns troopers struggling to dig the long narrow trench under the heat of a noon-day sun.  The ground was baked, virtually desiccated, and the rocky soil resisted the dull and pitted blades of the shovels that the prisoners had been issued. 

Henry Barksdale, often-upon-a-time Leftenant in the Armored Forces of the Federated Suns, stood upright and he rested for a moment to wipe away what little sweat his body could still produce from his forehead.  For a moment, he considered keeping silent, but as he looked over the surviving men and women of his platoon—his platoon, his people—he shook his head.

“We need water, Corporal,” he said in a parched voice through lips cracked in the blazing heat.  “we’ve been digging this latrine for three hours straight, and you haven’t let us have a sip of water the entire time.”

The Taurian hustled over to him and he stopped three feet away, a sub-machine gripped in his hands pointed at Henry’s chest.

“You want water, you Fed-Rat scum?  Dig, or I’ll water the ground with your blood,” the trooper snarled.  “The rest of them are thirty enough, they can lick it up from the ground, afterwards.”

“LT,” Joshua Franks whispered, “it ain’t worth it, sir.”

Henry looked at the SMG and then he looked at his men and women—his men and women—and he threw the shovel to the ground.  “Okay, fine.  Three-Echo,” he shouted in a hoarse voice, “we are done.  Put the shovels down.”

All of the digging came to a halt at the other nineteen soldiers that had formerly belonged to 3rd Platoon, Echo Company, Cavalry Scout-Recon Battalion, 6th Syrtis Fusiliers RCT stopped their digging and stared as their platoon leader.

“Tell them to keep digging, Fed-Rat,” the Taurian guard snarled.

“Or what?  You will shoot me?” Henry asked in a soft voice.  “Go ahead.  Shoot me.  We were told we would be treated fairly—and you want us out here working ourselves to death with no water in this heat?  We are done.”

The guard pulled back the bolt on his SMG and chambered a round.

“Tell them to dig, Fed-Rat, or your body won’t be the only one at the bottom of this trench.”

Henry shook his head.  “This isn’t a latrine, is it?” he asked.  “You brought us more than a kilometer outside of the camp, why do you want us digging a latrine this far from the camp?  You don’t plan on any of us going back do you?”

The guard smiled.  “They hanged over two hundred of you yesterday; what’s twenty-one more?”  He looked around.  “Okay, boys.  Time for some target practice!”

And he sneered at Henry at he raised the SMG.  “Never did like officers, ours or theirs.  And a Fed-Rat officer?  Why that is just a bonus.”

“Corp?” A voice called out from among the remaining Taurian Guards.  “We’ve got company—armored transports.  Looks like a platoon.”

The leader of the guard frowned and looked in the direction the other soldier pointed—and sure enough, there were six armored vehicle driving their way.  Fast.

“Cover the prisoners,” he ordered.  “I’ll see what all this is about.”

The six armored vehicles came to a halt just meters away, and disembarkation ramps on the rear opened, letting a full platoon of Taurian infantry—infantry bearing the shoulder flash of the elite 1st Battalion, Taurian Guards.  And trailing behind them was Edward Calderon and Colonel the Baron Tyrell, along with two other men and a woman.

“Sirs!” the guard corporal snapped as he came to attention.

Edward stepped forward and he looked at the long line of men and women, their sweat-stained clothes, the long, narrow trench they had been digging, and the shovels laying on the ground.  And the squad of guards that held sub-machine-guns pointed at the prisoners.

“What are your orders, Corporal?” Edward asked.

“Sir?”

“Your orders?  You do have orders to have these prisoners out here and away from the detention facility, don’t you?”

“Ah, sir, well, we were told to come out here and dig a new latrine?”

Edward frowned.  “A new latrine?  For the detention facility?  All the way out here?  Must be a kilometer and a half back to the camp—and aren’t the existing latrines dug just a week ago?”

“They were finished six days ago, my Lord Edward,” interjected Jon Kincaide.

“Ah.  Six days old.  Yet we needed a new latrine so far away from camp—far enough that the gunshots wouldn’t be heard, right Corporal?” he asked in a voice that was absolutely devoid of any feeling.

“Well, sir, I-I,” the corporal stuttered.  “We were just doing what we were told, Sir.”

“Just following orders, right?” Edward sighed.  “Corporal, you and your men are relieved.  My guards will escort these men back to the facility.”

“Sir, we have out orders,” the guard began, but then he stopped as Edward just glared at him and thirty soldiers of the Taurian Guards clicked off the safety on their rifles.  “And you just gave us another one, Sir.  I stand relieved.”

The five Constabulary guards quickly left and Edward sighed again.  Beside him, Erwin shook his head.  “This is going to get worse, Edward,” the New Vallis noble whispered.

“I know, Erwin.  But we have to stop this right now, right here.”

“Won’t be any better on the penal colony, my Lord,” the Baron added.  “And you won’t be there to save them the next time.”

Edward nodded.  Then he turned around.  “Doctor Tyrell, can you make sure these men and women are not injured.  Jon, get them some water and put them in the shade of the vehicles.”

The two began to carry out his orders and Ardan walked over to join him and Erwin.  Corey had remained behind to try and defuse the situation in the detention center itself.

“I hadn’t even given any thought to this,” Ardan said quietly.  “The Constabulary is your volunteer militia?”

“Sort of,” answered Edward.  “They are volunteers and they have had training, but their primary role is to assist in natural disasters, search-and-rescue, and providing the police with assistance as needed.  In an emergency, they are usually called out to support the regular TDF armor and infantry battalions assigned to a world, but they seldom see actual combat.  They didn’t here on New Vallis; we left them to garrison Port Sheridan and the other cities.”

“And they are under civilian command,” added Erwin.  “Whereas the Nobles Regiments are under the command of a former TDF officer ennobled by the Protector and mostly consist of former TDF and mercenary personnel who want to have a home life without worrying about packing up and changing planets on a moment’s notice.  My retainers would never have done this—but the Constabulary is much less disciplined.”

“If I had assigned your retainers to this guard detail, they might have strung me up yesterday, Erwin,” Edward said softly as he watched the Constabulary guards march off into the distance in the direction of the detention facility.

Erwin snorted.  “Not a chance.  Oh, they would have burned you in effigy and cursed you whether or not you were in the same room, but they would have followed my lead, no matter how much they disliked doing it.”  He paused and sighed.  “Best bet is to assign the Marshal’s regular TDF garrison.  Shouldn’t take more than a company or two of infantry to guard these folks.”

“Bit of a short-term solution, though,” interjected Ardan.  “Once they get loaded up and moved, how likely is it that it will be the local Constabulary guarding them again?  That time without you to put a stop to it?” he asked Edward.

“I think I may know a more permanent way,” whispered Edward.  “Did that engineer from the Samantha Calderon manage to get the New Vallis HPG back on-line?”

“I think he did,” Erwin answered.

“Then it is past time for me to call home and talk to my father.”

Taurian Concordat Class B HPG Station
Port Sheridan, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
February 9, 3026

The two-way real-time transmission was somewhat garbled and static laced, but Edward and his father could see each other—and, perhaps more importantly, understand each other.

“Are you certain about this, Eddie?” his father asked.  “I know we agreed to let their families ransom them out from their sentence early, but . . .,” his voice trailed off.

“Pop, we have to face facts.  Odds are, no matter where we send them, we are going to get the same thing happen.  There won’t be any of them left to ransom within a year.  And that is an affront to both our honor if that happens.  We gave our word.”

Thomas scowled and he shook his head.  “I can’t.  I cannot do this, Edward,” and then he paused.  “I won’t you tell you that you can’t however,” he finished in a quieter voice.

Edward nodded and he swallowed.  “How much have you decided to set their ransom at, Pop?”

The old man sighed and he ran one hand through his thinning hair.  “Hadn’t really thought about it—hadn’t actually set a price on the damn thing.”  He thought for a moment and he sighed again.  “I can’t go under 10,000 Bulls apiece.  Not and keep this looking like I mean it, Eddie.”

The young man winced and then he nodded again.  “I can work with that, Pop.”

Thomas snorted.  “I know your finances, son.  You can do this, but you will have almost nothing left except your pay as a Subaltern.”

“So be it,” answered Edward as he raised his head and looked his father squarely in his one remaining real eye.  “You can’t put a price tag on the honor of House Calderon, after all.”

For a moment, there was silence and then Thomas nodded, one tear flowing ragged along his cheek.  “In case I have not told you, son, I’m proud of you.  I’m proud of the man that you have become—in spite of me.”

“Because of you, Pop.  It’s because of you I am who I am.”

Thomas inhaled sharply and he nodded.  “Best you be going then.  You’ve got some more calls to make—and then an announcement, so you best be after it.”  He paused one last time.  “You come home, Eddie.  After you get Hanse Davion to sign that paper, you come home.”

“High water or Hell’s Heart, Pop.  I will.”

Taurian Defense Force Military Reservation (I Corps HQ)
Port Sheridan, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
February 11, 3026

The ranking officers of the TDF on New Vallis—and their mercenary associates, plus a handful of guests—all sat around a number of tables in the dining hall of the Officer’s Club.  This would be their final meal together, for tomorrow, Fleet Marshal Vickers would be returning to Taurus . . . and Edward, along with Ardan Sortek, his Foxhounds, and Wylie’s Coyotes would be heading into Federated Suns space.

As the stewards finished taking away the last of the plates, Edward Calderon stood and he faced the assembled crowd.  A hush fell over them as conversations came to a halt.

“As this is our last night on New Vallis, I wanted to thank Marshal Corey Calderon for allowing me to assist in the defense of this world,” Edward said as he smiled down at his distant cousin—an uncle in all but name.  “Even though he kept me in the command bunker instead of letting me go out to fight.”

And there was laughter throughout the room at that.

“Hell, boy,” Corey bellowed, “I’m more afraid of your father than I ever was of the Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers!  Those Sassy Fools!”

And more laughter, as Edward smiled.

“He had reason to keep me safe, though, and I am grateful for the opportunity to learn from him.  And from each of you as well, I have learned much.  Colonel the Baron Erwin Tyrell taught me many things . . . some of which were actually worth learning,” Edward added with a broad smile and there was still more laughter and Erwin nodded at the slight dig made against him.

“Colonel Jamesen and Brigadiers Verbet and Montoya have taught me the meaning of patience and the value of resilience.  Of knowing when a fight has to be fought and to witness the courage it takes to fight even against the odds, knowing you are doing the right thing.”

No laughter this time, only applause and the three surviving Taurian regimental and battalion commanders nodded their appreciation.

“I’ve learned some hard lessons here,” Edward continued.  “I’ve learned that it is sometimes necessary to send men and women I know and care about into harm’s way—sometimes to their death,” and he saw Fleet Marshal Vickers nodding.  “I’ve learned that it is sometimes necessary to order the deaths of others for their crimes—and that if such a thing becomes necessary to bear witness to the execution.  If I give the order, I must be watch it carried out, I have found.  If I am to honor the man that I want to be,” Edward said.

There was no applause this time, no laughter, only a few faint cries of “Hear, hear!”

Edward paused.  “But we aren’t only killers, are we, my comrades-in-arms?  We are human beings, men and women, each and every one of us and we are able to be more.  And in being more, we often find we gain more.”

Edward stepped forward and he gestured at Ardan Sortek.  “Colonel Sortek, could you join me up here at the podium?” he asked.

Ardan looked at Edward, looked at the crowd, and Edward could see lips moving—a curse perhaps as he slowly stood and came up to stand beside Edward.

“Ardan Sortek didn’t have to come here to New Vallis with me.  He didn’t have to bring his men and women—some of whom died to defend this world—with me.  But he did.  And I promised him that I would pay his contract and that of Enzo Wylie.  Colonel Wylie has already received the transfer of funds he was promised; this however, belongs to the Foxhounds,” Edward said as he handed Ardan a Secure Financial Transfer Module.

Ardan looked pained as he took it, and Edward shook his head.  “Your men and women deserve this—20,000 Bulls for each and every one of them, including your fallen.  I would have given you more, but I unfortunately no longer have a fortune to spend,” he continued.

And there was silence in the crowd.  Ardan, Corey, Erwin, Helena, Tanis, Raphael . . . all of them just stared.

“I no longer have a fortune because my father decided to set the ransom on those former members of the 6th Syrtis Fusiliers who surrendered at 10,000 Bulls each.  That is a ransom that I have personally paid in full as of today, with the full knowledge and approval of my father.  It is your fortune, he told me, you may spend it how you wish.”

Edward paused and there wa silence in the room; many of the officers were just staring, slack-jawed and open-mouthed.  And even Ardan, up alongside the podium was shaking his head.

“Edward, that is over sixty-four million!” he sputtered.

The Protector’s heir nodded.  “They are free to leave New Vallis as free men.  They will travel alongside Colonel Wylie until they reach the Federated Suns and be repatriated,” Edward paused.  “I did not do this because I refused to see Davions suffer.  I did not do this because I wanted to forgive them and grant them release from their five years of service.  I did this because it became clear that too many of our own people would have done all they could to kill or main or cripple them—and we did not sentence them to that fate.”

“I did not.  My father did not.  Marshal Calderon did not.  Honor demands that if I cannot keep them safe—as prisoners who surrendered to me—it is my duty to send them where they can be safe.  And so I have, despite what many of you and many of my countrymen might think of that decision.”

Edward shook his head and he smiled.  “I would do it again, if I had to.  I would give up my fortune once more to retain the honor of my House and my own self.  Ladies, gentlemen, it has been my distinct honor to have served here with you all.  Good fortune.”

Helena Vickers and Corey Calderon rose and began to clap and then one-by-one, each of the others in the room did so as well.

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

Edward was shaking hands and saying farewells as he tried to make his way through the crowd to the exit—to escape.  When he saw two familiar faces blocking his path, the last two to block his way to the door.

“You know,” Erwin said as he shook his head, “when I first met you I thought you a fool.  I learned better, but then you did this.  Gave up the fortune your mother left you—for your honor.”  He shook his head again and then he smiled.  “Seldom have I been so wrong about another man, my Lord Edward.”

Erwin put out his hand and Edward took and the two shook, and then Edward looked at Moira and she smiled back at him.

“I’m not rich anymore,” Edward said.  “I’m not broke, but I’m not rich.  Hope you weren’t interested in me for my money.”

“I’ve got money,” she replied.  “But you are wealthy in ways that no bank can ever tabulate, Lord Edward.”  She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips and beside her, Edward heard her father groan.  “Write me and let me know you are safe.”

“I will if you will,” Edward answered with a grin and then he kissed her back.

“Oh, for the love of God!” Erwin sputtered beside them, and both Edward and Moira began to laugh.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on October 25, 2021, 08:37:43 PM

Henderson Space Port
Port Sheridan, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
February 12, 3026

“What is this?” Edward asked as he stepped into the concourse to await the bus that would deliver him, Jon Kincaide, and a half-dozen bodyguards to the DropShip Black Bull.

Corey Calderon stood there, a broad smile on his face, along with Helena Vickers and Raphael Montoya, Tanis Verbet and Fionna Jamesen, Ardan Sortek and Erwin Tyrell. 

“There is one final matter that we must take care of, young Edward,” said Corey as he grinned—almost dementedly, Edward thought to himself.

“Thomas could not—as Protector—give you any aid or assistance when you choose to pay those ransoms.  And because of his inaction, he fears that there are some within the Concordat will take as the beginnings of an estrangement between the two of you.”

Edward frowned, and Corey shook his head.  “They would be idiots to think that, but idiots we have in plenty!”  He paused and smiled again.  “But there is one—well, two—ways that Thomas can show them all just how wrong they are.”

“Subaltern Edward Calderon, stand at attention!” Helena Vickers barked . . . and almost before he thought about it, Edward stood ramrod straight.

Corey nodded his approval and he motioned to one side; an aide by a door let in a small crew of camera-men and photographers who began recording the scene and taking photographs.

“Subaltern Edward Calderon,” he said gravely, “it is my solemn duty to inform you that you are in violation of Article 37, Section Four of the Concordat Code of Military Justice in that you are out of uniform.”

He paused and Edward thought to himself, what the hell?

“Due to your exemplary service before, during, and following the Battle of New Vallis in this year, let it posted throughout the Concordat the following:  by order of Marshal of the Armies Brenda Calderon,” Corey continued, “acting on the direction and with the approval of the Protector of the Taurian Concordat—Thomas Calderon— you are hereby appointed and commissioned at the rank of Brigadier in the Taurian Defense Force.  All rights, privileges, duties, and responsibilities of that rank are now your solemn duty to uphold and honor in service to the Concordat and the people thereof.”

Erwin Tyrell stepped forward and removed the Subaltern tabs from Edward’s collar and then Helena took his place and pin the insignia of a Brigadier in their place.

The two stepped back and both saluted sharply, which Edward returned crisply.

“Congratulations, Brigadier Calderon!” Corey said, his smile nearly stretching from ear-to-ear.  “Stand at ease, son,” he ordered, and Edward relaxed.

“Unfortunately, we Taurians are a stubborn people and there might be some idiots out there who still think Thomas doesn’t approve of you and your actions.  Which is why he is taking this second step—Brigadier Edward Calderon, son of Thomas Calderon, please kneel.”

Corey stepped to one side and Colonel the Baron Erwin Tyrell stepped forward, an aide pressing into his hand a sheathed sword . . . and Edward drew in a sharp intake of air in shock at the sight as he lowered himself down on his right knee.

“I, Erwin Tyrell, acting as a Nobleman of the Taurian Concordat, do hereby proclaim before God and Witnesses that Thomas Calderon—Protector of the Taurian Concordat, Defender of the Realm, Champion of the Faith—has directly and expressly commanded that I carry out my duties today as Baron Tyrell, Lord Erwin.”

He paused and drew the sword from its sheath with a resounding ring. 

“Edward of the House of Calderon, son of Thomas,” he began.  “Do you have Faith in God?”

“I do, Lord Erwin,” Edward answered softly.

“Then I charge you to be brave in the face of your enemies,” Erwin said solemnly as he tapped Edward on the right shoulder with the blade, “for as long as you have Faith in God Above, you shall never stand alone.”

“Do you Serve the People of the Taurian Concordat?”

“I do, Lord Erwin.”

“Then I charge you to Protect the Innocent, Defend the Weak, and Champion the Helpless,” the Baron continued as he laid the edge of the blade against Edward’s left shoulder, “for a True Servant puts his People above himself.”

“Will you obey the Just, True, and Right commands of your sworn Lord, the Protector of the Taurian Concordat?”

“I will, Lord Erwin.”

“then I charge you to keep your Oath, to speak the Truth, and to stand in the presence of the Protector and to challenge him when he is not Just or True or Right,” and he laid the blade on the crown of Edward’s head, “trusting in God Above that he can be shown the Truth.”

Erwin lifted the sword and he sheathed it.  “Rise, Sir Edward Calderon, Knight of Taurus, the Hyades, and the Taurian Concordat.  Rise a Noble, so named in honor of your service by Thomas Calderon, Protector of the Taurian Concordat.”

And Edward did as the video recorders and cameras captured it all.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on October 26, 2021, 05:49:52 AM

Talk about promotions!  :o

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on October 29, 2021, 02:39:17 PM

DropShip Black Bull
Nadir Jump Point, Lindsay
Federated Suns
February 17, 3026

“And according to the message I received,” Ardan Sorek continued, “the First Prince has decided to come in person to New Syrtis to calm things down in the Capellan March.  Which means, Sir Edward, that after we jump to Electra, you only have one more to make to meet with him on New Syrtis.”

Edward nodded.  It seemed that the reaction of the Capellan March to Hanse Davion’s broadcast labeling Michael Hasek-Davion as a traitor and renegade—and the declaration of the Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers as pirate and mutineers—had set off a firestorm among the former Duke’s more die-hard supporters in the March.  Tensions, always high in this area in recent years—since Michael Hasek-Davion had assumed his role as Duke, in fact—had ratcheted up several more notches.

To the point that the First Prince himself, along with the remainder of the Davion Heavy Guards RCT and the entire 1st Davion Guards RCT had come all the way to New Syrtis from New Avalon to put his own house in order.

And Edward sighed.  That had been before word had reached—carried out of the Concordat aboard merchant vessels—of the defeat of the Sixth on New Vallis . . . and the death of Michael Hasek-Davion.

“Understood, Ardan,” he said finally.  “Is he certain that New Syrtis is the place to have this meeting?  My presence there will be like,” and Edward finally gave a hint of a smile, “waving a red cape in front of an enraged bull.”

Ardan snorted.  “Oh, I doubt anyone will try anything while the 1st Guards and Heavy Guards and the First Prince himself—along with Michael’s wife and son—are there to keep everyone in line.”

Marie Hasek-Davion, Hanse Davion’s half-sister, and his nephew Morgan Hasek-Davion both stood staunchly behind the First Prince, according to the intelligence briefs that Edward had received.  Although that might well change when word reached New Syrtis that Michael was dead—killed in the fires of a Taurian nuclear strike.

“My own people are not very happy with this sudden change in our plans,” Edward continued.

“I don’t doubt it,” Ardan answered in agreement.  “Still, this will save you months of travel time . . . and let you get back home all the quicker once you and Hanse sit down and hammer out this agreement.”  He paused, as he considered something and then he nodded.  “Besides, by the time we land on New Syrtis, news should have arrived that the survivors of the Sixth have been ransomed and returned to the Federated Suns—and that you, personally, are responsible for that.”

“I didn’t do it for a political or public relations advantage!”

Ardan held up one hand.  “I know that, and as much as I hate playing politics and spinning events to the advantage of your reputation and standing in media, I do believe that in this case I would be remiss to advise you not to take advantage, Edward.”

And even as he said that, Ardan had to swallow a bit of bile that rose in his throat.  He hated the political games in which he himself had been embroiled, and yet, here he was advising this Taurian Prince to use those same political games for his benefit—and that of Hanse Davion.  Despite knowing that Edward probably despised them as much as he did.

“Marshal Sortek is correct, Sir,” added Jon Kincaide; the Subaltern served not only as Edward’s personal body-guard and aide, but was his close personal friend.  “Once the media starts talking with the returning Fusiliers and getting their stories out—how Michael betrayed them, not once but multiple times, tried to use nuclear weapons to punish those who abandoned him at the direct order of the First Prince, and how you, personally, intervened to keep them safe from malicious harm by our own hard-liners, it can only paint you—and the Concordat,” and Jon paused for a moment, “the sane part of our Concordat, at least—in a better light.”

Edward sighed again and he nodded.  “And my father and Henri Jouett and Helena Vickers would all agree,” he said quietly.  “Okay,” and he looked Ardan in the eye.  “So what is our timetable for the meetings after we arrive at New Syrtis?”

“Still tentative, but it appears that the First Prince has blocked out an entire week to spend with you and the team of negotiators that your father sent along.  Once we arrive in the New Syrtis system, Black Bull, your escort, and my Heavy Guards will continue to the surface, probably to an official state reception—including at least two state dinners, so I hope you brought along your formal wear.”

“Lovely.”

“Afterwards, there will be a series of meetings between lower level members of each delegation, followed by a series of private meetings between you and the First Prince, and then a signing ceremony, if you two can hammer out an agreement.”

“I have not come all this way to go home empty handed, Ardan,” Edward said, but his voice was worried.

“And you can rest assured that neither has the First Prince.”

Edward nodded his understanding.  “Okay.  We have one week to prepare,  Jon, so we had best be getting started.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 01, 2021, 12:59:23 PM

Cháteau des Calderon
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
February 19, 3026

Thomas Calderon stood as Helena Vickers and Jack Fletcher were escorted into his office.  Henri Jouett, Brenda Calderon, and Raoul Calderon were already present, along with the Exchequer of the Concordat Semyon Cantrell.

Thomas scowled; he still wasn’t entirely happy that Helena had revealed the truth about the Samantha Calderon and her crew to Ardan Sortek . . . but the woman had done so to help keep Edward safe . . . and because of that, Henri, Brenda, and Raoul had talked him out of launching into a blistering tirade.

“Welcome back to Taurus,” the Protector said instead.  “Will you join us?” he asked.

“The Protector’s request is our literal order,” Helena answered with a slight smile.

“Would you care for some coffee, tea, wine, or, perhaps, something stronger?” Raoul asked before Thomas could respond acidly and his brother nodded at the Minister-without-A-Portfolio.

“No thank you, Minister Calderon,” Helena answered.  “Jack had hoped to have this meeting before we departed for New Vallis, but we were in a rush to get out there in time, as you know.”

Thomas nodded.  Commander Fletcher had requested this meeting just hours before the news of the invasion of New Vallis had reached the capital . . . and that Edward had returned to that to aid in the defense.  There had not been time to meet before Vickers had departed, but whatever the engineer wanted to discuss must be urgent, because he had once again made the request last evening when the WarShip had returned to Station Three.

“I presume that this concerns your report on the status of Vandenberg?  You completed your survey the day before you left Taurus,” the Protector continued.

“Yes, Sir,” the engineer answered.  “That is one of the reasons that I requested this meeting.”  He paused and ran a hand through his thinning hair.  “She’s a bloody mess, that Terran boondoggle.  Can’t fathom why the bloody Terries would build a 420,000 ton Compact Core WarShip, give her paper-thin armor, less weapons than most Assault DropShips, and the fighter complement of a Leopard CV!  There are cheaper ways to build a bloody freighter!”

“Jack,” Helena growled softly.

“Sorry, Ma’am, Sirs,” he said after a moment.  “She needs a lot of work—eighteen months at a minimum—but I think we can rebuild her into something we can use.”

Semyon Cantrell frowned.  “And just how much will that cost, Commander?”

“A lot,” Jack replied bluntly.  “But, if you want her back in service, the cost will have to be borne out.”

“We will be receiving funds relatively soon from our offering the Vickers Core to Marik, Steiner, Kurita, and Centrella . . . Duchess Humphreys of Andurien may make a bid as well.  And when Edward is successful in his mission, we will receive funding from the Federated Suns,” Henri interjected.

“I would prefer not to spend in advance the eggs our chickens have not yet laid, Minister Jouett,” replied Cantrell.  “Still, even Alvarez might pay us something for a copy of the Core.”

Thomas shook his head.  “The Outworlders fought against McCarron alongside us,” he said briskly and in a strong voice.  “Their agents will take home a copy of the Core non-gratis to show the Alliance our appreciation for their standing besides us when few others would.  Once you find those idiots out there in the wilds of Gamma Continent, Henri.”

“Already done, my Protector,” Henri said with a smile.  “Our Search-and-Rescue Teams found them this morning . . . and they also found what those two managed to discover.”

Thomas blinked and everyone in the room got silent.

“They found something . . . on Gamma?” Thomas sputtered.

Henri nodded.  “Seems they had some good intelligence based on very old information they dug up on Alpheratz . .  .the SLDF built an intelligence station way out there on Gamma to monitor signal traffic here on Taurus.  My people and those from the Science Ministry are going through the place, but it is a treasure trove of computers and surveillance gear, mostly still operational in a sealed—well, it was sealed—underground bunker.”

“Another Core?” Brenda asked in a strained voice.

“No.  It was a very small and clandestine operation, but Fitz-Hugh and Milbarge found it for us,” Henri frowned.  “Which is what we should have done ourselves decades ago.  The bastards had built dedicated taps into all of our secure government communications links before the Uprising and the Amaris Coup.  They were reading our secure internal mail just as soon as it got sent; thankfully, most of those systems have been replaced over the centuries since and the taps lead to—mostly—dead ends today.”

“Will miracles never cease,” Thomas muttered, then he shook his heads.  “The Alliance gets their copy of the Core for free; we Taurians pay our debts.”

Semyon Cantrell grimaced, but everyone else in the room nodded.

“What exactly needs to be done to get the Vandenberg ready for service?” the Protector asked.

“Well, the transit drives are almost completely inoperative, my Lord.  WarShip transit drives are quite different from those of DropShips and Aerospace Fighters, and the people that you had trying to repair them, made all of the mistakes that someone unfamiliar with their systems can possibly make.  Fortunately, we have all of the parts we need on hand, and fixing those in-system drives is rather simple, if somewhat time consuming.”

Jack paused.  “But the sensor arrays are gone; whoever hid the Vandenberg did so inside an irradiated belt of the Hyades and all of external sensor arrays will need to be replaced.  Along with the armor, what little the Vincent-class carries.  The sensors are not a problem; sure, you haven’t had to design WarShip sensors for centuries, but it isn’t any different from the long-range sensors you have emplaced on your stations.  The armor, on the other hand, is almost useless . . . and we cannot produce the Ferro-Carbide composites that New Delhi used for the Vincent.”

Jack shrugged.  “But we don’t have to.  We’ve already got factories here in the Concordat that are gearing up to produce the IFA that armors the Samantha Calderon, and incidentally produce Ferro-Aluminum armor for Aerospace Fighters and DropShips as well as Ferro-Fibrous armor for ‘Mechs and vehicles,  and we can simply replace the original Ferro-Carbide with Improved Ferro-Aluminum with little problems.”

And he smiled.  “In fact, we can improve the overall armor protection by installing a far heavier belt of armor than the Terries ever intended for the Vincents to carry; of course, without reinforcing the structural integrity of the hull, it will still be relatively light armor protection . . . at least from my point of view and that of the Fleet Marshal.”

Thomas frowned.  “You cannot reinforce the structure of the hull?”

“I could, my Lord, but it would triple the cost and double the time required.  We—the Fleet Marshal, the Marshal of the Armies, and I—have decided that it would be simpler to avoid he added expense and time required and accept a vessel with less armor protection than the old TCN would have endorsed.”

Thomas nodded his understanding.  And then Jack continued.

“She will be fragile for a vessel of her size, but once we replace the sensors and armor and get her transit drives operational, she will be able to maneuver and fight.”

He paused again.  “Or, she could if she had any functioning weapon systems.”

He looked down at his hands and shook his head.  “None of her guns are operational, but we—the three of us—have some ideas about how to deal with that.  Now, the Terries classified the Vincent as a Corvette, but she’s only twenty-thousand tons lighter than the Concordat-class Frigate that the TCN used to field.  She’s in the size range of what we would term a Destroyer and with no docking collars that is what she should actually be.  Now,” Jack carried on as Thomas listened intently, “we have looked at what the Concordat actually needs.  We need an escort that is designed to deal with hostile aerospace fighters determined to kill the Samantha Calderon.  That is the greatest threat that the Inner Sphere possesses right now, sending in groups and regiments of ASF to kill the Saucy Sam with Alamos.”

Jack paused again and he smiled.  “But there are two answers to that problem.  First option, we remake the Vandenberg into an Aerospace Fighter Carrier.  We can easily fit one hundred and twenty-eight aerospace fighters onboard her, but there aren’t one hundred and twenty-eight spare ASF in the Concordat right now, my Lord.  That is the best option, but one we can’t quite get to.”

“Next, we looked at making her into a Gunboat Carrier, but even though Gunboats are heavier and tougher and carry more armament, they are also slower than ASF.  And even with sixty-four embarked, we are not certain that those numbers can stop a determined attack by one of the Great Houses.”

“So, what then?” Thomas asked.  “If we can’t provide enough Aerospace Fighters and our Gunboats won’t get the job done, what are you planning to do?

Jack smiled.  “First of all, we are going to give Vandenberg a conventional scale flak-belt identical to that of the Samantha Calderon.  While we are at it, we are going to increase fuel bunkers to give her the same amount of endurance at 1-G thrust as the battleship; we will expand the fighter and small craft bays to accommodate a Taurian Aerospace Fighter Division—eight fighters—and a pair of small craft.”

“Which is work easily accomplished.  But the main goal that the Fleet Marshal, the Marshal of the Armies, and I have decided upon is this:  we are going to replace the capital scale weaponry—non-functional weaponry—aboard the Vandenberg with forty-eight Barracuda Capital Missile Launchers.”

Thomas blinked.  “Forty-eight,” he sputtered, “capital missile launchers?  We don’t have forty-eight capital missile launchers!”

“Not right now, my Lord,” Jack answered.  “But we have already contracted with several armament manufacturers for producing new Capital Missiles—Barracudas, White Sharks, and Killer Whales—for the Samantha Calderon.  Now, the Barracuda is the lightest of these and the easiest to produce, although the advanced seeker heads might prove somewhat problematic; in which case, we will simply remove them and reproduce the Nike missile that the TCN used in the early 24th Century before the Barracuda was invented.  Not as accurate, but every bit as effective against hostile fighters as the Barracuda.  And we are working with those defense contractors to build the launchers themselves; they should be ready in the next twelve to thirteen months to begin production.”

Jack smiled and Helena nodded.  “What will we have in eighteen months, Sire, is a formidable escort ship for the Samantha Calderon that can pour pure unadulterated Hell into a hostile fighter strike from far beyond their own attack range.  And with deep enough magazines to fire a full thirty salvos—one thousand, four hundred and forty Capital Missiles.  With the Vandenberg refitted to serve in this role—as an Anti-Aerospace Destroyer Escort—we can stop dead cold any attempt to engage the Saucy Sam with less than an entire Regiment of Aerospace Fighters!”

Thomas sat back and then he nodded.  “Approved.  Damn the expense, make it happen, Commander Fletcher,” and then he paused.  “You said this was one of things you wanted to speak with me about?”

And here, Jack grimaced.  “Yes, my Lord Protector,” he said quietly.  “It is about the HPGs.”

“You got them to work—we’ve got six functioning HPGs in the Concordat and we are operating them . . .,” but his voice trailed off as he saw the look on the Commander’s face.

“I did, and we do.  But in six months we won’t have any,” the engineer said flatly.

“WHAT?!?” Thomas bellowed.

“I understand the theory behind the HPGs, Protector Thomas,” he said quietly, “and I can operate them to some degree.  But after looking closely at their components,” and he shook his head.  “This technology is at least a century beyond me.  There are components that the system simply requires to function . . . and I can’t for the life of me understand how they were manufactured.  Their constituent alloys I have never seen or imagined.”

“We can’t replicate them?” Thomas asked.

“We can.  We will.  But it will take decades, Sire,” Jack answered.

“But we can run the HPGs until then, right?”

“One of the main components we are looking at has been deliberately designed with a six month life-expectancy, Protector Thomas.  Class A stations generally have enough stores on hand to replace those components twice; Class B stations just have one spare for each.  And we cannot reproduce those parts.  Not now, maybe not for twenty or twenty-five years, once we start heavy research into the materials sciences that were used to build the damn things.”

Thomas sat for a moment.  “Where does ComStar get the parts?” he asked and he feared that he already knew the answer.

“According to the former ComStar personnel now working for us, the only factory for these components is on Terra, Sire.  Nowhere else has the knowledge or facilities to produce these components at this time.  I can get all of the HPGs we seized up and running, Sire, but in six months—a year at the outside—they are all going down and I cannot restore them after that.  Not without new parts.”

“From Comstar,” Thomas whispered.

And Jack nodded.

Thomas looked over a Henri Jouett, who shrugged.  “It was never a sure thing we could run the HPGs . . . and ComStar does insist it wants to start talks,” but the look in the spymaster’s face said he knew perfectly well—as did Thomas—that ComStar was not to be trusted.

Thomas cursed under his breath and he shook his head.  “Doesn’t the Data Core contain any information that might help?” he snapped.

Jack started to answer, but Helena put her hand on his shoulder.  “Thomas Calderon,” she said, “we didn’t know everything.  And we had no idea that what you call the HPG was even possible—it was just something theorized that no one had ever made work.  We just don’t know enough to make building these parts possible, much less practical, at the current time.  Give us ten, fifteen, twenty years?  We might.  But your communications are going to go down in just one year.  At the most.  It isn’t what you want to hear, Protector, but it is what you need to hear—and to understand.  Either we rely on JumpShips as couriers—and we don’t have enough to keep them permanently on station in every system—or we agree to start negotiations with ComStar to stop the Interdiction and get them to resume control over the stations.”

And she paused.  “Of course, we can always insist that they don’t have total control,” she said with a slight grin.

“What she means, my Protector,” added Henri Jouett, “is that after ComStar acted in such bad faith, perhaps they might be persuaded to allow representatives of our government assigned to each HPG station to monitor the official communications of our government that are transmitted.”

Thomas frowned.  “Would they agree?” he asked.

Henri shrugged.  “I have no idea; but we can talk about it with their leadership at the conference they have asked us for . . . if you decide to attend.  Otherwise . . .,” and Henri shook his head.

“Damn it,” muttered Thomas.  “Otherwise, we will never get this Interdiction lifted and lose interstellar communications in a matter of months!”

There was silence in the room until Thomas at last looked up Raoul; his brother nodded and then Thomas sighed.  “Alright.  Henri, let them know we are willing to meet.  On one of our worlds, and protected by the best that the TDF has to offer!”

“As you command, my Lord,” Henri answered as Thomas stood, followed by everyone in the room.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 01, 2021, 01:14:00 PM

And since I know that you will be asking, here is what Jack Fletcher's idea to rebuild the Vandenberg will look like:

Code: [Select]


                    AeroTech 2 Vessel Technical Readout
                                  VALIDATED

Class/Model/Name:  Vandenberg (Aerosapce Defense Destroyer)
Tech:              Inner Sphere / 3028
Vessel Type:       WarShip
Rules:             Level 2, Custom design
Rules Set:         AeroTech2

Mass:              420,000 tons
Hull:              Templar X-Plate
K-F Drive System:  KF Mark III-c
Length:            402 meters
Sail Diameter:     1,005 meters
Power Plant:       Howser 2G2 "Hotfires" Standard
Safe Thrust:       4
Maximum Thrust:    6
Armor Type:        Delhi 9800 Improved Ferro-aluminum
Armament:         
   48 Barracuda
   32 LRM 15
   32 Autocannon/10
   48 Medium Laser
Manufacturer:   Delhi Warships
  Location:     Carver
Communications System:  Belden 405M
Targeting & Tracking System:  Ulsop Eagle-Eye 12
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Class/Model/Name:  Vandenberg (Aerospace Defense Destroyer)
Mass:              420,000 tons

Equipment:                                                            Mass 
Power Plant, Drive & Control:                                      100,800.00
Thrust:  Safe Thrust: 4
      Maximum Thrust: 6
Kearny-Fuchida Hyperdrive:  Compact (Integrity = 10)               190,050.00
Jump Sail (Detachable): (Integrity = 4)                                 51.00
Structural Integrity: 40                                            16,800.00
Total Heat Sinks:    880 Single                                        387.00
Fuel & Fuel Pumps:                                                  14,513.00
Bridge, Controls, Radar, Computer & Attitude Thrusters:              1,050.00
Fire Control Computers:                                                   .00
Food & Water:  (360 days supply)                                       648.00
Armor Type:  Improved Ferro-aluminum  (220 total armor pts)            326.00
                           Capital Scale Armor Pts
   Location:                            L / R
   Fore:                                 38
   Fore-Left/Right:                   38/38
   Aft-Left/Right:                    38/38
   Aft:                                  30

Cargo:
   Bay 1:  Fighters (8) with 4 doors                                 1,200.00
           Small Craft (2)                                             400.00
   Bay 2:  Cargo (1) with 2 doors                                   21,000.00

Grav Deck #1:  (60-meter diameter)                                      50.00
Escape Pods:  60 (7 tons each)                                         420.00

Crew and Passengers:
     34 Officers (34 minimum)                                          340.00
     95 Crew (95 minimum)                                              665.00
     67 Gunners (67 minimum)                                           469.00
     45 1st Class Passengers                                           450.00
     63 2nd Class Passengers                                           441.00
     30 Marines                                                        150.00
     26 Bay Personnel                                                     .00
Weapons and Equipment      Loc        SRV    MRV    LRV    ERV  Heat    Mass
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       Nose         2      2      2      2   10    990.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       Nose         2      2      2      2   10    990.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       Nose         2      2      2      2   10    990.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       Nose         2      2      2      2   10    990.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       Nose         2      2      2      2   10    990.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       Nose         2      2      2      2   10    990.00
2 LRM 15(120 rounds)       Nose     2(18)  2(18)  2(18)     --   10     29.00
2 LRM 15(120 rounds)       Nose     2(18)  2(18)  2(18)     --   10     29.00
2 Autocannon/10(120 rounds)Nose     2(20)  2(20)     --     --    6     36.00
2 Autocannon/10(120 rounds)Nose     2(20)  2(20)     --     --    6     36.00
3 Medium Laser             Nose     2(15)     --     --     --    9      3.00
3 Medium Laser             Nose     2(15)     --     --     --    9      3.00


1 Barracuda(30 msls)       FL/R         2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       FL/R         2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       FL/R         2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       FL/R         2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       FL/R         2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       FL/R         2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
2 LRM 15(120 rounds)       FL/R     2(18)  2(18)  2(18)     --   20     58.00
2 LRM 15(120 rounds)       FL/R     2(18)  2(18)  2(18)     --   20     58.00
2 Autocannon/10(120 rounds)FL/R     2(20)  2(20)     --     --   12     72.00
2 Autocannon/10(120 rounds)FL/R     2(20)  2(20)     --     --   12     72.00
3 Medium Laser             FL/R     2(15)     --     --     --   18      6.00
3 Medium Laser             FL/R     2(15)     --     --     --   18      6.00


1 Barracuda(30 msls)       L/RBS        2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       L/RBS        2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       L/RBS        2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       L/RBS        2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       L/RBS        2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       L/RBS        2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
2 LRM 15(120 rounds)       L/RBS    2(18)  2(18)  2(18)     --   20     58.00
2 LRM 15(120 rounds)       L/RBS    2(18)  2(18)  2(18)     --   20     58.00
2 Autocannon/10(120 rounds)L/RBS    2(20)  2(20)     --     --   12     72.00
2 Autocannon/10(120 rounds)L/RBS    2(20)  2(20)     --     --   12     72.00
3 Medium Laser             L/RBS    2(15)     --     --     --   18      6.00
3 Medium Laser             L/RBS    2(15)     --     --     --   18      6.00


1 Barracuda(30 msls)       AL/R         2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       AL/R         2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       AL/R         2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       AL/R         2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       AL/R         2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       AL/R         2      2      2      2   20  1,980.00
2 LRM 15(120 rounds)       AL/R     2(18)  2(18)  2(18)     --   20     58.00
2 LRM 15(120 rounds)       AL/R     2(18)  2(18)  2(18)     --   20     58.00
2 Autocannon/10(120 rounds)AL/R     2(20)  2(20)     --     --   12     72.00
2 Autocannon/10(120 rounds)AL/R     2(20)  2(20)     --     --   12     72.00
3 Medium Laser             AL/R     2(15)     --     --     --   18      6.00
3 Medium Laser             AL/R     2(15)     --     --     --   18      6.00


1 Barracuda(30 msls)       Aft          2      2      2      2   10    990.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       Aft          2      2      2      2   10    990.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       Aft          2      2      2      2   10    990.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       Aft          2      2      2      2   10    990.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       Aft          2      2      2      2   10    990.00
1 Barracuda(30 msls)       Aft          2      2      2      2   10    990.00
2 LRM 15(120 rounds)       Aft      2(18)  2(18)  2(18)     --   10     29.00
2 LRM 15(120 rounds)       Aft      2(18)  2(18)  2(18)     --   10     29.00
2 Autocannon/10(120 rounds)Aft      2(20)  2(20)     --     --    6     36.00
2 Autocannon/10(120 rounds)Aft      2(20)  2(20)     --     --    6     36.00
3 Medium Laser             Aft      2(15)     --     --     --    9      3.00
3 Medium Laser             Aft      2(15)     --     --     --    9      3.00


1 Lot Spare Parts (5.00%)                                           21,000.00
26 Bay Personnel Quarters                                              182.00
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
TOTALS:                                              Heat: 880     420,000.00

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 02, 2021, 01:05:05 PM

SLDF Signals Intercept Station TC-01
Calderon Nature Preserve, Gamma Continent, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
February 22, 3026

“Junk,” the worker grumbled as he slowly catalogued the items discovered within the hidden facility.  “It’s all obsolete junk.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said a second worker as he placed a carefully wrapped piece of equipment into a carrying case and sealed the top.  “How much has communications and surveillance equipment really changed in the past two hundred years?  Sure, we’ve got tons of archives to go through, all from before the fall of the Star League and most of that data is out of date and useless; well, except to historians.  But, the actual comms and surveillance devices and computers?  All of that is still in pretty good shape.”

“All we are doing here is cataloguing this stuff, damn it!” the first one snarled.  “I’m a researcher, for god’s sake . . . and there isn’t anything here worth researching!”

The second man sighed and he shook his head.  “You are a junior researcher, just like me, Bradley.  And the only way to get to be a senior researcher, doing the research you want to do, is to do a good job doing the things you are told to do.  So get on it with and quit your bitching, man.”

“Easy for you to say, Esteban . . . you belong to one of the Founding Families.  You got a leg up the day you were born.”

“So?  Where am I right now?  Right here in this hole in the ground on Gamma doing the same exact job that you are doing.  My family doesn’t mean squat—if I can’t do this job well, how can the bosses trust me doing something more important?”

Bradley shook his head.  “It just isn’t fair.  I had a hot date set up for this weekend and then they fly us out here on just an hour’s notice!  And we are going to stay here—no restaurants, no feminine companionship, no booze!—for at least two weeks!”  He was so worked up that he punched the wall.  “It isn’t fair!”  And his second punch broke through the dry wall.

“Brad?  You okay, man?” Esteban asked in a more concerned voice.

“What the hell?  This is a false wall—there’s a room back here!”

“What about your hand?  You punched the wall pretty damn hard.”

Brad looked down and finally noticed it was bruised and cut, but then he shook his head.  “I’ll live—let’s take a look back here.  They must have hid something.  Maybe something more important than the rest of this junk.”

Esteban sighed.  “More likely, they sealed it up because they were down-sized and didn’t need the extra space.  You want to clean an extra dozen rooms when you don’t have to?”

Brad just glared at his partner.  “You take all the fun out of everything.”

“I try,” Esteban replied with a grin.  “Are the lights in there working?”

Brad put his eye down near the hole and he nodded.  “Yep.  Doesn’t seem like they would have left the lights connected if they didn’t need the room or rooms, does it?” he asked hopefully.

“Maybe you are right,” Esteban answered slowly.

“Hand me that pry-bar,” Brad said firmly.  And few minutes later, there was a man-sized hole in the wall of the store-room.

Brad stepped through, followed by Esteban and the two of them looked around.  No exits---just more shelves lined with dusty travel cases, some small, some large.

“More junk,” Brad said and then cursed softly.

“Maybe not,” Esteban said just as quietly.  “All of these cases are marked CLASSIFIED—SPECIAL CLEARANCE.  And have two seals, one from SLDF Communications Command and the second from SLDF Intelligence Command.”

Brad snorted.  “Intel files from two centuries ago—special clearance, my ass.”

“I don’t think all of these are files, Brad,” Esteban said as he wiped the dust off one of the largest cases—a heavy black armored case.  “I think we need to get the bosses down here.”

Brad stepped up and he looked at the case and letters stenciled on it.  “What the hell is a Model K-0 Transmitter?”

Cháteau des Calderon
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
February 26, 3026

“A what?” asked Thomas Calderon. 

“The item appears to be designated as a Model K-0 Transmitter, Sire,” answered Henri Jouett.  “It is almost unremarkable in appearance—about the size of a large suitcase.  But the case itself is armored and the equipment inside,” Henri paused and he smiled.  “We weren’t certain what we were dealing with, but there was a file attached to the outside of the travel case it was stored in.”

Henri slid a file folder—containing copies of the original file—onto the Protector’s desk and Thomas began to read.

“This is correspondence—from 2634!—between that hidden facility on Gamma and SLDF Communications Command on Terra.  Ordering the recall of four Model K-0 Transmitters to Terra, and return messages sent citing that getting the equipment out clandestinely was not possible as it risked exposing the existence of the facility to our predecessors,” Henri continued.  “One of whom had decided to prove himself as able as any big game hunter in recorded history and had just moved the entire Protector’s Court out to Gamma to spend a year on safari.”

Thomas snorted.  “Malachi Calderon—known as Mal the Mad.  Harmless enough, but he left the government in the hands of his advisors and spent his time enjoying himself.  Lucky him.”

Henri nodded his agreement.  “The next communicade then instructs the Chief of the Station to destroy the four Model K-0’s that were stored at the Station; once again he protests as the facility is too small to do so underground and setting of an explosive device on the surface might be noticed by the sensor satellites of the time as well as Malachi’s guards on his safari—they set their base camp quite close to this facility by accident of fate.”

“Finally,” he said with a smile, “Terra authorized their Station Chief to lock these devices away until he or his successor could successfully move them off-planet.  After that?”  Henri shrugged.  “It appears as if the Star League bureaucracy simply forgot that the devices still existed.  And they have sat there since 2634 in a room sealed away from the remainder of the facility, along with case after case of highly classified transmissions received and retransmitted by SLDF SIS TC-01.”

“And?” asked the Protector as he looked up at Henri.  “These are all blurbs—look like old telegrams out of one of my favorite Westerns.”

“They do.  Those are the transmissions received and passed along via the Model K-0 Transmitters, Sire.”

“Received and passed along . . .,” Thomas began and then he stopped.  “Some of these are from New Syrtis, from Robsart, from Electra, from Victoria!  How could this device have received them—and transmitted them?”

“I have no idea, Sire.  But one of the devices included an Operator’s Manual.  According to that manual, the Model K-0 Transmitter was an early Star League attempt at FTL communication and the first prototype was tested in 2570—the same year the Reunification War began.  It was a success and several thousand were produced, but the devices had just a 100 light-year maximum range and were restricted to a couple of hundred kilobytes of information—text only, no images, no holograms, no audio, no video.  Like an old-style telegram or facsimile transmission.”

“Why would they stop using this?” Thomas asked.

“Why would they not?” Henri answered with a question of his own.  “An HPG—which they were getting ready to reveal in the 2360s—is far more capable.  This thing is obsolete compared to even an HPG “B” Station.  And it is slow.  Whereas an HPG transmission is instantaneous to the receiving station, the messages this transmitter sends only travel 10 light-years in an hour.  Getting a message here to a planet a hundred light-years away would take ten hours.  At least twenty to get a reply back if you needed one.”

“Now, I asked Commander Fletcher to take a look at one of these and he and several of the top scientists that were aboard the passenger quarters of the Samantha Calderon have poured over it the last two days.  They don’t understand the theory, but they do understand the technology.  And we can build it.  Not today, not within a year.  But within five?  Within five years, they are certain we can begin producing these for ourselves.”

Thomas began to smile.  “And then we can tell ComStar to get the Hell out of the Concordat and stay out,” he growled.

“Two problems with that,” interjected Henri, “as much as I hate to bust your bubble of glee there, my Protector.  First of all, almost no one else has these.  So.  If Vandenberg Mechanized Industries or Pinard Protectorates Limited or Taurus Territorial Industries or any other of our industrial giants wants to communicate with customers outside the Concordat, we cannot rely on these.  Second, they are omni-directional, unlike an HPG.  You send a transmission and any Model K-0 within 100 light-years will receive the message—even if it isn’t one of yours.”

Thomas’s single natural eye narrowed. “Almost no one else has these?” He asked.  “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Over the forty-eight hours since we turned one of the devices on, we have received seven messages from systems in the Capellan March—including New Syrtis.  Apparently, the Federated Suns has several of these as well.  And has had them long enough that they have been distributed and are being used.”

“And if we use them . . .,” Thomas began.

“. . . they will know we have them,” Henri finished.  “On the bright side, apparently they believe that they alone have this technology—and they might well have been right until yesterday . . . because none of the messages we have so far received have been encrypted.”

Thomas laughed.  “We are reading their mail?”

“We are, my Protector.  Providing that mail originates within 100 light-years of Taurus.”

“Anything I need to be concerned with?”

“Actually, no.  But there is a great deal here that validates Edward’s views toward the Federated Suns and Hanse Davion.  It seems that Prince Davion is absolutely furious over what Michael Hasek-Davion nearly managed to pull off—without the approval of or any authorization from New Avalon.  Their Intelligence Ministry is sending out inquiries in regards to people loyal enough to the former Duke of the Capellan March to attempt to start another incident—along with orders to quash those efforts hard.  In fact, Hanse Davion himself is en route to New Syrtis to set his own people in line—with two full RCTs backing him up.”

Thomas frowned.  “It could be a deliberate misdirection—what if he attacks with those two RCTs and other forces in the Capellan and Crucis Marches?”

Henri snorted.  “Hanse Davion would have to be the Devil himself to arrange for us to find these devices and plan on us overhearing his instructions just to lull ourselves into a false sense of security before he comes crashing over the border.  No, Sire.  And he is planning on meeting with Edward on New Syrtis instead of New Avalon.”

“Could h-he,” and Thomas swallowed.  “Could he be considering taking my son prisoner in retaliation for our killing his brother-in-law?”

“Not according to these transmissions—he is instructing his people on the ground, people loyal to him personally, to ensure that Edward stays safe and secure while he is in the Federated Suns.  Sire,” Henri continued.  “Edward was right.  Not about everything, but he was right about enough that I think we can trust him to be right on Hanse Davion.”

“I can’t trust a Davion!” Thomas snapped.  And then he sighed.  “But I trust Edward.  Okay.  We have these, we can build more in a few years, even if we don’t understand the theory.  But we can’t use them without letting the Fox know we have them.  So what, Henri?”

“We listen.  We learn.  And we respond when and where appropriate to keep your realm—and your people—safe, my Protector.  If Hanse Davion ever decides to invade the Concordat, we should have some alert passed along via these devices before that ever happens.  Not that I believe it is going to happen, if some of what I have been reading is true.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.  It seems that Michael Hasek-Davion was in league with Maximillian Liao; he was a traitor to the Federated Suns.”

Thomas frowned.  “And Max invaded us, just as Michael did.  They were working together?” he snarled.

“Unknown.  But apparently, there are preparations being made by the Federated Suns for some action—not in the immediate future, but it can’t be further away than five years—against the Capellan Confederation to settle this and other scores.”

“And nothing about operations against us?”

“Not one word, my Protector,” answered Henri.  “In fact, some of the transmissions have been asking New Avalon that if the talks with Edward go well, would it be beneficial to factor into their plans a possible Taurian drive into the Victoria Commonality.”

Thomas just sat there, his mouth opening and closing without a single sound.

Henri chuckled, “So far, all responses have been its too early to tell.  Make your plans without factoring in the TDF or Wolf’s Dragoons.  It seems the Dragoons have informed the Federated Suns that will be in transit through the Federated Suns en route to the Concordat to take up station here as contracted mercenaries.  I’ve seen a general advisory to that effect on one of the transmissions.”

Finally, Thomas swallowed.  “It’s a new world, Henri,” he said very quietly.  “I’m not certain I’m the man to lead the Concordat into it.”

“Sire, you are . . .,” Henri began.

“I’m not.  And you know I’m not.  Even at my best, I’m not.  But you think Edward is?” he asked, looking Henri square in the eyes.

“I do.  He’s your son—and your first wife’s, God rest her soul.  He’s the best of both of you—and he doesn’t want your job, Thomas.”

Thomas snorted.  “Hell, I don’t want my job, Henri.”  And then he sighed again.  “Okay.  Get your people listening in on their internal communications—and let’s spread these devices out a little.  Send one out to Amber Grove and a second one to Althea’s Choice—that will give us a little more depth to intercept any messages from the Crucis March.”  Thomas snorted.  “We’ll keep the other two here on Taurus.  One in your hands and one for the scientists and engineers to dissect and figure out exactly what makes it tick.”

“I’m not certain we are going to get many messages from that part of the Crucis March, Sire.  Although,” he mused, “we might get some information out of Panpour and their JumpShip yards there.”

“Can’t hurt, can it?” Thomas asked.

“It can if we lose one of these devices,” Henri answered.

Thomas snorted.  “So don’t lose it—that’s an order, Henri.”

“I live to serve, Sire,” the Intelligence Minister replied with a bow as Thomas began laughing.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 02, 2021, 02:26:51 PM

Oman Said Spaceport
Zanzibar City, Bromhead
Federated Suns
February 28, 3026

Henry Barksdale sat on the dias and blinked at the harsh lights that nearly blinded him and the other officers—former officers—seated on the platform.  In front of them there are dozens of recording devices and a gaggle of reporters and journalists, all of whom were shouting questions.

He cursed silently at having been chosen for this, but he had been ordered to be here, and so here he was.  Sitting down to give the people of the Federated Suns and the Capellan March his own views and thoughts on the failed invasion of New Vallis by the once-vaunted Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers.

So far, at least, he had been able to remain silent, only nodding as the officers senior to him had given scathing reports about everything Michael Hasek-Davion had done wrong—starting with his decision to invade without have the full force of the AFFS behind him!  And then ignoring a direct order from the First Prince to stand down and return to New Syrtis, which if the March Lord had obeyed would have left the RCT intact instead of suffering a rather ugly defeat.

He had been sitting here for two hours and one-by-one the former officers of the Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers had given blunt and bitter testimony about how they been betrayed—not by the First Prince, but by their own Duke!  Part of that testimony had been given first-hand by Colonel Malachi Russert, the only surviving member of the Duke’s command staff and one that gave damning witness to the actions of Michael.  Including the Duke’s attempt to use a nuclear weapon against the men of the Sixth who had surrendered to Taurians in an attempt to frame the Taurians and rally the remnants of the Sixth to him!

Henry almost snorted as he thought about the reaction of the media to that!  Everyone had gotten quite, but Russert had played a copy of the audio recording of Colonel Bragg’s transmission from Michael’s headquarters, followed by gun camera footage from the surviving fighters, information from Titan’s flight data recorder (recovered from the crash site, he gathered), and the video images of a nuclear detonation in the distance far above and kilometers distant from the Taurian camp filled with those AFFS personnel who had surrendered and hundreds of Taurian civilians who were trying to feed, cloth, and provide medical attention to those who needed it.

That had  shut up the journalists—mostly from the Capellan March and used to painting the House of Hasek in the best possible light.  But there were other journalists here as well and no one was trying to white-wash what Michael had done.  The damage he had inflicted on the AFFS and the Federated Suns, the deaths that he had—personally—caused in a vain pursuit of glory.

“Leftenant,” a reporter asked.  “Is there anything else you wish to add?  I understand that the Taurians came close to massacring what was left of your unit?”

Henry frowned and then he stood.  “Taurian militia, acting against orders—just as Duke Michael did,” he said in an acid voice, “were planning on killing us.  It was Edward Calderon himself who put a stop to it.  And it was Edward Calderon who—personally—paid our ransoms that so we could return home.  I was born on Numenor and I am a loyal soldier of the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns.  But that Taurian is a better man by far than Duke Michael ever was.”  Henry stopped for a moment and then he said to himself, what the hell?

“You know,” he continued, “it wasn’t really Michael’s fault.  Not his alone.  Because you people here in the Capellan March let him do it.  The Eighth and Ninth Syrtis Fusiliers were supposed to invade the Concordat with us, right?  Where were their commanders when the Duke committed treason and got his men—good men—killed for no reason other than his vanity?  Where was his sister, the woman who served as his Deputy in the March?  Why didn’t they stop this insanity?  Why didn’t any of you stop this?”

The young man swallowed.  “My men and my women, soldiers who trusted me to lead them, died in that miserable Taurian desert and they died not because of Taurian perfidy, but because of Hasek stupidity and glory-chasing vanity!  And now we learn, because of Colonel Russert, he was in bed with Maximillian Liao!  Well, I’m sorry he died on New Vallis, because right now I want to be the one to put a bullet in him!”

“Thank you, Leftenant,” the shocked moderator said briskly, “that will be all.”

Henry looked out at the reporters and then the moderator and then the officers assembled on the stage.  He shook his head.  “No, it won’t be all.  Because you people are going to make excuses for Duke Michael and claim we are doing nothing but slandering him and his reputation.  He tried to start a war—a war that neither New Avalon or Taurus wanted!—and you folks are going to give him a free pass.  Now, my career is over.  Officially, I am listed in the AFFS rolls as a mutineer.  So when they finish processing me, I’m going home to Numenor and wash my hands of every Hasek ever born.”  He paused and then he nodded to himself.  “Fuck Michael, fuck the House of Hasek, and fuck the leadership of the Syrtis Fusiliers.  My people deserved better than him.  They deserved better than me, because maybe a better officer might have kept more of them alive.”

He took off his microphone and walked off the stage, quickly followed by Colonel Russert and the other former officers.  As he made his way to the door, he heard Russert speak behind him.

“Leftenant?”

Henry sighed and he turned around.  “Not anymore, Sir.  I’m not that any more.”

“Perhaps not.  But I was wondering if we might talk—it turns I might just have an opportunity for you to resume your career in the AFFS.  If you are interested.”

“Right now, Sir, I just want to go home.”

Russert nodded and then he passed over a data-card.  “If you change your mind and you still want to serve the Federated Suns, I can promise you won’t ever be in the Syrtis Fusiliers again.  Hanse Davion could use a man like you . . . Captain.”

Henry blinked.  “Captain?”

“Least we can do, son.  I think you will find that not everyone is like Duke Michael and his cronies—and the Prince takes care of those loyal to him.  Men and women like you.  Think about it.”

Then Russert walked away and Henry Barksdale stood there holding the data-card and staring first at it, then at the back of the former Colonel walking away.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 02, 2021, 10:21:48 PM

The Obsidian Fortress
Saso, New Syrtis
Federated Suns
February 28, 3026

“Hanse, are you certain you want to do this?” asked Marie Louise Davion-St. Claire (formerly Hasek-Davion) in a very quiet voice.  “Rebecca has been doing well as Minister standing in for Mich-. . .,” but she was suddenly cut off.

“Rebecca Hasek,” and Hanse Davion deliberately left off the hyphenated ‘–Davion’ that Michael had insisted his sister legally change her name to, “is on my naughty list.  There is no way that Michael managed to convince five RCT and one Regimental commander in the Capellan March to undertake his failed invasion without at least her knowledge.”  His voice hardened.  “She did nothing.  She did not even attempt to inform me.  No, Marie,” he continued in a softer tone.  “She is not going be Minister of the Capellan March, not even interim.”

Marie began to say something else and Hanse shook his head.  “No.  Morgan is too young for the post—and there are still some questions about his loyalties, especially with the manner in which his father died and the accusations coming to light about Michael’s extra-curricular activities.”

Hanse sighed.  “I’ve already relieved both Fiona and Tamara of their commands . . . publically, it will seem as though I let them resign their commissions and retire with honor, but let us be honest, Marie.  I sacked both of them.  And I did the same thing to Major General Jara Dahar.  I’d do the same thing to Stephen Cooper and Robert Johnstadt, but they at least had the sense to obey my orders when they got delivered here to New Syrtis!”

“The only reason that Stephen Cooper is not wearing manacles and waiting for a Court-Martial and still a Colonel and remains in command of the BattleMech Regiment at the heart of my Assault Guards is that he insists—and General Gavin confirmed—that while the Assault Guards were going to jump towards the Taurian Concordat, they were not going to follow the route they were assigned by Michael,” Hanse continued with a scowl on his face.  “They were headed for Lindsay with the intention of sending a priority message via HPG to me on New Avalon and let me know what was going on.  And the navigation data from their JumpShips backed up that story.”

He gestured at his sister.  “Sit down, Marie, please.  I get enough of the hoopla on New Avalon, I don’t need any more from my sister.”

“Half-sister, Hanse,” she said with a soft smile as she sat.  “Did not want to offer you les-majesty, after all.”

Hanse Davion snorted.  “I could use a little of that from time to time—although Ardan does a good job of reminding me, ‘You, too, are only human.’  Quintus tells me he believes that Morgan is loyal not just to the Federated Suns, but to me personally, and that he has no intentions of following in his father’s footsteps.  Hell, I like the man he is becoming!  But, right now, I need to make certain that I’ve got someone out here I can trust, someone that can do the job right and not fall victim to various plots and intrigues.”

He held up one hand.  “I will, however, confirm him as the Duke of New Syrtis tomorrow, Marie.  But, I am not going to make him—at age 21—the Minister of the Capellan March and Field Marshall of the AFFS in command of one-third the armed forces of this realm.”  And then Hanse chuckled.  “Besides, it would break his heart to have to give up his command in the Heavy Guards and come home to New Syrtis without ever seeing combat—and you know it.”

Marie laughed.  “Well do I know it!  He takes more after our father, and you and Ian, than he does after Michael.”  She paused and her smile faded and then she sighed.  “He was once so eager to gain his father’s respect, but then Michael,” and she shook her head, “he always knew how to ruin things.  After that chess game, Morgan kept his distance and tried his best to just avoid his father’s company.”

She waited a minute.  “It would be a cold day in hell, Hanse, before he ever followed in Michael’s footsteps.”

“I know, but I can’t risk it.  Not right now, Marie.”  Hanse sighed.  “So, are you going to take the job or not?”

“You have better people for it, Hanse,” she answered quietly.

“No one as admired as you are in the March,” he said in return.  “Take the job—as Morgan’s regent if nothing else.  When he is a little more seasoned, I will appoint him as Minister, but it won’t be tomorrow.”

There was silence for a moment, and the Marie nodded.  “Okay, then.”

Hanse smiled.  “You know, sometime we are going to have to meet at something outside of funerals and crisis situations; maybe a family retreat somewhere quiet and peaceful.”

“Like you and I could get that lucky!” she snorted in amused agreement.

There was a knock at the door, and then it opened and Quintus entered the room.  “He’s here, your Grace.”

Hanse nodded and he stood, followed by Marie.  “We are going to have to cut this short, sister dear,” he said then he leaned forward and kissed her on the check.  She hugged him in return.

“See you tomorrow, little brother,” she said with a grin as she left.

After a few moments, Quintus returned and in his wake was Ardan Sortek.

“Welcome home, Ardan,” Hanse said warmly and he extended his hand.  “How was life as a mercenary?”

“Decent enough, my Prince,” his best friend answered as he took Hanse’s hand and shook it warmly.  “Although I am glad to wearing an AFFS uniform once again.”

Hanse sat, and he gestured at both Ardan and Quintus and the two men sat as well.  “Heard you got into a little bit of a battle there at the end of that business on New Vallis?”

“We did; lost five ‘Mechs and two MechWarriors during the fighting, but Edward gave the Foxhounds . . .,” and Ardan paused as he blushed, Hanse and Quintus not even bothering to hide their grins, “ah, the 2nd Battalion, Heavy Guards, first choice of the salvage.  We are back up to strength in ‘Mechs and the with the rest of the Heavy Guards RCT here on New Syrtis, we also have replacement MechWarriors.  We are back up to full strength, Sire.”

“Good,” Hanse said quietly and he cast a glance at Quintus who shrugged.  “Tell about him, Ardan,” the First Prince commanded in a soft voice.

“Edward?” Ardan asked and Hanse nodded.  “He’s . . .,” and Ardan paused.  “He’s complicated, Sire.  He’s young—late 20’s.  He’s never piloted a ‘Mech in combat.  But, he has a spine.  He knows he doesn’t know everything and he asks the right questions; doesn’t always take advice, much like someone else I know,” and Hanse made a ‘moi?’ gesture with one hand as Ardan nodded, “but he makes his decisions and he stands by them.”

“Like hanging the survivors of the Sixth?” Quintus asked.  “That has set the temperature of the Capellan March to boiling.”

“He gave them chance after chance to surrender—and he did that only after Michael tried to nuke his own people—and the Taurian citizens helping them—at the surrender point Edward had designated.”  Ardan shook his head.  “I wouldn’t have done it, but he has to walk a fine line between being conciliatory to us and appearing weak at home.  He’s no good to you if his own people believe him to be a sell-out.”

“Tell me about him, Ardan.  The man, not the persona he wears,” Hanse commanded again.  “Can I work with him?  Can I make a deal with him?  Will he stab in the back first chance he gets if doing so gives a political advantage at home?”

Ardan paused now and then he nodded.  “He’s a lot like you and Ian in your late 20’s.  Damn, first time I saw him, I swear he could have been Ian reincarnated.  You can work with him, Sire.  You can trust him to stand by his word once he makes a deal—even if it costs him at home.  Look what he did to make sure that the surviving personnel of the Sixth who surrendered were treated fairly and kept safe.”

Hanse nodded and he looked at Quintus again.  Then he turned his gaze back to Ardan.  “So, he’s not his father?”

“He . . . he is the best parts of his father.  Without the paranoia and inflexibility.  He genuinely wants a normalization of relations with the Federated Suns; last week,” Ardan continued as he sat back and crossed his legs, “he said something to me.  He doesn’t know about your and Kartina’s plan to form the Federated Commonwealth, but he said, ‘Ardan, whether or not the wedding happens, this super-state is already here.  Katrina and Hanse have gone too far not to finish the job and the rest of us really small fish in a huge ocean need to get our houses in order or we will just wind up being absorbed.  Either militarily or economically.  The Concordat’s best chance for a bright future is to end this unrelenting hostility with the Federated Suns over what happened almost five centuries ago!’  And he is right, Sire.  He wants to work with you—and he brought with him a complete copy of the Data Core.”

Hanse glanced at Quintus again.  “He has it aboard his DropShip?”

“He does—under heavy guard.  I wouldn’t recommend trying to steal it; that would sour relations but good, my friend.”

“After what happened on Taurus, I wouldn’t dream of it, Ardan,” Hanse answered and he grinned, but Quintus only scowled. 

And softly muttered, “Just wait until Phil Sheridan gets here and we debrief him in person, I want to know what he was thinking!”

“We weren’t there, Quintus.  Didn’t you tell me never to second-guess agents in the field?”

“You are their monarch, Sire.  I am their boss.  He could have told me what was going on!”

“With the HPGs down?”

“That why we have courier JumpShips and the border is just one jump away.”

“That is for later, Quintus.  Right now, I need to know—how much is Edward going to push to get me to cough up?  I’ve already paid a heavy price to be able to pay the price?  What is he going to want?”

Ardan sighed.  “Some of those with him are pushing him to ask for the return of a dozen systems that used to belong to the Taurian Concordat, along with quite a bit of money and a free trade agreement,” and Hanse’s face could have been carved from stone, it appeared so still and hard.  But Ardan shook his head.  “Edward overruled them.  He might start high, but he will settle on something reasonable.”

“Is the information in the Core worth it?” asked Quintus.

“I’m not a scientist nor am I an engineer,” replied Ardan.  “That being said, we could definitely use this to our advantage.  NAIS will have a field day—and there are things in there—lost early Star League technologies—that will enhance our military once we get the factories to produce them up and running.  Never mind the WarShip data.”

“They are giving us that?” Quintus asked in a shocked voice.

“Thomas was hell-bent on refusing, but Edward talked him into it,” Ardan answered.

“Well, we have Doctor Banzai out here with us—just in case they let us have a glance at what they are offering.”

“And I bet half of Team Banzai are here as well—all posing as scientists and engineers with their ‘Mechs stored aboard their DropShips,” Ardan commented dryly.

“I wouldn’t take that bet,” Hanse answered with a smile of his own.  “Okay.  Anything else you need to tell me?”

“Nothing that can’t wait—except, that WarShip Thomas found and salvaged?  He didn’t salvage it.  It had a misjump at the tail end of the Reunification War and reappeared here and now—with a crew from that time onboard.  Helena Vickers is the commander.  That Helena Vickers, Hanse.”

For a moment no one said anything, and then Hanse whispered, “Damn.”

“Yes indeed,” Ardan answered.  “She’s every bit as impressive as the histories make her out to be—and quite concerned with the safety of young Edward.”

“It is a good thing then that I have no intention of harming him in any way,” Hanse replied with a slight grin.  And then he stood, followed by Ardan and Quintus.  “In that case, care to join me for dinner and tell me what glory the Foxhounds found on New Vallis?”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 03, 2021, 06:14:25 PM

The Obsidian Fortress
Saso, New Syrtis
Federated Suns
March 2, 3026

Edward politely nodded at the man who directed him—and the four other delegates that formed his negotiation team—to their assigned seats at the long table.  Directly across from his place, the young noble saw a placard with the name of ‘First Prince Hanse Davion, Federated Suns’ emblazoned upon it with another six chairs arranged three to either side.  One by one, the members of his delegation sat, arranging their notes and briefing papers and data cards, some pouring water into crystal glasses from the carafes placed next to each of the delegates.

A minute passed, then two, and three, and finally, the doors opened and a man entered the room.  “The First Prince of the Federated Suns, Hanse Davion,” he announced.

Edward stood, the members of his delegation following his lead as the leader of the Federated Suns, possibly the single man alive most despised by the majority of the Taurian citizens entered the room.  Four men and two women accompanied him—outnumbering the three men and one woman in Edward’s own delegation—to the table, each taking their own seat.  Edward waited until the First Prince sat and then he sat as well, quickly followed by everyone else at the table.

For a moment, the two men only looked each other over and then Hanse Davion nodded.

“You requested this meeting, Sir Edward,” he said in a calm and crisp voice.

“My father requested this meeting, Your Grace,” Edward corrected.  “Although he did so at my urging, I must admit.  We come here today to New Syrtis to start talks between our governments, which will—hopefully—lead to some degree of defusing tensions along our mutual border.  We are also willing to share with you the contents of a Taurian Data Core, originating in 2596 that contains information that the Federated Suns could well make use of.  We would also like to consider the signing of a free trade agreement between our realms and to open Taurian markets to facilities both the export of goods to the Federated Suns and the import of goods to the Taurian Concordat.  It is our sincere belief that such an action can only reduce the level of animosity between our nations and our Houses.”

Hanse nodded.  “I had expected to be bargaining for the Data Core—an exclusive bargain which my agents inform me is no longer the case, Sir Edward.”

“No, Sir, it is not.  Due to the actions of agents of the Free Worlds League, Lyran Commonwealth, Draconis Combine, Magistracy of Canopus, and your own Federated Suns on Taurus—actions that were instrumental in preventing the detonation of a weapon of mass destruction against Taurian citizens, my father—the Protector of the Taurian Concordat—has chosen to make the Core and its information to all of those involved in stopping this reprehensible Capellan plot.”

Edward paused for a moment.  “However, in appreciation of the efforts of your people to preserve and defend Taurian citizens, the Taurian Concordat, with myself as the accredited Ambassador Plenipotentiary of Protector Thomas Calderon, we are willing offer the Data Core—and all of the information contained therein—to the Federated Suns at a somewhat lower cost than that other powers will be paying.”
.
“And what price would the Protector and the Taurian Concordat ask of the Federated Suns, Sir Edward?” Hanse asked quietly.

“There are some in my government and my delegation,” and Edward very carefully did not look to either side, but instead kept his eyes focused solely on Hanse Davion, “who desire to see all of the worlds awarded to the Federated Suns by the Star League at the conclusion of the Reunification War as administrative territories to temporarily govern until the reestablishment of a Taurian Concordat government willing to accept member in the Star League returned to the sovereign state of the Concordat, to once again be a part of our nation and our House.”

Edward paused, but Hanse’s face showed no emotion whatsoever, and he nodded.

“However, while I and my father, the Protector of the Taurian Concordat, have been advised to do this, we do not choose to do so.  Rather, we ask that the Federated Suns, with appointed monitors supplied by the Taurian Concordat, their numbers chosen by further negotiations, ask for a plebiscite on each former world of the Taurian Concordat to determine whether or not the population desires to become—once again—part of our interstellar state.”

“Taurus, and the government which rules the realm, will abide by the decisions of the people living on those worlds if they choose to remain part of the Federated Suns.  We ask that should any such plebiscite shows the population in favor of rejoining the Taurian Concordat, that we may conduct further talks to arrange for such a transfer of sovereignty—a peaceful transfer.”

Hanse inhaled and then he nodded as he looked to the left and his right and then again at Edward.  “That is acceptable to myself and the Federated Suns, Sir Edward.  For monetary compensation, what does the Protector of the Taurian Concordat suggest?”

Edward waited for a moment, as he thought about how best to phrase this.  Using the Protector’s words—his father words—of ‘get every bloody cent you can out of them’ would be rather counter-productive.

“At the moment, we do not have a set price on the Data Core, Your Grace,” Edward replied.  “We are willing to allow representatives of your government look at the data contained on the Core—after which, and following time for you and your delegation to confer, we would ask what price you would be willing to pay.  I believe Doctor Banzai is a member of your delegation,” Edward said with a nod towards the famed scientist and leader of the mercenary group Team Banzai, as well as a renowned instructor at the New Avalon Institute of Science.  “The reputation of Bartholomew Banzai extends even as far as Taurus.  What we propose is that he, aboard our DropShip Black Bull, escorted by a security contingent of your own people, examine the copy of the Data Core we carry and its data and make a determination of its value.  Which we may both then take as a starting point for further negotiations.”

Hanse nodded.  “Your proposal is acceptable.  Anything else?”

Edward nodded once in reply and he placed a data-chip on the table and slid it across within arm’s reach of Hanse Davion.

“As promised by my father, Thomas Calderon, Protector of the Taurian Concordat, and Henri Jouett, Minister of the Taurian Concordat Office of Special Intelligence and Operations, in return for keeping me alive and safe to conduct these negotiations with you, for your assistance in the defense of New Vallis by members of your own Regiment of Heavy Guards, we hereby present to you all of the information we have gathered as regards the construction, theory, and operation of Hyper-Pulse Generator Stations, including, but not limited to, the data schematics of Stations that are currently under the control of the Taurian Concordat.  Unfortunately,” and Edward blushed slighty with a hint of embarrassment, “after examining and operating these stations—despite a ComStar Interdiction of our Realm, we have determined that elements of their construction in form of an integral component designed to fail after a short operating life-span are beyond our current abilities to replicate and construct.  Perhaps your NAIS might have better luck with their analysis of the component and come up with a satisfactory replacement or a means to replace this component.  If so, the Taurian Concordat would be willing to conduct further negotiations to acquire that information from you and your government, Your Grace.”

Hanse put one finger on the data-card and he tapped it lightly.  “I accept this gift with humility and appreciation; you may rest assured that the data will be analyzed thoroughly and that further negotiations on this matter will be discussed at the highest levels of government.”

Edward nodded and then he placed both hands on the table.  “In that case, Your Grace, may I suggest a recess for Doctor Banzai and his staff to examine the data contained within our Core?  Three days, perhaps?  After which, these proceedings may resume.  With your permission, of course, Sir.”

“I think that might be a wise course of action, Sir Edward,” Hanse said as he stood and he gave Edward a slight bow.  “We are hosting a state dinner this evening at the Ducal Palace for you and your delegation; I do hope that you shall be able to attend.”

“We would be honored, Your Grace,” Edward answered, with a bow of his own as he and his delegation stood, followed by the remaining members of the Federated Suns negotiating team.

“In that case, Sir Edward, ladies, gentlemen, until tonight,” Hanse said simply and then he turned and exited the room.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 07, 2021, 01:58:35 PM

The Obsidian Fortress
Saso, New Syrtis
Federated Suns
March 6, 3026

Bartholomew Banzai shook his head.  “Whoever assembled this Data Core knew exactly what they were doing, gentlemen,” he said.  “It is organized in various sections—Cultural, Historical, the Arts, the Sciences, Education, and then specific applied military and engineering technologies.  The Education Section alone is worth hundreds of millions of C-Bills,” he paused and shook his head.  “The people who uploaded this information including every textbook that the Taurian education system had available in 2596—everything from pre-school texts teaching the alphabet to post-graduate thesis and dissertations.  We’ve got texts on math, the sciences, political science, history, and scores more subjects . . . and gentlemen, they are complete.”

He paused again.  “With the education section alone, we can decipher the Hoffman Collection—this is like getting the Rosetta Stone and being able to start translating hieroglyphs.”

There was silence at the table for a moment, and then Hanse Davion nodded his understanding.  “But that is only part of the data?” he asked.

Doctor Banzai nodded in confirmation.  “There is information and schematics and blue-prints and production plans in there for every weapon system and piece of military technology that the Taurian Concordat had available at that time—including systems that we today consider Lostech—Celluar Ammunition Storage Equipment, Ferro-Fibrous and Ferro-Aluminum armor composites—Improved Ferro-Aluminum for WarShips!—Target Acquisition Gear, TAG-seeker warheads for artillery shells, capital-ship scale weaponry . . . it is all in there.”

“We have design plans and schematics for every tank, ‘Mech, fighter, DropShip, JumpShip, and WarShip that the Taurians ever produced—and of those that they captured examples of.  There is data on prototype Endo-Steel II composites, double-strength heat sinks, Beagle Active Probes, and more . . . and I only skimmed the information in the Core.  Now, unlike what they had fully developed, the prototype information will not be of immediate use—but we can use it as a starting point to build our own components.  It will take years,” the Doctor said with a sigh, “but this information will let the Federated Suns repair factories out of service for decades or centuries, build new factories to produce advanced technological components, and restore production across the board to what we could do during the Star League.”

“Including JumpShips and WarShips?” asked Hanse quietly.

“Oh, yes,” Doctor Banzai replied with a chuckle.  “There is an entire section—almost an entire library—on Kearny-Fuchida engineering, WarShip scale transit drives, and long-range sensors/communications/tracking/targeting systems . . . enough information that we can get your inoperative shipyards back in service within a decade.  Perhaps less.”

And then he sighed.  “There’s almost too much information here.  NAIS is going to have a field day with this, Hanse,” he said softly.

“And Thomas is going to sell this Core to both Kurita and Marik as well as us and Katrina,” the First Prince muttered.

“The difference is,” Quintus Allard said from his seat beside the leader of the Federated Suns, “they will be starting from behind us.  NAIS has already laid the groundwork to process, understand, teach, and distribute this knowledge—the others are going to take significantly longer to get working examples.  As will Taurus and Canopus.”

“And as I said,” added Doctor Banzai, “there is far more in here than just material with military applications.  The medical section alone will take years to learn and then teach, but it is cutting edge—better than what anyone else had in the 2500s except the Terran Hegemony.  And then there is the Cultural/Arts sections; the Hong Kong Cavaliers are going to go ape when they see the musical database this thing contains—every song, every musical score, every concert . . . it’s all there.  All their literature, poetry, plays, holo-productions, music, art,” he shook his head as his voice trailed off.  “I can’t begin to tell you what price to put on this, Your Grace.”

Hanse nodded.  “Okay, gentlemen.  We have until tomorrow before the meetings and Edward Calderon and his delegation resume—so what exactly are we willing and able to offer the Taurian Concordat for this Data Core?”

And a truly intense discussion began.

The Obsidian Fortress
Saso, New Syrtis
Federated Suns
March 8, 3026

“You know, Ardan,” Edward said in a low voice, “my escort does not seem to be happy to have me here.”  The two men were being guided through the labyrinth of rooms of the command headquarters of the Capellan March, and the four men guiding them—and guarding them—all wore shoulder flashes of the 1st Davion Guards.  And none of the four looked as if they wanted to be here as they led the two deeper and deeper within the compound.

“It’s not you, Edward,” the Marshal replied with a chuckle.  “Considering who we are having this private meeting with, they wouldn’t be happy under any circumstances.  Thank you, by the way, for agreeing to leave your own guards behind—that made arranging this visit a bit easier.”

Edward nodded.  “Any my people were not happy about that,” he answered.  “Still, it is all about trust—or the perception of trust.  We won’t be able to make this work if we cannot trust each other—or at the very least, appear to trust each other.”

The two turned a corner and at the end of the hall was a simple unadorned door, but another four troopers stood there waiting.  Along with an older man—well, older than the soldiers at any rate.

“Minister Allard,” Edward greeted with a half-bow.

“Ambassador Calderon,” the head of the Federated Suns intelligence community answered with a nod of his head.  Then the spymaster of Hanse Davion knocked on the door and opened it.  “He’s waiting.”

Edward took a deep breath and then he stepped across the threshold and the door closed behind him with a click.

Inside the room was a luxuriously appointed office, and seated at the desk was Hanse Davion—the most powerful man in the Federated Suns.  Perhaps the most powerful in the entire Inner Sphere, Edward thought.  He looked around the room—no guards, no obvious ones at any rate.  Just him and the First Prince.

“Your Grace,” Edward said simply.

Hanse stood and he nodded.  “Sir Edward; thank you for agreeing to meet privately with me.”  He gestured towards a pair of chairs sitting next to a roaring fireplace as he walked around to one of them.  “Would you sit?  Care for any refreshment?”

Edward sat in one chair as the ruler of the Federated Suns sat in the second.  “Thank you, Your Grace, but no.”

Hanse leaned back in his cushioned seat and he just looked at Edward for several seconds, then he leaned forward and steepled his hands together as he nodded.

“You are not quite what I expected, Sir Edward,” Hanse said and then he chuckled.  “I do hope that I am not quite what you expected, as well.”

“No, Your Grace, you are . . .,” but that tenor voice was interrupted.

“Hanse.  Here in this private office, just the two of us, call me Hanse—and in return I will call you Edward, yes?  Unless that insults your dignity, that is?”

Edward smiled as Hanse used the exact phrase that he had with Ardan Sortek the first time the two of them met—Ardan’s debrief had evidently been quite thorough and his memory quite sharp.

“Your planet, your office, your rules . . . Hanse.”

“Good.  Are your people being treated well and with respect?  I gave very specific instructions to my people on that subject.”

“We are, Hanse,” Edward answered.  “You have been a most generous host.”

Hanse inclined his head and then he pressed a buzzer. “If you don’t mind, I am going to have a cup of coffee,” and in answer to that summons, a second door opened and a man entered the room with a serving tray.  Setting the tray down on the coffee table between the chairs, the main poured Hanse a steaming cup of coffee, added some sugar and cream, then bowed.

“Thank you, Byron, that will be all,” Hanse answered as he lifted the cup.  “Unless you have changed your mind,” he continued towards Edward.

“I’ll take a cup with you, Hanse,” Edward answered.

The steward lifted the pot again and poured.  “Sugar, Sir?  Cream?”

“Just cream, thank you,” Edward said, and he took the offered cup as the steward bowed and then exited the room, the door closing behind him.

Steam rose from the cup and Edward took a sip—the coffee was extremely smooth, not bitter in the least and Edward nodded in appreciation, then sat down the cup on the saucer.

And he waited.

After a moment, Hanse smiled and took another sip of his own beverage and then sat it down.

“Ardan is right about you—you are a very confident young man,” Hanse said with a smile.  “I and my advisors have come to a decision regarding your offer to sell us the information on the Data Core, Edward.  And your other proposals.”

Then he paused and Edward nodded.  “And, if I may ask, what might that decision be?”

“We will conduct a plebiscite on all of the former Taurian worlds—in five years time,” and he stopped and waited to see Edward’s reaction, but the young man only nodded.

“That will give you time to arrange for the votes—and also time to lobby your people to remain as part of the Federated Suns,” Edward said softly.  “Will you allow representatives of the Concordat to present our viewpoints to those people during those five years?”

Hanse smiled.  Yes, this young man was just as sharp as Ardan and Quintus had told him.

“I will.  You will have five years to try and convince the people on those worlds they would be better off as members of the Concordat—it remains to be seen whether or not you have much success.  After all, they have been member planets of the Federated Suns for a longer period of time than they were part of the Concordat—or independent worlds.”  He lifted up the cup and took another sip.  “But, we will give them the opportunity to determine their own future—as a show of good faith.”

Edward took a sip as well and he nodded, but he did not speak.

“That information your father and your intelligence minister passed along on the HPGs,” Hanse continued, “very detailed information.  And to work on the problem of replicating—or replacing—those components that neither you or I can build right now, well, that makes me believe that your proposed Free Trade Agreement is necessary.”

He paused.  “Ardan tells me that you informed him you—and your father—are constructing a new research institution in the Concordat to process and distribute the information in your own copy of the Core—what did he say you were going to call it?”

“The Samantha Calderon Academy of Research and Sciences,” Edward answered.

“SCARS,” Hanse said in an amused tone.  “Certainly rolls off the tongue easier than NAIS.”

“Father wanted to name it the Taurian Institute of Technology and Sciences, but I talked him out of it—he’s always had a low sense of humor.”

Hanse began to chuckle and then he smiled. 

“I do have one condition on the FTA, however,” and his smile faded.  “And it is non-negotiable.”  He waited until Edward nodded.

“I want an embargo on all goods—military and civilian—against the Capellan Confederation.  In return, your companies will have full access—without tariffs—to the markets of the Federated Suns . . . and those of the Lyran Commonwealth.  Maximillian Liao vexes me, Edward,” Hanse continued in a quiet voice, “and I want those supplies he has previously bought from your factories to be no longer available to him.”

Edward paused and he took another sip of the coffee and then nodded.  “I would imagine that Father will agree to that—especially since the Capellans undertook their own invasion of the Concordat.  One which was defeated and driven back, but the Protector is still furious over their opportunism.”

Hanse waited and then Edward nodded.  “And the Data Core itself?”

“You have worked as your father’s aide for some time now, along with serving in the TDF,” Hanse said with a sigh.  “You know that budgets exist for a reason and it is very difficult to reallocate large sums of finances on a whim.  Having said that, the Federated Suns is willing to offer the Taurian Concordat a series of annual grants—fifty billion C-Bills a year for the next ten years as payment for the information of that core.  Half a trillion C-Bills altogether,” Hanse finished.

Edward sighed.  “Father would prefer the entire payment made in advance—but you are correct.  I know exactly how difficult it is to divert funds earmarked for other projects.  I can convince him—and in his name I can sign that agreement.”

Hanse sat back in his chair and took another sip of his rapidly cooling coffee, and then he sat down the china cup.  “Good.  And I thought that we—the Federated Suns and the Taurian Concordat—might sign, in a public ceremony, a formal peace treaty ending the hostilities between us.”

Edward paused, and then he nodded.  “That is acceptable and once again within the purview of powers granted to me on this mission by the Protector.”

Hanse smiled and he nodded.  “Good, there is one final matter that we need to address.  We—the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns—are planning, and have been planning since before Michael undertook this idiotic endeavor of invading the Concordat, a series of war-games, maneuvers, and training exercises in the Capellan March.  Later this year, about a dozen Regimental Combat Teams—that number remains uncertain, it might be less—will undergo about two months of intensive training there.  To test AFFS logistical capabilities and make certain that our units are capable of performing any sort of mission they might be required to carry out.”

Edward winced.  “Father will not like that, Hanse.  He is paranoid enough that the Federated Suns—and you personally—want to conquer all of the Concordat and finish the job your ancestors and the Star League began.”

“I realize that, which is why I am offering to allow TDF liaison officers to be assigned to each and every one of the units scheduled to participate in Operation Galahad.  These officers can report back to Taurus and assure the Protector that these are only war-games; not movements in preparation for an invasion of the Concordat.”

Now Edward paused and he lifted his cup and drained it.  For several moments, he remained silent and then he nodded.  “I think I can convince him of the soundness of accepting that offer,” he said finally.

“Good.  Remind him that by the time Galahad begins later this year, he will have all five Regiments of Wolf’s Dragoons on station in the Concordat—and an operational Reunification War era Battleship at his disposal!  I’m not planning to start a war—not today, not tomorrow, not next year,” and his smile grew larger.

For a few moments neither man said a word and then Edward nodded again.  “Then it seems we are in agreement, when do you suspect you will have the paperwork ready for the signing ceremony?”

“By the end of the week—and we will have the first transfer of funds ready to go by that time as well.  After which, you can return to Taurus and hopefully we can begin to wind down tensions along our mutual border.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” Edward said softly and then he stood.  Hanse stood.  And the two men shook hands.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 08, 2021, 02:24:58 PM

Royal Palace, The Triad
Tharkad City, Tharkad
Lyran Commonwealth
March 8, 3026

Simon Johnson, Chancellor of the Lyran Intelligence Corps, stepped into the private office of Archon Katrina Steiner, one of the guards posted outside closing the door behind him.  Katrina looked up from her conversation with her daughter Melissa and saw the gleam in his eyes.  He was happy and he was excited, that gleam meant—even though otherwise his outward countenance did not change from his normal stoic expression—and the Archon of the Lyran Commonwealth smiled.

“Good news, Simon?” she asked. 

“Very good news, Archon Kartrina, Lady Melissa,” he answered.  “A priority message from First Prince Hanse Davion on New Syrtis—the one you have been expecting.”

“About the Core?” asked Melissa in a shocked voice.  “I thought we were not sending information about that through ComStar—and there hasn’t been enough time for a courier JumpShip to have made the voyage.”

Simon’s lip trembled for a moment, but then that slight movement ceased.  “Your Highness,” he said softly, “we used a one-time encryption for the transmission.  It would be all but impossible for ComStar—or anyone else—to break it.”  He turned back to face Katrina.  “It is just as you said it would be; you and Hanse Davion think much alike, Archon.”

Katrina took the message pad and slowly scanned through it, line by line.  She scrolled back up and re-read a section, jotting down a few notes on an old-fashioned legal pad—pen and paper!—and then she sat back and nodded.

“Fifty billion a year for ten years—half a trillion C-Bills, all told,” she said softly.  “The rest is just icing,” she said, and then she frowned as Melissa started and smile and the Archon took out a 20-Kroner note from her pocket and handed it across to the sixteen year old.  As Simon raised one eyebrow, Katrina shrugged.  “I thought Thomas would insist on more—Melissa set half-a-trillion as the high mark.  She won the wager.”

Simon snorted.  “Only if you discount the Free Trade Agreement and upcoming plebiscites on former Taurian worlds—factoring those in . . .,” he began but was interrupted.

“Our wager was on what Thomas would insist on in cash or commodities, Simon,” Melissa replied with a smile.  “Not all that other stuff.”

Simon shrugged.  “If that was the terms, then that was the terms.  But Hanse added the provision for a Free Trade Agreement with the Lyran Commonwealth as well.”

“Damn it,” Melissa said, and she handed back the 20-Kroner note to her mother.

“Just as I said he would—which is why, dearest daughter, always listen to your mother.”

“He didn’t have the authority to do that!” Melissa insisted.

“He knew I would back his play—just like I and the Lyran Commonwealth are going to help him meet this payment schedule.”

“But,” Melissa began and then she stopped.  “We aren’t buying our own copy of the Core, are we?”

“No, Melissa, we are not.  We are going to—with all grace and diplomacy—thank Thomas for his generous and kind offer and turn him down.  And we will be obtain the Core information from the copy that Hanse Davion has purchased for the Federated Suns.  And in return, we will agree to this Free Trade Agreement and pay half of what he offered the Taurians.”

Simon nodded.  “NAIS is far more able to integrate the knowledge in the Core than any of our institutions.  Rather than spend twice the money and duplicate efforts, we are going to throw our resources behind the NAIS teams that will be downloading and distributing the accumulated knowledge contained within the Vickers Core.”

“Won’t Thomas see that as cheating?”

Katrina smiled.  “My dear sweet girl; at this level of politics, if you are not cheating you are not trying—and you certainly are not winning.  Thomas will understand—he may even admire at how we are getting a copy of the information for probably one-quarter what Janos Marik and Takashi Kurita will be paying for it.”

She paused.  “And besides, we are still going to be doing a lot of trade with the Concordat over the coming decades, especially after Maximillian Liao gets what is coming to him.”

Simon nodded.  “And perhaps we can discover just which of our barons of industry gave the Taurians schematics and designs for so many Lyran ‘Mechs, vehicles, and Aerospace Fighters.”

“That is one of our goals as well, Simon.  Whoever did it—selling our designs without government permission or licensing—fits the textbook definition    of espionage and arguably treason.  And they probably did so for money.”

Katrina paused again, and then she nodded.  “Of course, given the data that Hanse and his people have already supplied on these new ‘Mechs the Concordat has been fielding . . . what are they calling this design upgrade and consolidation, Simon?”

“Project 3000, Archon Katrina.  At the moment, they have five light-class BattleMechs—all 30-tonners—that are replacing the Locusts, Stingers, Wasps, and Commandos being produced currently.  Very effective designs, and even more so because of the commonality of equipment.  Of course, when the Vickers Core is fully deciphered, I am certain that the TDF will be redesigning them to incorporate CASE and Ferro-Fibrous armor, perhaps TAG systems as well.”

“Just light ‘Mechs, Simon?” Melissa asked.

“So far, although according to my sources, they are planning on reintroducing an updated version of the Talos later this year that will serve as the basis for a series of 50-ton Medium-weight ‘Mech designs as part of this Project 3000.  Those plans were already in the works before the Taurians gained their WarShip and this Data Core.”

“Not mention those new light tanks—the Rattlesnake, right?” Katrina added.

“A very nice light tank and one the LCAF could certainly make use of,” Simon agreed.

“If we can convince those true-believers in the Cult of the MechWarrior that armored vehicles are a force multiplier,” Melissa said in a sour voice.

“Some we will never convince, but the new training programs at the Nagelring and Sangalmore will make certain that our newest officers value what other branches can contribute.  Until then,” Katrina shrugged.  “We will make do with what we have.”  And she smiled.  “As we have always done.”

She turned back and looked at Simon.  “Tell Hanse that I agree.  I am almost certain he already knows I will, but let us end the suspense, Simon.”

“It will go out today, Archon,” the LIC chief answered simply.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: drakensis on November 09, 2021, 04:22:15 AM

I had a feeling Katrina would do that with regard to the core. It's a lot of trust to vest in Hanse, but if they weren't on sufficiently good terms for this then the entire FedCom wouldn't have been on the table to begin with.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 09, 2021, 01:29:18 PM

First Circuit of ComStar
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
March 10, 3026

Vesar Kristofur had to use every ounce of his iron determination and willpower to avoid letting his emotions show on his face as he digested the news that Charles Seneca had just delivered to the First Circuit.

Few of the others in the room were so composed, and panicked statements were being uttered in increasingly loud voices . . . until Vesar held up one hand and softly said, “Quiet.”

It took several minutes, but eventually the voices dwindled away and died.

“We are the First Circuit of ComStar,” he spoke sternly.  “Panic will gain us nothing,” and he paused.  “So.  The Core that our ROM agent destroyed on Taurus was simply a decoy?”  He chuckled.  “That wa clever of Thomas, I will grant him that.  And according to ROM, the actual Core has already been decrypted and copied—multiple times—and distributed across not only Taurus but at least two other worlds in the Concordat . . . and we do not know which worlds.  Is that correct, Precentor ROM?”

Charles Seneca winced and he nodded his head.  “That is correct, Primus.”

“But there is still more bad news on top of that!  Edward Calderon has traveled to New Syrtis and met personally with Hanse Davion—and has just sold a copy of the Data Core to the Federated Suns.  I did hear you correctly, did I not?”

Precentor ROM nodded again, his face ashen as he contemplated the possible consequences of his failure.  “You did, Primus,” he answered in a soft voice.

Vesar stood there and he closed his eyes; he stood there silently and unmoving for several moments and then he sighed.

“Holy Shroud III will be aborted,” he said finally.  “Unless we wish to burn every Taurian world down to the bedrock—and attack New Avalon to destroy the NAIS, which I am not prepared to give the order for—there is no way that we can stop the information from the Data Core being distributed.”

A low moan emerged from several of the First Circuit and Vesar looked up sharply.  “We must face reality as it is, Precentors!” He snapped.  “Not as we wish it would be.  This is all the fault of Julian Tiepolo and Myndo Waterly and their mismanagement of the entire affair from the very start!”

“The other operations?  What about them?” asked Dennis Rainer, Precentor Tharkad.

“We go forward—Thomas Calderon deserves to die for this and if we can derail this union of the Federated Suns and Lyran Commonwealth, then we will have at least partially succeeded.”

The Primus paused and he thought for a moment, and then he nodded.  “But we must present the illusion to the Taurians that we are on their side.  Thomas is willing to meet with us to negotiate the return of our HPG Stations and have the Interdiction lifted?”

Charles nodded.  “We got that message yesterday.  He wants to meet as soon as possible . . . but he insists on meeting on New Vallis.”

“Primus,” said Janice Kirk with a wince, “if we kill Thomas at this meeting the Taurians will never think we are their friends.”

“And so we won’t kill him at the meeting,” Vesar said with a thin smile.  “No, we will meet with Thomas and his government and we will agree to his terms—he wants to return to the status quo ante with one condition.”  He paused.  “He demands that the Concordat station an official of their government in every one of our HPG Stations in the Concordat to ensure that none of their government message traffic is altered or delayed.”

At that statement, there were shouts of disbelief and shock at the sheer audacity that showed, the lack of respect towards ComStar, and Vesar’s smile grew larger.  He held up one hand again.

“Yes, extremely disrespectful of him, is it not?  However, we will, agree to this provision and restore communications.  And we will ensure the safety of the Protector and his government on New Vallis and their return home—after that?”  He grinned.  “After that, the Concordat will need to find a new Protector.  Charles,” he turned to Precentor ROM.  And his smile vanished.  “Your team on Taurus is prepared?”

“We are, Primus.  They only wait for your order to proceed.”

“Those orders will soon be issued.  I trust that your agents will handle this matter better than they handled the destruction of the Core?”

Charles blanched and he nodded.  “They will, Primus.”

“Now, we will need something to distract the Lyran Commonwealth, the Federated Suns, and the Taurian Concordat when we kill Thomas, his family, and Melissa Steiner.  So, let us arrange to blame the Protector’s Assassination on the Capellans,” Vesar smiled again.  “Maximillian Liao seldom lets someone get the better of him—and his forces got burned badly on their abortive invasion of the Concordat,” thank you, Romano, Vesar thought to himself.  “We will make sure—correct, Precentor ROM?—that the death of Thomas and his family will be traced back to Sian . . . which should start a conflict between the Concordat and the Confederation.”

“And what about Melissa Steiner?” asked Precentor Tharkad.  “Katrina Steiner and LIC will not believe that Maximillian Liao sent a team of assassins after her.”

Vesar grinned.  “That operation will be conducted by agents loyal to Michael Hasek-Davion, may be rest in peace.  One final Parthian shot carried out from beyond the grave to deprive Hanse Davion of any happiness.  One which will furthermore ensure that Michael’s son Morgan remains the heir to the throne of the First Prince.  I believe that will cause confusion and anger within the Lyran Commonwealth; the much loved daughter of their renowned Archon killed by Davions for revenge against a Davion.  When this comes to light—whether or not the attempt succeeds—there will be a tremendous backlash in the Lyran Commonwealth about this alliance.  Katrina will be forced to end this Federated Commonwealth nonsense.”

“Hanse Davion will be forced to ramp up his efforts to purge the Capellan March of any remaining Hasek supporters—which could well lead to a civil war as those supporters turn to arms to defend themselves against an enraged First Prince.  And then, if in the course of things, the ‘Capellans’ attack, why, he will be forced to launch an offensive against them just to keep the rest of the Capellan March from rising up against him.”

Vesar paused.  “Precentor Dieron, make sure that House Kurita is prepared to take advantage if and when the AFFS redeploys to engage the CCAF in retaliation for ‘their’ future attack and the distraction of a civil war in the Capellan March.  I am certain that Takashi will need little prodding to cross the border in strength.  And Precentor Atreus, see if we can convince Janos Marik that if this comes to pass, perhaps it will finally be time for the Free Worlds League Military to adjust their border with the Lyran Commonwealth.”  Vesar’s lip twitched.  “Dangle Hesperus II in front of the old man—he might just decide to try for it if the Lyran Commonwealth is as disrupted by this operation as I believe they will be.”

“In the meantime, we will wait.  We will watch.  And when the time is right, we will act and ensure that peace in the Inner Sphere will not happen—not unless and until we can make it happen.”

“As the Primus commands,” answered Charles, and one by one the Precentors of the First Circuit nodded their agreement.

“Then Blessed be Blake, this meeting is adjourned,” Vesar finished.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on November 09, 2021, 08:18:06 PM

Comstar is in a tough spot here. Provoking the FC TC is not a good idea.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 09, 2021, 08:42:44 PM

Shenanigan’s Pub
Saso, New Syrtis
Federated Suns
March 12, 3026

It had been years since he had last been here, Morgan thought to himself as he sipped on a dark cold-brewed ale, but the place had changed little.  Oh, the staff was differently—mostly, although the owner and head bartender, the grill chef in back as well, were the same ones he had met long ago.  But the ambience?  The décor?  That and the clientele—mostly members of the New Syrtis Capellan March Militia and, Morgan winced as he looked up at the black wreathed shield on the wall bearing the unit emblem of the 6th Syrtis Fusiliers.  All of that remained the same.

He had known that he would have been far out of place here in the uniform of the Davion Heavy Guards RCT that he was entitled to wear, so tonight, he was dressed in civilian attire.

He took another sip and shook his head.  Coming home had been hard—but it had good to see Mother again, even if it was under these circumstances.  The mess that his father had created, and Morgan sighed, the splatter was even now still falling and much of it had coated one Morgan Hasek-Davion with heightened suspicion and questions about his own loyalty both to the Federated Suns and the person of First Prince Hanse Davion.

Because of that, he felt the chilly stares of his fellow MechWarriors and officers of the Davion Heavy Guards—although Marshal Ardan Sortek had sat down with him and assured him that neither he nor the rest of the Heavy Guards command had any doubt in the young man.

Morgan had appreciated that gesture, but it didn’t stop the feeling that most of the men and women under his command would be happy to see him transferred out—to any unit but theirs.  And having to attend the funeral of his late father—minus the body which had been reduced to ash in some Taurian desert on New Vallis—and be confirmed as the Duke of New Syrtis had only magnified the gulf between Morgan and the people he nominally led.

He sighed as he took another sip.  These long, cold days on New Syrtis since the Heavy Guards landed had shown him yet another ugly truth—New Syrtis itself was no longer his home.  Not anymore.  He didn’t fit in here; he didn’t fit in on New Avalon; he wasn’t really certain that he fit anywhere anymore.

He heard the scrape of a chair leg on the plasticrete floor and he looked up—three men were there and one sat down with Morgan at the isolated table furthest away from the small crowd clustered about the bar—and the three very lovely, very scantily clad bartenders serving drinks.  The other two remained standing.

“Mind if we join you, friend?” The man sitting down asked.

“If I said yes, I do mind, would you leave?”

“Now, that is not very nice.  You’re him, aren’t you?” the man asked with a smile.  “Michael’s boy, all grown up.”

Morgan sat his ale down and he glared across the table.  “I don’t know you, friend,” he snarled.  “I don’t believe that I want to know you.”

The man sitting down looked up at each of his companions and he laughed.  “He’s got the Hasek temperament, at least.”

“Who are you?” Morgan asked in a strained voice as his muscles tensed.

“Just friends of the family, Your Grace,” the man answered.  “Letting you know that we don’t believe a word of the lies being spread about Duke Michael.  And like us, that there are men and women throughout the March who are willing to follow you.”

Morgan released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and he stood.  “They are not lies; I have seen the intelligence briefs and the debriefing of the survivors of the Sixth.  My father was a traitor to the Federated Suns—and I want nothing to do with him.  Or you.”

“Suit yourself,” the man said as he stood.  “But you aren’t a Davion—not really.  Your mother was illegitimate, you will never really be the heir to Hanse Davion.  You are a Hasek—and the throne should be yours.”

The young man glared at the three men for a moment and then he leaned forward and put both hands on the table.  “I will say this once and only once—what treason you decide to contemplate is your business, but me and my House we will stand firmly and truly behind First Prince Hanse Davion.  And if you mention my mother again, I am going to send you to the hospital,” he growled.

One of the two men standing began to reach inside his jacket with one hand and Morgan tensed . . . but the man sitting down spoke up.  “No.  He isn’t drawing a weapon, Your Grace,” he said as he stood and the man finished reaching into his jacket pocket and put a card on the table.  “Call this number if you change your mind.”

And then the three left, leaving Morgan there with the card.


The Obsidian Fortress
Saso, New Syrtis
Federated Suns
March 13, 3026

“Morgan came straight to me after he returned to base last night,” Ardan informed Quintus and Hanse.  “With that card and he told me everything that happened.”  He paused and he sighed.  “I know we have problems out here in the March, but this?”

Hanse smiled.  “You owe me fifty pounds, Quintus,” he said quietly.

“A sum that I am glad to have lost, my Prince,” the intelligence minister answered.

Ardan’s head snapped up and he just glared at the two men sitting there.  “You set this up?  To test Morgan’s loyalty?”

“We did,” Hanse answered.  “I have to be certain he can trusted, Ardan—and while you do not approve of the method, I am pleased with the result.”

“If it makes you feel better, Marshal Sortek,” added Quintus, “I am the one who suggested it to the First Prince.”

“But I gave you the go-ahead, Quintus,” Hanse interjected.  “I have to know, Ardan.  He is my heir-designate—I have to know I can trust this man.”

Ardan shook his head, but after almost two minutes, he nodded.  “I don’t like it, Hanse,” he said softly.  “But, at least he passed your test.”

“This test,” said Quintus.  “There will be others.  We have to be sure about the man.”

“I am already sure—and I know him better than the two of you!” snapped Ardan.

Hanse sighed.  “And you are a good judge of character, I’ll grant you that, my friend.  But I can’t leave someone with Michael’s temperament one heart-beat away from the Throne of the First Prince—I can’t.  So, I need to be certain he is not the same as Michael.  And like you said, he passed this test.”

“So what now?” Ardan asked.  “Another set-up?  Someone asking him to hop-skip-and-jump across the border to get in bed with Maximillian Liao?”

“Nothing like that,” Quintus said as Hanse smiled.  “We are going to . . . acquaint Morgan with someone that will appeal to him.  Become his friend.  Become his confidant.  Perhaps even his lover, who knows?”

Ardan sputtered.  “And she will be giving you reports?”

“Who said it is a she?” Quintus asked with a sudden grin, and then he grew serious.  “Yes, the agent in question will be reporting to me.”

“I do not like . . .,” Ardan began, but Hanse interrupted him.

“. . . like this.  Yes, Ardan, we get it.  We understand.  But it is necessary.  Until I know, he remains in his current post—and you cannot warn him that this was a test or that other tests of his loyalty are coming.  Can you do that?”

Ardan stood there for a moment and then he slowly nodded.  “I can.  I don’t . . .,”

“. . . like it,” Quintus and Hanse said at the same moment, and Ardan blushed.  “But I will do it.”

“Good,” Hanse answered simply as he stood.  “Now, I’ve got some time on the ‘Mech range scheduled—care to join me?”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 15, 2021, 01:22:01 PM

Taurus Broadcasting Corporation Studio A
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
March 17, 3026

Patrick Ross looked up from his notes as the producer said, “Five seconds.  Three.  Two.  And you are . . . live.”

He smiled at the cameras, “Welcome back to Good Morning, Taurus,” he spoke to the cameras.  “Joining us in the studio today are some special guests:  Marshal of the Armies Brenda Calderon, Exchequer of the Concordat Semyon Cantrell, and Minister-without-a-Profile and Advisor to the Protector, Raoul Calderon.  Gentlemen, my lady, welcome to the program.”

“Thank you for inviting us here today,” said Raoul as his two companions nodded in agreement.

“Thank you for accepting the invitation,” he paused and his smile faded.  “As you no doubt surmised, the subject of this interview is Edward Calderon and his actions on New Vallis.  There is a large portion of our population who view what he did—paying the ransom for Davion soldiers so that they could return home—as a travesty against the Concordat.  Public reaction has taken wild swings over the past weeks as video of his departure from New Vallis was released to the public.”  The anchor paused for a moment.  “Members of the late Grover Shraplen’s Concordat Reunification Party have called for an official investigation into his conduct—and his removal as an officer of the Taurian Defense Force, as well as for the Protector to renounce his actions and disavow him as Heir-Designate.”

Brenda Calderon bristled and then she leaned forward.  “Brigadier Calderon acted with honor and loyalty towards the Concordat and the Protector on New Vallis, Pat,” she sternly told the anchorman—and the millions of viewers watching the live broadcast.  “En route on a diplomatic mission for the Protector, he learned of the upcoming attack on New Vallis, hired mercenary forces out of his own pocket, and returned to New Vallis to aid in the defense.  While there, he was made second in command of the defense by Marshal Corey Calderon, commanding I Corps.  It was his plan—and his actions—that allowed us to defeat the renegade Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers in detail and with lower casualties that any of us could have otherwise predicated.”

“None of that is in question, Marshal Calderon,” the journalist answered.  “It is his actions following the battle which some Taurian citizens are criticizing.”

Raoul Calderon shook his head.  “No.  They are not questioning or criticizing, they are slandering my nephew, Pat.  Think about this . . . as the direct representative of the Protector, he offered terms for the former members of the Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers to lay down their arms and surrender—fair terms:  five years of labor to help build infrastructure on our new colonies, with the provision that they may be ransomed early.  Over six thousand of their personnel accepted those terms and—with the voice of the Protector himself—Edward assured them they would be treated fairly, justly, and humanely.  And what happened?”

The Protector’s younger brother paused.  “Members of the Constabulary decided that Sir Edward’s word—the Protector’s word!—was not good enough for them.  After stopping one group from murdering prisoners,” and Raoul shook his head as Pat inhaled sharply.  “Let’s not mince words, that was exactly what they were going to do.  In defiance of what Sir Edward—in the name and voice of the Protector himself—had promised, they were going to exact bloody vengeance upon prisoners in their custody.  There is a reason that Governor Fredrik Dupont was relieved of his post by the Protector—for cause!—and Edward Calderon not only promoted to Brigadier, but knighted as a Noble of the Taurian Concordat.”

“There are rumors—mostly from hard-line members of the CRP—that Protector Thomas himself was quite displeased with Edward’s actions and only promoted and ennobled him because he is the Protector’s son,” Pat quickly spoke.  “They insist that had Edward Calderon been any other officer, Thomas would have sacked him—not Fredrik Dupont.”

“Those rumors are incorrect,” interjected Semyon Cantrell before either Brenda or Raoul could speak, and those two took a moment to collect themselves.  “Protector Thomas is quite pleased with how Sir Edward acquitted himself on New Vallis.  And extremely displeased with how certain members of the Constabulary and the government of Concordat attempted to circumvent his orders and pervert his given word.”

Pat started to ask another question, but Semyon held up one hand.  “We are talking about the honor of the Taurian Concordat, here, Pat.  When we give our word—we keep it.  Always.  When we make a promise, swear an oath, enter into an agreement, we hold true to what we have said.  That is what makes us different from the people of the Inner Sphere, that is what makes us Taurians.  And when some of our own people decided that the word of the designated representative of the Protector was not what they would have done and took action to break faith with the Concordat . . . well, Sir Edward made sure that the honor of the Concordat remained intact.”

“Fearing that because of a handful of men and women who were willing to just dismiss the promises of the Protector, he spent his entire fortune—after paying for those two mercenary units that came to the aid of New Vallis!—to pay the ransom and send those former soldiers home to where they could be safe and treated in a humane fashion.  The Concordat did not pay that ransom—Edward did.  He paid the ransom out of his own pocket to prevent a handful of oath breakers from shaming the whole of the Concordat.”

For a moment there was silence and then Brenda spoke before Pat could ask another question.  “Your colleagues have interviewed Raphael Montoya and Erwin Tyrell and Fiona Jameson and Tanis Verbret and Corey Calderon—you have interviewed men and women who served alongside Liam Zahra.  And every last one of those people have endorsed the actions of Sir Edward.  Which is why my office has been flooded with donations from serving members of the Taurian Defense Force, Taurian Concordat Navy, and Taurian Aerospace Command.  Donations of twenty, fifty, one hundred Bulls—all with the note that they are paying their share for the honor of the Concordat, all made to repay Sir Edward for what he spent when he saw the need to do so.  When Sir Edward returns, he will find that he was not alone in standing to protect us all from the shame that Dupont and those who followed his orders would have stained us with.”

“Our own people---the vast majority of our own people,” added Raoul, “stand behind Sir Edward and Protector Thomas.  What the Concordat Reunification Party needs to understand is that they will not dictate policy to this government.  Not today, not tomorrow, and never will the Protector or his Ministers change what is best for the Concordat as a whole to make the hard-liners who live on hate feel better.”

“Speaking of Sir Edward’s return,” Pat smoothly changed the topic as the timer above the camera began blinking, indicating a commercial break was coming up.  “Is there any truth to the rumor that he is in the Federated Suns conducting high-level negotiations with First Prince Hanse Davion?  Negotiations that may well see one or more of our lost worlds returned to the Concordat?”

Raoul laughed.  “More rumors from the CRP, Pat?  You know that neither I, nor my colleagues, can comment on ongoing diplomatic negotiations before they are concluded.  I can tell you this, however, Protector Thomas himself will be travelling to New Vallis to meet with Sir Edward on his return—and that the Comstar Interdiction may be lifted soon after that.”

Pat raised one eyebrow.  “Are you saying that Sir Edward is meeting with Comstar to end the Interdiction?”

“I did not say that, and I cannot comment on . . .,” Raoul began, but Pat nodded.

“Ongoing diplomatic negotiations.  Thank you all for joining us today.  Coming up after the following commercial break, we will have the local weather forecast for Samantha City and Cynthia Devries will be reporting on continuing efforts to repair Samantha City infrastructure damaged during the terrorist attack on the University of Taurus last month.”

He smiled and then heard the producer announce, “And . . . we are out.”

Pat took off his microphone and he stood, holding out his hand to shake those of Semyon, Raoul, and Brenda.  “Thank you again—tell Thomas I hope that helps,” he said warmly.  “And give Edward—Sir Edward!—my best.”  Pat paused for a moment, and then he took out his wallet and extracted two bank notes, each valued at one hundred Bulls.  “And add this to funds being given to repay that young man for keeping our honor intact, Marshal.”

Brenda smiled and then she laughed.  “I certainly will do so—Brigadier Ross.  You still hold that reserve commission, yes?”

“I do, Marshal.”

“Well, if you ever want to come back on active duty, I can plug you right into our public relations department.”

“God forbid!” Pat exclaimed.  “If I ever come back, I expect nothing less than a battalion of my own!”

Then he smiled and both he and Brenda began to laugh, because both knew Pat Ross had spent his entire career in the TDF doing PR on behalf of the Defense Force and Protector.  A career which had then opened the door to this particular job offer once he left the uniform behind.

And then the smile faded.  “You—all of you—know that this won’t change the minds of the hardcore CRP members.  Shraplen—his father before—did too good a job driving these people’s emotions to a fever-pitch; people who don’t understand what a war—a real war—would cost all of us.”

“Yes,” Raoul sighed.  “The hardliners of the CRP are going to be a long-term problem.  Especially since Thomas pretty much gave Shraplen carte blanche to say whatever he wanted to—and those people assumed that since Thomas never contradicted him in public that the Protector agreed with Shraplen . . . and them.  Finding out that is not true is wreaking havoc on the fragile illusion of reality that what they believe in is right and good and just.”

“We will deal with it,” added Semyon.  “And if the CRP—which has never gotten more than fifteen percent of the popular vote outside of a few isolated strongholds—believes that they can dictate policy to Thomas Calderon . . . HAH!  They will learn the hard way how it feels to get gored and trampled by an angry bull!”

Raoul chuckled at that and even Brenda cracked a smile.  But Pat just shook his head.  “They don’t see reality the way we do—they still believe that even after five hundred years of Davion occupation our “Lost Worlds” have hidden cells of citizens plotting for some way to return to the Concordat.  And that Hanse Davion will back down if we just show we are strong enough to be willing to take back those worlds.  I see all kinds here in these studios, and you need to understand—the fanatics at the core of the Concordat Reunification Party?  If Edward is doing what I hear he is doing—hammering out a deal and a peace treaty with Hanse Davion, and no, Brenda, I’m not giving up my source on that or reporting it on the news for that matter!—they are going to go ape.  They may well decide that both Thomas and Edward and everyone in the government is a traitor and try to do something about it.  And you need to be ready for that.”

Raoul started to speak, but Pat held up one hand.  “They don’t have the numbers to make a coup stick—they don’t have the leader,” and Pat smiled slightly, “at least not anymore, who is charismatic enough to bring the moderates onboard.  But that doesn’t mean they can’t cause a lot of damage before they get put down.  I’ve interviewed three people this week who—given a chance—would string up Edward Calderon from the nearest light-post, consequences be damned.  Although right now, they are more focused on seeking revenge,” and Pat paused.  “Their hard-liners believe that Grover Shraplen was murdered and the government is covering it up to avoid starting a war.”

“And just who do they think murdered Grover Shraplen?” asked Brenda in an icy voice.

“They think Hanse Davion smuggled in an MIIO kill-team to assassinate Shraplen.  That he gave the order to kill him in order to silence him from speaking the TRUTH, as they see it, about the nefarious Davion plans to conquer the Concordat.  And they are trying to find a way to strike back, even if that embroils the entire Concordat in a war.  A war that they see as inevitable.”

And then sighed.  “And yes.  I’m sat down and spoken about all of this with Henri earlier this week—and he is worried.  And that alone makes me very worried.”

“Special Intelligence and Operations are not the only people keeping their eye on the CRP fanatics,” Raoul said quietly.  “We are aware of the potential . . . problems down the road.”

“Good,” answered Pat.  “They don’t understand much about reality, but they do read their history—don’t learn from it, but they read it just the same.  Especially the parts about how many Protectors throughout our history have been assassinated—and life just goes on.”

Semyon frowned and he looked at Raoul, then Brenda, and he saw the same somber vestiges on their faces, and he winced.  “That’s why you put all those extra precautions in place,” he whispered and they nodded. 

“Like I said,” Raoul spoke just as quietly.  “SIO aren’t the only ones who keep an eye on those who mean the Protector—or his family or his government—harm.  Messer Ross is just confirming information we already had.”

A production assistant cleared her throat from several feet away and Pat Ross looked up at the clock.  “Time for me to get back to work—my next segment is in two minutes.  Good to see you again, Raoul.  Brenda.  Minister Cantrell, it was a pleasure, Sir.”

“Godspeed, Pat,” Raoul answered as the news anchor walked away looking over briefing notes on his next segment on the most popular morning information show on Taurus.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 16, 2021, 10:59:53 PM

Ash Ridge Special Weapons Facility #4
Ash Ridge, Zeta Continent, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
March 20, 3026

Helena Vickers was ushered into a small, but well-furnished conference room and the three men seated there rose as she entered.  Jack Fletcher followed her, and the door closed behind the two of them.

“Fleet Marshal,” said the oldest of the three.  “I am Peter Wilkens—I run Ash Ridge for the Protector’s government.  This is my senior design engineer, Hamilton Serrano,” the second man nodded his head at the pair of Taurian Naval officers, “and the head of our Weapons Research Division, Olin Burke,” the youngest of the three nodded in turn and he grinned at Helena and Jack.  “Please, feel free to sit,” Wilkens said with a gesture towards one side of the conference table.

“Do either of you care for refreshments?” he asked as the two of them took their seats, followed by Burke and Serrano, and then Wilkens himself.

“No, thank you,” answered Helena.  “When the Protector told me that you wished to see me—to see if what your young man has come up with is—in fact—feasible, let alone practical, I told him I am not an engineer.  Which is why Commander Fletcher is here with us.  So, now that we are all here, following six hours of travel time to the other side of Taurus, why are we here?”

Wilkens sighed and he ran the fingers of one hand through his thinning hair . . . Helena cracked a slight smile as she looked at Jack.  He shrugged in recognition of the irony, but Helena supposed it must be relatively common to all middle-aged engineers—the good ones, at any rate.

“You do know what we produce here, correct?” he asked.

“The fusion warheads for the Taurian Defense Force and Taurian Concordat Navy—I believe that another facility is responsible for the more commonly deployed fission weapons in service,” Helena answered.

“Yes.  We received your schematics for the warheads emplaced on the Killer Whale and White Shark missiles and are pleased to announce that these can be produced by our facilities at a fairly decent rate of production.  We have not yet begun to produce any of those warheads, because at the moment we do not have any factories able to build the missiles.”

“It will be six months—possibly a year,” added Jack, “before those facilities are ready to start production.”

Wilkens nodded his understanding.  “But we also received the schematics for your Barracuda missiles.  Are either of you familiar with the Asset Management Weapon?” he asked.

Both Jack and Helena shook their heads answering no to the question, and Wilkens sighed again.

“It is—it was—a terror weapon designed by the Free Worlds League and used with abandon during the First Succession War.  And the other Great Houses copied it and built their own stockpiles . . . at least until they lost all of their WarShips and the ability to build Barracudas.  Olin?”

The young man leaned forward.  “What the Free World engineers did was remove the conventional warhead of the Barracuda, along with all tracking and targeting systems in order to fit a three megaton warhead to the chassis.”

Helena blinked as Jack sat up straight in his chair beside her.  “Did I hear you correctly?  A three-megaton warhead?  On a Barracuda?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Burke answered.  “It was useless against any target that could evade, but as purely ballistic orbit-to-surface weapon, it worked and it worked very well.  Strategic targets—military facilities, factories, cities—anything that couldn’t move could be hit with overwhelming force.”

“My god,” whispered Jack.  “If Forlough had those during the War . . .,” and his voice trailed off.

“Now,” continued Burke, “we don’t want to duplicate the AMW that the Free Worlds League used.  We Taurians aren’t planning on glassing entire planets and their populations, after all!” he barked in a bite of laughter that Helena guessed was to hide his nervousness.  Because she was aware—and if she was aware, so were the men from this time—that there were some who would welcome the chance to use such weapons on Davion targets.

“Besides, 3-MT is a bit of overkill for what we need.  No, Fleet Marshal, Commander,” Burke continued, “the AMW got me thinking.  An Alamo warhead—with a nominal yield of 5 kilotons—is only a bit larger than the conventional warhead that the Barracudas pack.  Why can’t we mate an Alamo bus to a Barracuda chassis?”

Helena thought for a moment and then she turned her head to Jack, but the engineer was already scribbling on a note-pad he always carried in his pocket and then he nodded.  “We’d have to lose some of the tracking and targeting systems, but it would be doable.”  Then he frowned.  “But it has one-tenth the punch of a Santa Ana, the nuclear warhead that can be fitted to a White Shark.”

“Still more than enough to make any DropShip ever made go bye-bye,” answered Burke with a shrug.  “I’ve run the numbers, and I think that just stripping out the advanced TTA systems that make the Barracuda so accurate—along the standard warhead—should give us enough space to squeeze in an Alamo.  And we might be able to boost the yield to 10-KT as well.  In a missile package with the range of a Barracuda and the same accuracy as a White Shark or Killer Whale.”

He paused for a moment.  “If you think the government might be interested in Ash Ridge pursuing this line of development, that is.”

“Jack?” Helena asked and her chief engineer nodded.

“There’s nothing radical about the idea—we just never thought about putting such a small yield nuke on a missile bus.  We’ve got Alamos for our aerospace fighters, but I never even thought about pulling out the conventional warhead and fitting one to a ‘Cudda body.”

“The devil lies in the details,” added Burke.  “Getting it to work will need people who know the Barracuda and are familiar with its systems—which is why we need you, Fleet Marshal, and you, Commander.”

Helena sat back and then she smiled.  “It certainly would surprise the hell out of an incoming fighter strike, wouldn’t it?  I’ll recommend to the Protector that Ash Ridge be allowed to work on the design and development of the . . .,” he voice trailed off and she turned her head to look at Jack.  “What the hell are we going to call it?”

But before Jack could answer, Wilkens cleared his throat.  “We have—temporarily—designated the concept as Project Hellfire.”

Helena chuckled. "Hellfire. I like it," she spoke in a low and husky voice, and beside her Jack started laughing.

"And if we can get the yield up to 10-KT, Fleet Marshal," he said, "Hellfire would be a good name for the warhead itself."  He paused and then he grinned.  "And think about what it would mean after we get Vandenberg operational, what with how we are planning to arm her!"

Helena laughed, and seeing the confusion on the other three faces, she smiled broadly.  "Jack here has already got plans in the works to rebuild Vandenberg as an Anti-Aerospace Destroyer . . . packing forty-eight Barracuda launchers!"

Wilkens blinked and then he smiled.  Serrano smiled.  Burke just laughed.  "My god, if we can Hellfire to work . . .," he began, and then he laughed again, along with Helena and she nodded her head.

"All right, Mister Wilkens, I'll take it to the Protector and recommend approval. What do you need from me?"

“All right, Mister Wilkens, I’ll take it to the Protector and recommend approval.  What do you need from me?”

And the five people in the conference room began to hash out details.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: drakensis on November 17, 2021, 02:43:55 AM

Second-to-last paragraph is repeated. Here and on CBT, suggesting it's likely in all copies.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Red Pins on November 18, 2021, 10:22:29 PM

Also;

Quote

Wilkens blinked and then he smiled.  Serrano smiled.  Burke just laughed.  "My god, if we can GET Hellfire to work . . .," he began, and then he laughed again, along with Helena and she nodded her head.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 22, 2021, 06:42:59 PM

The Obsidian Fortress
Saso, New Syrtis
Federated Suns
March 20, 3026

Getting the agreement written—in a form acceptable to both sides—had not taken until the end of the week; it had taken almost two full weeks.  But, it was finally done, and Edward waited until the applause from the assembled nobles had died down and then he turned to Hanse Davion and the two men exchanged the final pens they had used to sign the accords—all six copies of the accords!—and they shook hands.

And once again, the applause—and flashes of lights from the scores of cameras—erupted around them.

Still, the two men stood there, smiling at the cameras and the gathered high-ranking officials and military officers and nobility of New Syrtis and Edward forced the smile to remain on his face.

Finally, it was done and the noise slowly abated, even though the flashes of light from the cameras continued to pop around them.  Hanse made a small motion with one hand, and Edward nodded; he raised one hand towards the crowd and then he exited the stage, the First Prince following him.  And then the doors behind the two closed and there was only blessed silence . . . and constant, non-blinding lighting.

Edward could hear Hanse chuckle behind him.  “You don’t like the public appearance anymore than I do, I believe, Sir Edward,” the First Prince said with a wry grin as he unbuttoned the collar of his uniform jacket and sat down in a plush armchair, before he raised a glass—that a thoughtful servant had already prepared, full of ice and whiskey on the wooden table set between the pair the of chairs.

“No, Sir, I do not care for the pomp and circumstance one bit,” Edward answered as he sat and lifted his own glass.  “But for what we getting in exchange, I think that I can live with it.”

Hanse laughed.  “I understand.  There are days when I want to ship the entire Protocol Department off to Zanzibar and tell them don’t come back—ever.”  He paused and took a sip, and then he sat down his glass and his face turned serious.  “Will Thomas ratify this?”

“Yes,” Edward said simply.  “Everything we agreed to was within the limits that he set—although he held out hopes that he could have gotten more.  Especially since you and Archon Steiner will be sharing your copy of the Core,” Edward suddenly smiled.  “The JumpShip that arrived yesterday with dispatches told me of the Archon’s reply to his offer to sell it to the Lyran Commonwealth.  Well played, Lord Davion,” and he raised his glass in salute.

Hanse smiled and he raised his own glass again and clinked it against the one that Edward held and both men took another sip.

“Katrina isn’t happy, but she is going to send you three of the Behemoths assigned to the LCAF and the AFFS is providing you with another two.”  Hanse paused.  “While I must admit that supplying you with five DropShips—and the plans to build more—is well worth the discount of a billion C-Bills on the first installment, why does the TDF need five Behemoths?”

“We don’t need five Behemoths, Lord Davion,” Edward answered.  “We are going to cut them up and convert them into five Goliath class Assault DropShips, to not just replace Titan that we lost at New Vallis,” and Edward paused, taking another sip as he remembered the final moments in the life of Liam Zahra, “but to give us a total of six.  And with those plans—that you got Katrina Steiner to give us—we should be able to make more starting in just five or six years down the road.”

“I thought as much, but Quintus did ask me to confirm it,” Hanse replied.  “I take it the plans for those are not in the Core, are they?”

Edward shook his head.  “No, we invented those ourselves, Lord Davion, rather more recently.  Still, I would imagine that once the treaty is ratified and in place, we might—Father might—consider selling you—and Archon Steiner—the design plans.”

“A twenty-five thousand ton Assault DropShip—that thing is basically a vest-pocket WarShip!”

Edward snorted, as he had just taken another sip, and then he nodded as he sat down the glass.  “Pocket WarShip?  You know, that is a good name to designate their type and role.”  And the young man paused.  “They aren’t designed for assault after all, but for system defense, although I’m sure that we will keep two assigned to the Samantha Calderon to provide protection against hostile aerospace fighters.”

Hanse snorted.  “They are more than likely to massacre incoming hostile aerospace fighters if the briefing I read on them is at all accurate.”  And then the First Prince paused again.

“What is your father planning to do to the Capellans?” he asked.

Edward’s lips twitched and then he nodded.  “For starters, we are going to take back Rollis—once the Wolf’s Dragoons get here, that is.”

Hanse nodded after a moment and then he smiled.  “Just Rollis?  No offense, but your father is not one to take an invasion of two of his worlds lightly—nor the attempt to use a WMD on the soil of Taurus itself.”

Now Edward paused and then he pursed his lips and he nodded again.  “We have other plans as well for Max Liao—rest assured, he will full well know just how angry the Concordat is with him right now.  Or have you forgotten Ariana’s War?”

For a second Hanse could not recall such a conflict, then his brain made the connection.  “Well.  Going to visit Sian, are we?”

“Not the entire TDF, Lord Davion.  Just one very pissed off WarShip and her very capable commander.”

Hanse leaned back in his chair as he considered and then they nodded decisively.  “I would—request—that you hold off on such an action, Lord Calderon,” he said quietly.  “Not indefinitely,” he continued, holding up one hand to forestall Edward’s protest that had not even reached his lips yet.  “But, perhaps, two years?”

“Two years?  And what will be happening in two years?”

“In two years, I mean to put an end to the Capellan Confederation—and Maximillian Liao—once and for all.  And that would give you—and the Concordat—your best possible shot at revenge.  If you are willing to coordinate with us, that is.”

Edward sat back for a moment and he just stared at Hanse Davion, who sat opposite him, grinning like, and Edward chuckled.  Grinning like a Fox who had just emerged from the chicken coop with bloody feathers on his fur. 

“Tell me more, Lord Davion.  I do believe that I—and my father—would be more than willing to at least listen and do our part in this endeavor.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on November 22, 2021, 11:10:47 PM

Yikes, the poor Capellans are screwed!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 23, 2021, 01:43:13 PM

The Obsidian Fortress
Saso, New Syrtis
Federated Suns
March 21, 3026

For a moment, there was just silence in the executive office that Hanse had commandeered as he watched the image of a DropShip—Edward’s DropShip—thrusting towards orbit.  Towards home.  And then he heard Quintus Allard sputter.

“You told him?  You told him everything?”

Hanse looked away from the monitor and into the eyes of his head of intelligence and he smiled.  “Not everything—just enough to get him and his father on board with Rat.”

Quintus just sat there, his jaw opening and then closing, even as Ardan chuckled and the head of MIIO turned to glare at the best friend of the First Prince.

“Enough, Quintus.  I know what I am doing,” Hanse ordered softly.  “We had thought that Wolf and his regiments would still be in service with the Takashi Kurita when Rat kicked off—we made our initial plans based on that.  Now?  They are going to be in the Taurian Concordat.  Which means there will be less pressure on our Lyran allies as they keep the Dragon occupied while the AFFS carves up the Capellans.”  Hanse paused.  “And since the Taurians have their own reasons to really hate House Liao right now, why not tell him and get Thomas to commit Wolf’s Dragoons when we kick off?”

“Sir, if it leaks, we aren’t just risking the success of Rat, we are risking the lives of our agents who are trying to get close to the leadership on Sian.”

Your son, thought Hanse, and he nodded.  “Which is why I did not make any mention of those agents to Edward.  Not even a hint of their existence.  And as for leaks?  Edward knows just how sensitive this information is . . . he gave me his word that it would be discussed only at the highest levels of the Taurian government . . . under the most secure conditions.”

Hanse paused and he turned to Ardan.  “You said I can trust him, Ardan.  Can I?”

“You can, my Prince,” answered Ardan, who sighed as he noticed Quintus still frowning.  “Look at it like this, Minister Allard,” the MechWarrior and advisor spoke quietly.  “When we invade the Confederation, what will the CCAF do to reinforce all of those worlds we will be hitting around Tikonov?”

“They will redeploy forces from the interior and . . .,” his voice trailed off.  And he nodded, though he still did not look happy.

Hanse smiled.  “And if as they are redeploying, five Regiments of Wolf’s Dragoons, augmented with a dozen or so battalions of the Taurian Defense Force stage their own invasion at the opposite end of the Confederation?”

“Caught between two fires,” Ardan answered for Quintus.  “Splitting Maximillian’s attention; which means that our troops will suffer less attrition.  With McCarron’s regiments torn up, all Mad Max has left for offensive operations are the Northwind Highlanders . . ,”

“. . ., and I have plans for getting them out of the way,” finished Hanse Davion as he sat there and grinned.

“He won’t have enough troops to respond to all of the threats,” Ardan continued. 

“But what if Thomas doesn’t agree to invade?” asked Quintus and then he answered his own question.  “Of course he will.  He is still angry about McCarron’s abortive invasion and the fallout from that attempted WMD attack on Taurus . . . and,” he shook his head, “my people inform me that Thomas and his government have made the connection between Michael and Max and are almost convinced—because of what you did to shut Michael down in no small part—that it was part of some grand scheme by Max Liao to tear away a large chuck of the Concordat.”

“Precisely, Quintus,” Hanse answered.  “I knew Michael and he wasn’t acting on the orders of Sian—he was being the jack-ass he has always been.  But Taurus doesn’t know that and with the facts that they have, it appears as if Max was simply pulling Michael’s strings and he was acting on behalf of the Capellan Confederation.”  The First Prince paused.  “And now I’ve offered Thomas a chance to get revenge—and reducing his own casualties in the process.  How do you think he will respond?”

“Like a bloody bull seeing a red cape waved in front of his face,” muttered Quintus, who finally sighed.  “I hate it.  I really hate letting any of this information out—but you are right, my Prince.  If we can trust Edward to keep Thomas’ mouth shut.”

Hanse smiled broadly.  “No, Quintus, the question is can Edward convince Thomas to wait until we ready to launch Rat.”

Quintus paused for a moment.  “It might be better if Thomas invades before us . . . Max will have no choice but to redeploy the CCAF to meet and repel that invasion—especially with Wolf’s Dragoons spearheading the attack.”

“Which would also deprive us of the opportunity to defeat—in detail—the Capellan Confederation Armed Forces, Quintus,” Ardan added.  “Our goal here is not just to take some Capellan worlds, but to eliminate the Capellans as a threat now and forever. We want to put an end to Maximillian Liao’s ambitions once and for all.  We have to strike at the Terran side of the Confederation to secure a corridor to connect the Suns and the Lyran Commonwealth—but taking those worlds will mean little if the CCAF can simply withdraw and consolidate in the Liao, Sian, and St. Ives Commonalities and preserve their fighting power for future operations.”

“Right now, and for the foreseeable future, Romano Liao is out of favor—Max is very upset with his daughter for her role in McCarron’s invasion, correct?” Hanse asked, and Quintus sighed as he nodded his head in agreement.  “And Tormano is in internal exile, shut out from all decision making.  Candace is the only one left who could take over—and we are working on neutralizing her to further isolate the Chancellor, yes?”

“We are,” growled Quintus.  And then he nodded again.  “I still don’t care for sharing the details—or even the preliminary outlines!—with the Taurians, but it does make some sense, Sire.”

“Thank you,” Hanse answered with a chuckle.  “And now we wait—and continue to prepare for Galahad ’26 and Galahad ’27.”

“And in 3028?” asked Ardan.

Hanse grinned.  “We kick their ass and don’t pause to take names in the process.  And we make sure that Thomas, the TDF, and Wolf’s Dragoons do their part.”

Fortress-class DropShip Black Bull
Outbound for Zenith Jump Point, New Syrtis
Federated Suns
March 21, 3026

Edward looked up from his console as Jon Kincaid entered his cabin and closed the hatch behind him.  The Subaltern just stood there and he was shaking his head.

“You told him everything?” he asked, and the expression on his face was one of shock.

“Not quite everything, Jon,” Edward responded as he closed the document he had been reading.  “Take a seat.”

Jon sat and he shook his head, “You father is going to lose his mind, Edward.”

“No, Jon, he is not.  We have to do something to respond to what Max Liao tried—but even with the Dragoons out here, do you think Sian will just let us seize Rollis—and perhaps Corodiz—without responding?  Is the Defense Force ready for such an operation?  I don’t believe that we are—we are structured for defense, not offense.  We need the time, at least a year, two would be better, to have Wolf work with our units and get them to where they need to be in order to carry out this attack my father wants to do.”

Edward stood and he stretched, rubbing the taut muscles of his neck that stress had tensed and then he sat back down.  “And this second part—sending the Samantha Calderon to Sian?  We are rolling the dice and the odds are not in our favor.”

He paused.  “What happens if something goes wrong?  And you well know—as I know—something will always go wrong.  We could lose that ship, lose the people onboard her whose knowledge is absolutely priceless.  But,” he continued with a smile, “if we wait and Hanse Davion is true to his word and sends the majority of the AFFS into Confederation space . . . we have a lot more options.  And a far, far better chance at getting retribution for what Max Liao tried to pull on us.”

“I know that, Sir,” Jon said.  “But your father is still going to be mad as hell that you told Hanse Davion of our plans.”

“Let me deal with father, Jon.  We’ve both taken risks in the past—and the time has come to step up our game.  We have a chance here—our best chance—to put an end to the ceaseless hostility and hatred that our people have for the Davions.  Not completely, of course, but the best chance since before the Star League to put an end to this cold war between us.  In six months—a year at the outside—our people are going to be seeing an explosion of our industry.  Funding will be pouring into the Concordat, we are going to have new markets, there will be economic prosperity and peace.  And then?  When we are ready?  When Wolf and his Regiments have honed the Defense Force battalions to a razor’s edge, then we go in and teach the Capellans a lesson that they—and their children—will never, ever forget.  I can convince Father I was right.”

“If he doesn’t disown you first,” Jon muttered.

“He might.  He might not.  My father is a cunning man in many ways,” Edward answered with a sad smile.  “He’s not perfect, but who among us is?  I can convince him that this was the right thing—I know I can.”

“I pray to God that you are right, Edward.”

“So do I, Jon.  So do I.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 30, 2021, 04:25:34 PM

The Heritage Opera House
Tharkad City, Tharkad
Lyran Commonwealth
April 4, 3026

Aaron Bell came fully alert as the alarm began to flash—silently—beside him.  He reached over with one hand and pressed the key that turned the alarm off and he took a moment to collect himself.  It was time, he thought.

For four days, he had hidden here and waited.  He had waited while the teams of security had swept the building, looking for explosives or people who should not have been there . . . but his hide had been well selected.  The false wall behind him had taken a week to construct . . . but the Heritage had already been closed for refurbishment during that time.  Isolating this tiny two-meter by two-meter area had been simple enough and the sneak suit he wore had defeated the sensor wands carried by the advance security teams.

Four days, he thought as he took a sip of water from an almost empty bottle—his last bottle of water.  But it was almost over.  In a very short time he would be able to finish his mission, and Aaron mentally shrugged in recognition that his life would end very quickly afterwards.

Alone in the darkness he checked again his weapon—satisfied that all was in readiness, he fed one bullet into the chamber and then slowly closed the bolt.  And he looked out the ventilation grill set into the wall in front of him . . . and the sight of the Archon’s Box which lay directly in his view.  And Aaron Bell—loyal man-at-arms to Michael Hasek-Davion . . . or at least that is what those who would investigate would find—smiled.

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

Robert Monroe stood straighter as the procession of cars approached the entrance to the Heritage.  For six months now, the building had been closed for renovation and repairs—after all, it dated back almost four hundred years as a landmark of Tharkad.  And now, thanks to Archon Steiner, the building had been restored to its former glory.  And tonight—in just a few moments—was the grand reopening with a production of Carmen.  It was an auspicious night, the more so because while the Archon could not attend, her daughter—her heir—Melissa Steiner would do so in her place.

He smiled.  The young woman had been one of the primary patrons of the refurbishment, and her appearance here had been planned for almost three months—the selection of Carmen as the performance tonight had been chosen specifically because it was her favorite opera.  Unfortunately, the Archon herself had sent regrets—affairs of state would prevent her appearance, but to have Melissa here!  On the night of the grand opening!

His musings were stilled as the cars slowed and then stopped and guards positioned themselves around the car before the door opened and the Archon’s Heir stepped out.  She was dazzling, even wearing the hooded cloak that protected against the cold chill of the early spring night.

He stepped forward and knelt with a bow, “Your Grace,” he said.  “Welcome to the Heritage.”

“Thank you, Herr Monroe,” she answered in a soft voice.  “I am looking forward to the performance tonight,” she continued as Robert stood and offered the young lady his arm.

“The Archon’s Box awaits you,” he said as she took his arm and the two walked into Opera House, Robert proudly pointing out various items of interest among the paintings and statuary that lined the halls.

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

The lights had dimmed and the performance begun before Aaron stirred again and he slowly, carefully raised the rifle, taking aim, and he put his eye against the scope attached above the barrel and bolt.

Yes.  There she was, sitting within the Archon’s Box, guards surrounding her, her rapt attention focused on the music and the singing on the stage.  His thumb slid off the safety on his rifle and he made one final adjustment to his stance as he placed his finger on the trigger and slowly began to apply pressure.  One shot.  There would not be time for a second, after all.

And the bark of the rifle, the flash of light at the muzzle as it discharged came almost as a surprise as he fired.

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

The sharp CRACK of the rifle shot echoed throughout the Opera House, and Russell Dorne jerked his head to the flash of a rifle shot that spat from a ventilation grill—but he was already moving and he yelled, “SHOT!” into his comm as he dived in front of the young woman sitting in the Archon’s Box . . . but he was a split second too late and blood exploded from her chest as the bullet tore into her.

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

Aaron had just enough time to see the blood spurt from the chest of the Archon’s Heir and he nodded.  It is done, he thought, even as the Lyran Security sprayed his hide with bullets of their own and pain tore through his own body.


Royal Palace, The Triad
Tharkad City, Tharkad
Lyran Commonwealth
April 4, 3026

“Where is she?” demanded Katrina Steiner, Archon of the Lyran Commonwealth, as she strode into the Trauma Ward of the medical facility built within the palace. 

Simon Johnson, his face the grey of ash, pointed one hand towards a hospital bed upon which lay a young woman—her body covered in a sheet from head to toe.

Katrina paused and then she nodded and she walked over to the bed and took down the sheet and she sighed.

“How?”

“It was well planned, my Lady,” Simon said quietly.  “The assassin was sealed into a small room isolated from the rest of the Heritage by a false wall—he had been in there for several days, at least.  He wore a sneak-suit, so we did not detect his presence electronically.  We have identified the gunman—Aaron Bell, a native of New Syrtis who has been here on Tharkad on ‘business’ for the past six months.  It appears, according to our people who have torn apart his residence that he was a follower of Michael Hasek-Davion who wanted revenge on Hanse Davion for his death,” and his voice trailed off.

Katrina turned her head to glare at Simon for a moment and then she nodded.  “But?”

“It’s too neat.  The planning that went into this,” he paused and shook his head, “it took months, Archon.  That false room was constructed at least two months ago—before Michael was killed on New Vallis.  And the gear that this man had—it takes time for someone not supported by a government agency—or a major corporation—to gather such things.  A sneak suit?  Not the most easy piece of equipment to acquire.”

“You think there is more here to this than it seems, Simon?”

“I do, my Lady,” he said with a sigh as he looked at the face of the young woman lying dead on the hospital bed again.

“Jeana?” a trembling voice asked from the door, and Katrina winced and then she turned around and held open her arms to take her daughter as Melissa entered the room.

“She’s gone, dearest,” Katrina whispered as Simon quickly—but gently—pulled the sheet over her head.  “She did her job, and she kept you safe,” she whispered as she held her daughter tight.

And Melissa sobbed against her chest.  “It should have been me,” she cried.  “It should have been me.”

“Shh.  Shh,” Katrina whispered.  If Melissa hadn’t come down with the flu yesterday, it would have been her, and not her body-double.  Her head twisted around to glare at Simon one last time as she pulled her daughter towards the door. “Find out who—and why,” she ordered and then she and her grieving daughter were gone.

“You can rest assured of that, my Lady,” Simon whispered to the empty room as he looked down one last time at the body of Jeana Clay.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 30, 2021, 04:31:00 PM

Government House
Port Sheridan, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
April 14, 3026

Thomas Calderon looked up from behind the borrowed desk as the door opened and Edward entered the room, the guard posted outside closing the door behind him.

He stood and walked around the desk and then he hugged the young man tight.

“Hi, Pop,” Edward said as he clapped his father on the back.

Thomas swallowed as he stepped back and looked his son in the face, still holding his upper arms with both hands.  “You certainly took liberty with my instructions, Edward,” he said finally, and then he smiled.  “But you did good, son.  You did good.”

“I know it isn’t as much as you wanted, Pop,” Edward began, but Thomas interrupted him.

“As you—and others!—have repeatedly told me, I wasn’t going to get everything I wanted,” he barked.  And then he chuckled.  “And I’m not even that mad that you told the Fox about our plans for Rollis and Corodiz.  We,” and the older man paused as he finally released Edward and sat down again.  “We managed to find a way to confirm everything you’ve been telling us.  When we get back to Taurus, there is going to be a briefing for you on some, ah, developments in our intelligence gathering.  Everything you suspected has been confirmed—at least we think it has been.”  Thomas sighed.  “It is a new world, son,” he waved one hand at the chair in front of the desk and Edward sat.

“I didn’t expect to see you out here, Pop,” Edward finally said.  “When Corey told me to come planetside instead of heading back to Taurus, I was a bit concerned.”

Thomas snorted.  “What?  You thought I might have you disavowed and sent into exile?”

Edward shook his head.  “That was a possibility, Pop.  I went and stretched your orders to the limit—and I know that the fast one that Katrina Steiner and Hanse Davion pulled on you has to sting.”

Thomas waved that aside with one hand.  “I was expecting that, young man.  We’ve got responses—coded responses via HPG and then courier JumpShip—from both Janos Marik and Takashi Kurita.  They are willing to pay even more than Hanse Davion did for the data from the Core.  Kyalla Centrella as well.  And I have already released news of the upcoming plebiscites on the border worlds—right now, young man, you are being hailed as a conquering hero by most of our population!”

Edward blushed and he shook his head.  “I didn’t conquer anything, Pop.  Everything I did was done in your name—for the good of the Concordat.”

Thomas snorted.  “I know that. You know that.  The citizens that are capable of thinking know that!  They are still celebrating what you managed to achieve, son.”

“It might not come to anything,” Edward insisted.  “Those worlds have been in Davion hands for longer than they were part of the Concordat, Pop.  They might very well vote to stay in the Federated Suns.”

Thomas waved one hand.  “And if they do, it will silence most of those who insist that there are resistance movements on each of those worlds just waiting for Taurian soldiers to return them to the fold, welcoming us with open arms and cheers of long-awaited victory!”  He snorted again.  “If they vote to return to the Concordat or vote to remain under the Federated Suns banner, we will have taken the teeth out of most of the supporters of the CRP, and at least make them start to think.”  Then he paused and sighed.  “Except for the fanatics, who will look at you and me and every Taurian willing to accept the results of these plebiscites that aren’t in our favor as traitors to the Concordat.”

Now Edward frowned.  “I would have thought that they would have lost some momentum when Grover died.”

“No, boy.  Many of their hard-liners are convinced that Grover was killed by agents of Hanse Davion to silence him from warning the Concordat about Davion intentions.  They have gotten even more radicalized since his death . . . and they are not at all pleased with you—or me!—right now.”

Thomas sighed and shook his head.  “Damn fools.  I don’t trust House Davion myself, but they are convinced that you and I are going to sell the Concordat and our people out to the Fox and become an appendage of the Federated Suns.”

Edward sat back in his seat and he nodded in understanding.  “And they are using my ransoming of the former members of the Sixth Fusiliers as proof of our traitorous leanings, right, Pop?”

“That they are, my boy.  On the other hand, the majority—the vast majority—of the Concordat are standing behind you.  In fact,” and Thomas smiled, “the TDF started a campaign to solicit funds to assist you in the payment of that ransom.  And it was picked up by civilians on Taurus and then throughout the Concordat.  As of this morning, nearly two-thirds of your fortune has been returned to you by men and women of the Concordat who insist on paying their share to keep the Concordat’s honor intact, Eddie.”

“I didn’t do it to be repaid, Pop!” Edward sputtered.  “I did it because . . .,”

“. . . it was the right thing to do.  Edward,” Thomas said sternly, “do you think you are the only man in the Concordat willing to do what is right and proper when the cards are laid down?”

“No, sir.”

“No.  Those men and women want you—and all of Taurus—to know they stand with you.  So take the damn money with grace and show some appreciation for their sacrifice.”

Edward chuckled.  “I think I can do that, Pop.”

“Good,” Thomas said as he leaned back in his chair and put his hands together.  “Corey and I have been talking this past week—so when am I going to meet this young lady of yours?”

Edward blushed.  “She’s not my young lady, Pop,” he whispered.  “I haven’t even had the chance to speak with her since I landed here on New Vallis.”

Thomas just sat there and he looked his son squarely in the eyes, until Edward began to squirm.  “Alright, I would like her to be my lady, Pop,” he finally admitted, but he shook his head.  “I don’t know if she wants to be that, however.”

“Moira Tyrell—good blood there.  Erwin has always been loyal and you—my son that is most unlike me—has managed to get him on your side.  No small feat—he’s almost as conservative as I am, as Grover was.  But unlike the CRP fanatics, he actually uses his head for more things than holding up his hat!”

Thomas snorted again and he shook his head.  “I’ve never tried to arrange your marriage, Eddie, and I never will.  Don’t like that custom—I met and fell in love with your mother all on my own and I couldn’t imagine what life would have been if I hadn’t.  And when she died, it was Katherine—once again someone that I never would have met if it hadn’t been for your mother—who helped me pick up the pieces and I ever so slowly fell in love again.  Take your time—make up your own mind.  And if Moira Tyrell is good enough for you, well,” Thomas smiled, “then she’s good enough for me.”

The Protector paused for a moment.  “Of course, there is the question, are you good enough for Moira Tyrell?”  And he chuckled as Edward blushed again.

“Gee, thank you, Pop.”

“I don’t think you have to worry on that score—according to Erwin, she’s bouncing on her tip-toes to see you again,” and once again, the blush returned and Thomas laughed.

“But that is for later.  I’m out here on New Vallis to meet you because you and I and my government are going to be holding negotiations out here with ComStar to end the Interdiction.”

Edward sat up and his face grew serious as he considered what Thomas had just told him.  “When?” he asked.

“Three days,” answered Thomas.  “Via real-time HPG; ComStar has already sent out an advance team to ensure that the New Vallis station is ready and able to handle such.”

Thomas waited for a moment and then he nodded.  “So, if your lady love can wait for a few days, Eddie, you and I have work to do.”

“Understood, Pop.”

“Good.  Now let’s get started,” and Thomas unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled up the sleeves.  “First . .  ,” and the Protector and his son began to make their plans.

Taurian Concordat Class B HPG Station
Port Sheridan, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
April 17, 3026

The communications hub of the HPG was filled to capacity, Edward noted as he was escorted to his seat at one of the four tables moved into the chamber for the Taurian delegation to sit at.  He did not sit, however, but he waited, standing, just as the rest of the government and military officials did.  In the center of the room, the holo-projector whined slightly as ComStar technicians made some last minutes adjustments, and then one looked up and he nodded.

One of the Protector’s personal security quietly spoke into his comm unit and then Thomas Calderon, followed by Henri Jouett and Marshal of the Armies Brenda Calderon entered the chamber, standing behind the final three empty seats.

On the other side of the chamber, a dozen ComStar officials also stood—including one wearing the robes of a full Precentor and Edward watched as each bowed their heads and the lights slowly dimmed.

The holo-projector snapped on, and the image of the Primus of ComStar appeared, standing as well.

“I am Primus Vesar Kristofur,” the image said, “and I greet you in the name of the Blessed Blake.  May his Peace and his Wisdom guide us here today.”

“I am Thomas Calderon, Protector of the Taurian Concordat,” said Thomas in turn.  “We welcome the opening of these negotiations and greet you in the name of the Taurian people.”

At that, both the Primus and Thomas sat, followed by everyone else in the room.

And then Vesar smiled.  “I am pleased that you have reached out to us, Protector Calderon,” he said.  “It is with great regret that our meeting has to be under these circumstances.  Before we begin, however, I have a few things to say—a few items that must be clarified,” and he paused until Thomas nodded in assent.

“First, ComStar offers its most sincere apologies to you and the people of the Taurian Concordat—what Primus Tiepolo attempted to do was not condoned by the First Circuit, nor was it in accordance with the Will of Blake.  There was a—schism—on Terra between factions within ComStar, one of which was led by Tiepolo and Precentor Waterly.  These two, for reasons we cannot begin to fathom, tried to manipulate and deceive you and your people, and for that we are most truly apologetic and remorseful.  The attack on our HPG station on Jansen’s Hold was their concept after it became known that you had salvaged that WarShip you now possess.”

Vesar paused and he sighed.  “They were concerned that with such a powerful weapon at your disposal that war—ruinous and terrible war such as those waged in the First and Second Succession Wars—would once again erupt throughout the Inner Sphere.  So rather than trust you to do the right thing, Protector Calderon, they attempted to deceive you and manipulate you and implicate you in this attack.  They were wrong to do so, and they have both—and their followers—paid for their actions with their lives.”

Thomas nodded as the Primus paused. 

“That being said, Protector Calderon, I realize that you are not going to start such a wide-spread war.  Your ship—and it is your ship—will not be what destabilizes what little peace we have among us.  Although, I certainly could not blame you for your anger at the Capellan Confederation for their attacks upon you.  As well as those of Michael Hasek,” and the Primus deliberately left off the ‘-Davion’ so favored by that once great March Lord of the Federated Suns.  “The two of them, in combination, attempted to take advantage of the Interdiction which my predecessor put in place against your Concordat; for that I am truly sorry.”

“Therefore, I have given the order that the Interdiction is to be lifted immediately—regardless of the outcome of these proceedings.  I only ask, Protector Calderon, that you give those of us within ComStar who opposed Tiepolo and Waterly a second chance to prove ourselves.  We serve all of Humanity—something Julian Tiepolo and Myndo Waterly forgot in their quest for power.”

Thomas sat there for a moment and then he nodded.  “I accept your apology, Primus Kristofur,” he finally said.  “And I welcome the lifting of the Interdiction, but as you are aware, the Concordat has certain conditions which it—which I—insist on being met before we hand you control of the HPG stations within the Concordat.”

Vesar nodded.  “Yes.  I have been briefed on those conditions and we shall agree in full.  The Concordat may post an observer in every HPG Station in the Taurian Concordat to ensure that your government communications are not tampered with.  Furthermore, any member of our Order who chooses to leave us for service in the Taurian Concordat—as is the case with a number of Acolytes captured when you seized the HPGs will be allowed to do so.  Or, if they wish, they may return to the arms of ComStar.  We will not arm our personnel within the Taurian Concordat and rely on our neutrality and the strength of the Taurian Defense Force to protect our Stations and our people.”

“But ComStar as well has a condition, Protector Calderon,” Vesar added.

“And that condition is, Primus?”

“Our ability to handle the communications of all people—all governments—within the Inner Sphere and Periphery depends on us being seen as neutral actors in the great drama of our lives.  We would ask, therefore, that you and your government announce that the . . . conflict . . . between ComStar and the Concordat was the result of a misunderstanding and the actions of a few corrupt individuals that did not—and do not—represent either ComStar or the Concordat as a whole.”

“We ask that you help us to preserve face, Protector Calderon.  And if this one condition is met, then we shall stand by you once more.  We shall maintain the HPG Stations and abide by all of the other conditions upon which you have insisted.  If not, then we shall still lift the Interdiction—in a show of goodwill and good faith—and allow you to operate those stations yourself, without interference or assistance.”

For a moment there was silence, but Edward nodded to himself slightly.  It was a bit more than either his father or Henri Jouett had expected—but not by that much.  And if Vesar was lying, well.  What difference did that make when they would lose the HPGs within the next six months to a year anyway?

And from the corner of his eye, Edward could see his father nodding as he came to the same conclusion.

“Your condition is acceptable to the Taurian Concordat, Primus Kristofur,” he said.

“Excellent.  Precentor Philip Dane, please stand,” he said and the highest ranking member of the ComStar delegation stood.  “Protector Calderon, Philip Dane is my personal choice to serve as the new Precentor Taurus—if he is acceptable to you, that is?”

“And the old Precentor Taurus?  You want him back?” Thomas asked harshly.

“He was part of Tiepolo’s cabal, Protector Thomas.  Do with him what you will.  Is Precentor Dane acceptable to you to serve as my voice in the Concordat?”

It took several moments, but Thomas finally nodded.  “He is.”

“Excellent,” replied Vesar with another smile.  “In that case, he is empowered to speak on my behalf.  However, if you ever require to speak with me directly, you will be able to do so within a matter of hours.  That order has already been passed to my people who will be returning with you to Taurus to man our HPG Station there.”

Vesar stood, and so did Thomas and everyone else in the communications hub.  “May the Peace of Blake be with you and your people, Protector Thomas.  The Interdiction is hereby lifted.”

And with that, the hologram flickered and then died as the lights grew in strength once again.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on November 30, 2021, 04:56:14 PM

Freaking assassins.

I really thought the Taurians would go it alone in regards to the HPGs.

Enjoying this story MA!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on November 30, 2021, 08:12:02 PM

Government House
Port Sheridan, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
April 20, 3026

“And you are live in three . . . two . . . one,” said the producer as Thomas sat behind his borrowed desk.  The red lights on all of the holo-cameras blinked on and Thomas Calderon, Protector of the Taurian Concordat looked straight ahead.

“My fellow Taurians,” he began.  “Today I am making several announcements that will affect all of us in the Concordat.  First and foremost, I am on the world of New Vallis where I, my heir Edward Calderon, and officials of my government have concluded negotiations with ComStar.”

He paused for a moment and then he smiled at the cameras.  “The Interdiction is over.  By the end of May, all HPG Stations in the Concordat should be resuming their normal operations.  The . . . incident that caused the Interdiction and the Concordat takeover of all the HPG Stations was not authorized by the ruling body of ComStar, but rather by rogue agents acting against not only the interests of the Concordat, but against their own organization.”

“Those guilty of conspiring against both ComStar and the Concordat have been punished and the matter is now settled.  Normal interstellar communications should resume on all worlds of the Concordat with an HPG station by the end of next month.  I have been given the personal assurance of the Primus of ComStar—Vesar Kristofur—that such an incident will not occur again.”

Once again, the Protector paused and he looked down at his notes and nodded before he resumed looking at the cameras.  “Regardless of what assurances I—and the Concordat—have received, rest assured that we will be watching ComStar very closely in the future to prevent any such a repeat.”

“On other matters, my son and Heir-Designate, Edward Calderon has just returned from a diplomatic mission to the Federated Suns.  Hanse Davion and I have agreed to formally sign a peace treaty between the Taurian Concordat and the Federated Suns.  The embargo against Taurian manufacturers and resource extractors selling to the Federated Suns is hereby lifted, along with the ban on purchasing items and material from the Federated Suns.  First Prince Hanse Davion and I have agreed to a Free Trade Agreement where commerce—without tariffs—between our nations will commence.”

“As part of this Treaty, the Taurian Concordat will send representatives to the worlds of Bromhead, Horsham, Robsart, Wrentham, Flintoft, Diefenbaker, Midale, Carmichael, Lindsay, Ridgebrook, Electra, Maia, Merope, Brockway, Brusett, Hyalite, Keuterville, Anaheim, Warren, Weippe, Caldwell, Pierce, Tentativa, Montour, Vedigreis, Cohagen, Estuan, Armington, and Csomad.  These twenty-nine worlds will, in 3031, hold a plebiscite of their population to consider the following question:  do you wish to rejoin the Taurian Concordat as member worlds or remain part of the Federated Suns?”

And even though the journalists and cameramen in the office knew what was coming, the was an audible intake of breath at that blunt statement.

The corner of Thomas’ lip quivered for a moment and then he nodded his head.  “Representatives of my government will be on each and every one of those worlds for the next five years, answering questions and pledging ourselves—the Taurian people—to the promise that each world that chooses to return to us will receive investments to restore the population and industry to where it was before the start of the Reunification War.”

And then Thomas leaned back in his chair and he sighed.  “But despite what we are doing to convince the people of these worlds that their future will be better if they are aligned with the Concordat rather than the Federated Suns, we are not assured that they will vote that way.  Our representatives will be there to monitor the elections and ensure that they are fairly conducted.  Yet, some of them—perhaps even all of them!—might well elect to remain part of the Federated Suns.”

Thomas paused for a moment.  “And we, the men and women of the Taurian Concordat will respect their choice in this matter.  If our brothers and sisters of old return to us we will welcome them with open arms and make them Taurians once again.  If they choose to remain separate, we will acknowledge their desire and forsake—once and for all time to come—any claims upon them.”

“There are some of you out there among the Taurian Concordat who will see this as a betrayal of our ideals.  It is not.  We—the Taurian people, you and I and all those who dwell on our worlds—we are fulfilling our ideals by honoring those who once part of us with the choice of where their future lies.”

“In five years, we may have the Pleiades returned to us; we may not.  We may have systems that were part of the Old Concordat back in our fellowship of worlds.  We may not.  For that decision is not ours to make—we are not invaders.  We are not conquerors.  We are Taurians.  And we shall respect the choice the people of these worlds make.”

“We will not lash out against them if they choose to remain apart.  We will not try—by force of arms—to join them to us when they have chosen not.  I ask that all of you remain patient and in 3031 we will discover what the future may hold.  Until then, I will—by my oath and on my mortal soul—continue to protect each and every one of you.  Just as Samantha Calderon and every Protector of the Taurian Homeworlds and Taurian Concordat have done before me.”

“Finally, for those among you who fear that Hanse Davion is using this as a ruse, as a means to lull the Concordat into complacency—rest assured that I have taken steps to assure that this is not the case.  And should it be the case, we will have Wolf’s Dragoons—all five regiments and their supporting elements—in the employ of the Taurian Concordat.  Colonel Wolf and his command should be arriving in the Concordat by the end of June and his regiments will take up station along our borders with the Federated Suns and Capellan Confederation to keep our worlds safe from predation.  They will also work to train the Taurian Defense Force and the Constabulary to an even finer edge so that any attempt to invade the Concordat in the future will be repelled.”

Thomas leaned forward and one corner of his mouth lifted in a smile.  “I swore an oath to protect you all—and I shall do exactly that.  I am Thomas Calderon, Thirty-Second Protector of the Taurian Concordat and this I swear to you all.  Good night and may God above watch over each and every one of you as we enter a new age of peace and prosperity for all of our people.”

Thomas waited for a moment, then the red lights on the cameras flickered off, and a voice announced, “And we are out!”

And there was applause from those scattered around the office as Thomas held up one hand.  Slowly the applause faded.

“Henri,” he said to his intelligence minister.  “That goes out via HPG and courier ship to every world in the Concordat.  Today.”

“It shall be done, my Lord Protector,” Henri answered with a bow.

“Good.  Now let us head home.  New Vallis is nice, but I miss Taurus—and my children.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on November 30, 2021, 09:43:45 PM

Nice speech!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on December 03, 2021, 02:13:50 PM

Chapter Five

TCJS Patrick Flannagan
Zenith Jump Point, MKC-17934
Unknown Space
July 8, 3026

Aramis Hall smiled at the men and women who comprised the crew of his Tramp-class JumpShip.  Other a handful of personnel essential to maintaining a sensor watch, the entire crew—and those of the attached DropShips, two Mules and a Leopard CV—were assembled here in the small grav deck of the JumpShip.

They had gathered because while they might be far from home, they were still Taurians.  And today—the 8th of July—was one of the Concordat’s national holidays.  Exodus Day.  Celebrated throughout the worlds and systems of the Concordat to commemorate the day that the hated Star League Defense Force had followed General Kerensky into the unknown space beyond the borders of the far distant Draconis Combine and vanished from all recorded history.

Now his crew—after six long months in space—were celebrating that holiday.  Carefully hoarded bottles of liquor had been broken out, although the stern-faced Bosun—the senior non-commissioned officer aboard the Patrick Flannagan—kept a careful watch on what everyone was drinking.  Twice already he had cut a member of the crew off, simply declaring, “You have had more than enough.”

Aramis snorted in amusement.  No one aboard the ship, no one in the Flotilla, wanted to get on the bad side of Bosun Jackson Donato.  And then his amusement faded as he looked over the electronic note-pad he carried.

They were twenty four jumps out from Gateway, having covered over 600 light-years in the past six months.  And so far the flotilla had detected nothing.  No sign that the Exiles had come this way.  Jump twenty-five would take place tomorrow morning, to a G5 star twenty-two point three light-years distant.  Spectral analysis aboard his ships had determined that there were at least a dozen planets in orbit—two in the habitable zone.  And so far, all indications—as limited as those might be at such a range!—showed that at least one of those worlds in the habitable zone had both an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere and liquid water.

It might be a good place to rest his crew and get them to stretch their legs—it might not, and then he shrugged.  Well, tomorrow we will find out for certain. 

Standing, he nodded at the Bosun who cleared his throat.  Slowly silence descended into the compartment.

“All right people.  We’ve celebrated, but we have a busy day—many busy days—ahead of us come tomorrow morning.  Last call for alcohol—after this round, the Bosun will secure those bottles.  Don’t stay up all night partying.  Jump Twenty Five will take place at 0600 whether or not you have a hangover or have failed to get any sleep!”

There were groans from the audience at those words, but the complaints were in good humor—his crew still had high morale and had known in advance when the jump-time was.  After all, Aramis had issued the warning order three days ago, only delaying until tomorrow to allow the Scout-class Whitetail to finish repairs on one of their sail deployment spars.

“Get some rest.  We start the pre-jump checklist at 0500 and I want all systems ready to go.  Okay, boys and girls?”

Everyone either mumbled an answer or nodded and Aramis smiled.  “Good.  In that case,” he said as he raised his glass.  “A toast!  To the Star League Defense Force . . . may those bastards never stop running until they jump into Hell itself!”

A cheer went up through the compartment and the crew—Aramis as well—drank their last drink of the night.  Then, by ones or twos or threes, the crowd started to head out, some singing, some smiling, some holding the hand of another crewmate—either from their own vessel or visiting from another.

TCJS Patrick Flannagan
Zenith Jump Point, MKC-17934
Unknown Space
July 9, 3026

“All right, people, final checks—go/no-go for Jump Twenty Five.”  He paused.  “Communications?”

“All systems green, all ships in our group standing by to execute.  Comm is go,” a rating answered.  Half of Aramis’s small flotilla of a dozen ships had jumped to the Nadir Point of MKC-17934 on their arrival ten days ago.  Having six ships at each of the two primary jump points of a star gave Aramis and his people the best chance of detecting any lost or abandoned ship—and the sensor data gleaned from having more than one vantage point had been invaluable in cataloging each of the systems along their path.  Eight inhabitable worlds had been found, each teeming with life, but untouched with man.  So far, anyway.  Still, Aramis had not paused to survey those worlds—that would be for a future expedition.  And while the separation of the Zenith and Nadir groups meant it took a great deal of time—and forty-eight irreplaceable communications drones to date—to share the data collected, it was still close enough to coordinate their operations.  If those operations were scheduled a few days away.

It was a risk, Aramis well knew, but then all space travel had some degree of inherent risk.  And the ability to survey—via sensors and drones—each system from two vantage points more than outweighed the known risks.  The unknown ones?  Aramis snorted.  Those were precisely that—unknown and unknowable.  At least until they happened. 

“Engineering?”

“Full charge on the Core, skipper.  Sail is retracted, all systems are green.  Engineering is go.”

“Navigation?”

“Jump Twenty Five is plotted, all vessels in Group A have confirmed the target coordinates.  Nav is go.”

“Helm?”

“Holding station at the Jump Point.  We are free and clear for jump, with the remainder of Group A following at one minute intervals.  Reaction thrusters standing by to maneuver off of the jump point following emergence.  Helm is go.”

“Good,” answered Aramis.  “We are go for jump.  Start the clock.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” a rating answered.  “Jump Clock started—one minute until Jump Drive activation.”

The seconds ticked steadily down as Aramis looked over his readouts  and screens one final time, and then he sealed the visor of the helmet of his space suit—all personnel aboard the ships of this flotilla always wore a space suit on any jump into the unknown.

Then the countdown reached zero and Aramis felt the universe twisting in on itself.

TCJS Patrick Flannagan
Zenith Jump Point, GKV-2198
Unknown Space
July 9, 3026

“Emergence,” the rating at the helm console reported.

“Sensors are rebooting—coming online . . . now,” the engineer added over the suit’s radio and Aramis nodded.

“MOTHER OF GOD!” the petty officer at the sensor station screamed.  “CONTACT!  Multiple contacts at 30,000 plus kilometers—bearing roughly 063 Mark 174,” the petty officer paused.  “They are pretty dispersed, no organized formation—like their station keeping thrusters aren’t working.”

Aramis jerked forward in his seat—only his safety harness kept him in it.  Sure, enough, more than four dozen vessels were out there as he read the sensor data on his repeater display.  “Set Alert Condition Two!” he barked and the WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP of the klaxon sounded throughout the ship. 

“Skipper—no emissions, any band, from the contacts,” the engineer said in a flat voice.  “Including the cooling vanes—those vessels are cold and dead.”

The commander of the flotilla forced himself to sit back.  “Comm—hail them, all channels, no encryption.  Helm, back us off the jump point—do not start sail deployment!  Talk to me, Peterson!” he barked at the petty officer assigned to the sensor station.

“Aye, aye, Sir,” the two answered and Aramis swallowed heavily as he read the data the ship’s radars and other systems were collecting on the contacts.

“I’ve got forty-seven JumpShips out there, Captain, at varying ranges and bearings from 30k KM up to almost 300k,” the sensor operator said quietly.  “Most of them look like Merchants and the old Liberty-class, but there are five Leviathans, Sir, and two Aquila-class that appear to be refitted for docking collars.  As well as five WarShips—a Winchester, a Wagon Wheel, two Concordats, and a St. Helens-class Fleet Tender.  There might be more out there as well—I can’t get reliable radar returns beyond 300k kilometers.”

Stunned silence descended on the bridge, before someone—perhaps even Aramis himself—whispered into the quiet, “We found them.”

“Sir,” the comm tech said, “there is no answer on any channel.  Not even their transponders are active, Sir.”

“Whitetail emerging from jump, Sir,” the sensor tech sang out.

“Inform them of our status and tell them to go to Alert Condition Two—have them pass the word to the rest of Group A as they exit,” Aramis ordered as he stared at the cold, motionless, and silent vessels on his screen.

“Options?” he asked.

“Board them,” spoke up the Bosun bluntly.  “We’ve got a platoon of zero-G Marines trained by the SASF aboard our droppers for just this reason.”

“Still no response?” Aramis asked, and the comm tech shook her head.

“Nothing, sir.”

“Bridge, engineering.  I’m looking over the data from the sensors—those ships aren’t running on primary or auxiliary power, skipper.  Or even the damn batteries!  They aren’t radiating any heat whatsoever through the cooling vanes—that means that life support is down.  Every system onboard must be down—otherwise the sensors would have picked up something and they would venting at least some waste heat.  I can confirm they are drifting—no operational station-keeping thrusters.  The way they are scattered, their thrusters have been dead a long time.”

Aramis just kept staring at the vessels and then he nodded.  “Donato, get those Marines ready to go—we will send across both shuttles.  And take an engineering team with you.”

“Fifty-two ships out there, Captain,” the Bosun replied.  “Where do you want us to start?”

“With the Winchester—Admiral Vickers said it was the flagship of her second-in-command—Commodore Raymond Capaldi.  I want to know what the hell happened out here.  And launch the comm drone—I want to speak with Group B as soon as we are able to.”

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

“Abandoned?” Aramis asked in a shocked voice.

“Yes, Sir,” the Bosun answered as he stood in front of his captain.  “Every airlock and hatch was open to vacuum; we found no one—living or dead—aboard.  But we did find this,” and he tapped his finger on a data storage module.  “Commodore Capaldi’s log.”

“Have you . . .,” Aramis began to ask, but the Bosun was shaking his head.  “Chief Heller was right—everything over there is down, even the batteries are drained.  Those ships aren’t keeping station—not anymore.  They are drifting,” and he paused.  “But the controls for the station-keeping thrusters were set on automatic.  They operated until they used up all of the onboard fuel—their tanks were completely dry.  Even their sails have been furled; they must have done it to minimize the drift once the thrusters eventually quit keeping them in formation.”

Aramis sat back.  “We’ve confirmed two planets in the hab-zone, Donato.  No artificial emissions from either one—but they both have oxygen-nitrogen atmospheres.  Could they have gone there?”

The Bosun shook his head.  “All the DropShips are docked—along with the small craft.  Cargo bays are still full with all sorts of things a new colony would need.”

And the commander of the flotilla shook his head.  “Okay,” he said and he picked up the log module and loaded it into a slot on the side of a computer—one isolated from the rest of the ship’s network.

It took a few moments, but the module came to life and information flowed across the screen.

“Last log entry—May 20, 2597.  What the hell,” he muttered and he pressed the key that started that particular video log.

The image of an obviously exhausted man—both physically and emotionally, it seemed to Aramis—dressed in a vacuum suit with the rank insignia of a Taurian Commodore appeared on screen.  “This is my final entry,” he spoke into the helmet microphone as he looked into the recording camera.  “We haven’t found a cure—we don’t have a clue where to start looking for a cure.  This damn virus is so insidious—and the incubation period long enough that we thought the fourth planet was safe.  It’s in the water we loaded, the air we stored in our tanks, the food we gathered.”

There was a pause.  “But once that incubation period is over—the damn thing is lethal.  Every person in the expedition has tested positive—every last one of us is going to die out here so far away from home.  I had the last DropShip to return to the Task Group put a warning buoy in orbit—that solar panels should keep it powered for a good long time.  It’s set up to activate when its passive systems detect radar, so whoever you are that found this, you should get some warning.”  A tear leaked down his eye.  “It’s my fault.  I know we needed to replenish our food, water, and air, but I should have been more careful.  We followed every protocol, guideline, regulation, and standard procedure—but this thing waits so long to kick in, we didn’t know.  We just didn’t know.”

Another, longer pause.  “Once it does though, once it starts, the pain is unbearable.  And everyone who has gotten to that point has died.  So.  I’m not going to let some virus kill us.  I—and the other ship commanders—have vented our atmosphere.  Death was quick—a mercy really compared to the Hell this virus causes.  We’ve said a few words over the bodies and then buried them in space.  Jettisoned the food and water stores.  Maybe we will get rid of that virus, at least.  We are the only ones left alive.  But not for long.  This is my last entry.  I will be joining my people out there floating in space when I finish.  If anyone ever finds this—don’t land on that damn planet.  You’ll just die like we did.  Tell them back home,” and his voice cracked.  “That we failed.  That I failed.  And, I am so sorry.”

The screen went blank as the log entry ended.

“My god,” Aramis whispered.  And then he raised his head.  “Go through this completely—Bosun.  And get the medical staff looking at this—there must be some symptoms or a test we can give ourselves to find out if we carried that thing over here.”

“Shit,” the Bosun cursed and then he shook his head.  “We were in suits the whole time, Captain.  In hard vacuum aboard that ship.  And we went through De-con on our return.  It’s not likely we brought it back aboard with us.”

“Even so—this ship and everyone on it are now quarantined until I’m certain we don’t have what killed them aboard.”

“Aye, aye, Sir, I’ll pass the orders.  If we don’t die—what then, skipper?”

“We return to Taurus, of course . . .,” and then Aramis stopped himself.  “Those ships.  They are out of fuel, right?  But what about the rest of their systems?”

The Bosun shrugged.  “They have been drifting cold and lifeless for over four centuries, Sir.  They are in pretty bad shape—but I think if we fed them some fuel and got them powered up, some of them might work.  Might.  Can’t make any promises about that—thankfully, we are far enough out that they haven’t been too irradiated, but a lot of their systems are shot.”  The Bosun paused now and he shook his head.  “We don’t have nearly enough people out here to put even a skeleton crew aboard each of those ships.  And I know I wouldn’t want to be aboard one about to make a Jump until we have a thorough inspection of the systems.  But we might be able to salvage some of them, Sir.  We might.”

“Forty-seven JumpShips—including a pair of Aquila-class!—and five WarShips,” Aramis mused.  Well, he thought to himself with a chuckle, four WarShips and one Compact Core Fleet Armed Auxiliary.  Which might well prove more valuable to the Concordat than the four WarShips, since—according to history and Admiral Vickers—the St. Helens class had been designed to repair damaged WarShips in the deep space without having to return to a repair yard, as well as carry copious amounts of fuel, munitions, and spare parts for the Taurian Concordat Navy.  They were not full-on YardShips—or any substitute for an actual WarShip—by any means, but in this time and in this place, that ship would be a godsend to the Concordat.  IF he could get her operational, that was.

“The shuttles spotted at least a dozen more that are further out, skipper, but I’m not sure we’ve seen them all.  Vickers said there were a total of seventy-seven ships in her expedition.  Where would we even start?” the Bosun asked.

Aramis looked at the sensor display in his day cabin and then he shook his head.  “As much as I hate to say it, we are not going to start with the damn WarShips.  We are going to need some of Admiral Vickers people out here to tackle that.  And those two Aquila are so bloody old, I’m not about to try to bring them back to life.  Not without some specialists from our JumpShip yard on hand.”  He paused and then he nodded after he considered for a moment.  “If—IF—we are not infected and don’t die in screaming agony in a few weeks, we’ll work on getting some of the Liberty-class and the Merchants and perhaps one of those Leviathans up and running.  Depending on how badly her systems are compromised, we might try to get that St. Helens operational as well, but I doubt we can get her online by ourselves.  If we can get any of them up and running, we’ve got enough personnel to put a skeleton crew on about six or seven ships—we do that and then we go home.  And come back with enough skilled engineers, JumpShip crews, and every bloody repair tech we can find—plus food, water, air, and fuel!—and grab the rest of them we can get jump-capable.  If we don’t all die first, that is.”

“Oh, Sir.  We won’t all die even if we brought the bug back with us—just those of us on this ship.”

“That, Bosun, makes we feel just so much better.” The stoic non-com actually smiled at that and Aramis nodded.  “Okay then.  We have a plan.  First, we don’t die, then we get to work.  And that means, as of right now, pass the word.  No one on or off this ship until we get well past that incubation period or we find out what test they used and we are all negative.  Until then, we wait and we pray.”  Aramis downloaded the log to his systems and then pulled out the data storage module and handed it to the Bosun.  “And get with medical and go through every last byte of information on that thing.”

“I’ll make sure the crew understands, Captain,” and he held up the module, “and I’ll get it done.”

Aramis leaned back in his chair as the Bosun exited his day cabin and he looked at the computer monitor again.  Okay.  Time to watch the whole thing, he thought as he scrolled back to the first entry and pressed play.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on December 03, 2021, 02:14:36 PM

General Headquarters, Taurus Defense Force
Mount Santiago Defense Complex, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
July 10, 3026

“You know, never thought I would say this, but I’m liking these Taurians,” Natasha Kerensky happily said to Jaime Wolf who stood next to her in the descending elevator.  “Talk about raising saltiness to an art-form!”  She chuckled.  “A national—an interstellar!—holiday celebrating the day that the SLDF left the Inner Sphere.”

Stanford Blake, the head of the intelligence section of Wolf’s Dragoons snorted.  “They are bloody paranoid buggers, ‘Tasha.  You saw the hoops we had to jump through to get through those asteroid defense platforms surrounding Gateway Point.”

A deeper voice broke in.  “Just because you are paranoid does not always mean you are wrong, Stanford,” J. Elliot Jameson interjected sharply.  “I do not think they are right—the hard-core ones who fear another imminent Davion invasion—but they are also not completely in error.  Still, I think we made a mistake coming here, Colonel.  Most of the original Dragoons are not happy we are here.”

“I know, Elliot,” Jaime Wolf said softly.  “You have told me that at least one hundred times during the trip out here.  But we took the contract, signed it and pledged our honor to it, and took the money—you want me to tell the Protector, sorry, but we changed our minds?”

Jameson scowled and then he shook his head.  “Neg, Colonel.  We are here, so we might as well get on with what we are going to be doing.  Garrison the border worlds?  Do a bit of training, like we did in the Combine for the Ryuken?”

“That is what we are here to find out, now that we are officially on the payroll.”  Wolf paused as the elevator continued to descend—he shook his head.  He had seen Castle Brians back in the Homeworlds that had not been dug this deep.  These Taurians were serious about their fortifications.  And finally, the descent slowed to a halt and the doors slid open.  Their escort—a Brigadier—who had stood apart from the Dragoons, giving them some privacy during the trip down on the elevator, gestured towards the hallway before them.

Jaime stepped forward and he nodded to himself.  The walls and floor were immaculate, strongly built, well lit, and to either side there were doors leading to offices and storage rooms.  Two more men were waiting for them, and Jaime smiled.

“You owe me fifty C-Bills, ‘Tasha,” he whispered.

“Damn it.  He’s uglier than his pictures—who would have thought that?” she answered and passed the Colonel a 50-note.

“Welcome to Taurus, Colonel Wolf,” Thomas Calderon said warmly as he extended his hand.  “I hope that your journey here was a pleasant one—I’m not too fond of jump travel myself, not over long distances, anyway.”

“It was good enough, Protector Calderon,” Jaime answered as he took the man’s hand and shook it.  “You get used to it when you are a mercenary and always moving around.”

“I imagine so,” Thomas said and then he stared—glared—at Natasha Kerensky, who stood there shaking her head and smiling.  “So, I’m uglier than you thought I would be, Captain Kerensky?”

She didn’t even blush, but her smile got wider.  “In my experience, people with your power and wealth tend to, ah, have their features enhanced—you like 100% natural, Sir.”

“Vanity.  The downfall of many men and women.  I am me—and yes, I’m not as pretty as some; was never the belle of the ball, even before I had the accident that took my eye and left these scars.  Why hide who I am to please someone else that I don’t even know?”

Natasha laughed and she extended her hand; the Protector took it and they shook.  “Can I keep him, Colonel, Sir?” she asked.  “I think I like this one.”

And Thomas chuckled at that, as did Jaime and Stanford, although Elliot just shook his head without even the hint of a smile on his face.  “And you must be Colonel Jameson—Zeta Battalion, right?”

“I am,” the older man said simply and he too took the Protector’s hand—but J. Elliot never smiled and his eyes were cold.

“And this is?” the Protector asked, turning to Stanford.

“Major Stanford Blake, the head of my intelligence section,” Colonel Wolf answered.

“Ah.  I believe that Henri has a briefing ready for you—but first, why don’t we head down to the War Room?”

The Protector gestured down the corridor and he turned and began to walk, Jaime keeping step by his side, as the three remaining Dragoons, the Taurian Brigadier, and what must have been Thomas personal bodyguard following in their wake.

“A very impressive facility, Protector Thomas,” Jaime said bluntly.  “And I have seen a few command centers in my time.”

“We try, Colonel Wolf.  We try.  Mount Santiago is the headquarters for the entire Taurian Defense Force, Taurian Aerospace Command, and Taurian Concordat Navy.  It is probably the most secure site on the entire planet.”  Ahead of the two, a pair of guards opened a set of double doors and Jaime and the Protector entered the spacious War Room.  It was octagonal, he noted, with high vaulted ceilings, walls lined with display screens, but in the center was a round table, with leather seats arranged around it.  Each seat—each place on the table had its own computer station, screen, and—as archaic as it may sound—a land-line telephone!

It was well lit, and besides the movement of the staff assigned here to this room, six seats were occupied—and those occupants stood as the Protector entered.

“Marshal of the Armies Brenda Calderon,” Thomas said bluntly, pointing at his younger cousin, “Fleet Marshal Helena Vickers,” he continued quickly, “Henri Jouett, head of Special Intelligence and Operations, Semyon Cantrell, Exchequer of the Concordat, my brother and chief advisor Raoul Calderon, and my son and heir-designate—Brigadier Edward Calderon.”

Thomas smiled at the six men and women.  “Wolf’s Dragoon—Colonel Jaime Wolf, Colonel J. Elliot Jameson, Major Stanford Blake, and Captain Natasha Kerensky. 

Thomas circled the table and he sat between his son and his brother and then the other Taurians sat as well.  “Take a seat—any seat you want, Colonel,” he ordered briskly.  And the Dragoons did.

“You received the deployment scheme we have come up with?” Thomas asked.

“We have.  Alpha Regiment should be setting up on New Vallis, Beta on Laconis, Gamma on Mithron, Delta on Amber Grove, and Epsilon in reserve on Illiushin.”

“Good.  I understand you brought along . . . what do you call it?  Hephaestus Station?  A modular space station—a big one, I understand.  That is going to Illiushin, right?”

“That is correct, Protector Calderon,” Jaime answered.  “Illiushin is a central location between the four forward deployed regiments and makes a good place to let our dependents get on with their lives.”

“Good.  Brenda and Semyon will make certain that you have everything you need, Colonel Wolf.  Now, I don’t expect Hanse Davion to be crossing the border tomorrow,” and he paused, because it had taken a great deal of his willpower to say that out loud! And then he shook his head.  “But my people will be a lot more reassured having your regiments located in those systems.  Now, what we want to do is set up five training facilities and cycle the battalions of the TDF—and some Constabulary units—through them for intensive training against your people.  I’ve been told,” and he nodded his head to Brenda and Raoul in turn, “that learning from your experience will greatly enhance our own efficiency and combat capabilities.  For the immediate future, that is all we are going to be doing with you.”

“The immediate future?” chimed in Stanford Blake.

“Yes,” Thomas answered.  “We are looking—a year, perhaps two down the road—at paying back Max Liao for what he tried to pull on us during that Interdiction.  But that won’t happen until our units are ready.  Edward?”

“Thank you, Pop,” the young man said.  “Colonel Wolf, the TDF is the most professional and well-trained military force in the Periphery—and we can give many Inner Sphere units a run for their money as well.”  And if Jaime, J. Elliot, and Stanford disagreed, none of their faces showed it, although Natasha snorted in amusement at the statement.  Edward inclined his head towards her.  “However, we seldom deploy in more than battalion strength.  More often than most, we deploy individual companies to deal with pirates and bandits.  While the TDF has a good amount of combat experience, we are not used to operating as a unified force—instead we have concentrated on small unit action.  We want you to fix that.  Get the TDF—our troops, our commanders—in the mindset where we can deploy a full regiment—or multiple regiments—and operate together as a unit in the field instead of a collection of forty-eight companies not used to working in conjunction with the rest of their command structure.”

“We can do that,” Jaime Wolf said after a moment.  “Small unit actions are the basis of larger unit integration—if the TDF formations you send out for training are any good at maneuvering and operating on the small scale, it is just a matter of training your commanders—regiment, battalion, and company COs—how to integrate their forces and coordinate more than a dozen ‘Mechs at a time.”

“Good,” Thomas said again. 

“It will take time,” Jaime added quickly.

“We have time.  Some time, at least,” Brenda answered.  “But for right now, we have a full briefing for you and your staff—the rest of whom are being shown to one of our main briefing theatres.  We will go over—in detail—the deployment of the TDF, TAC, and TCN, along with what resources you will have at your disposal, how and where we are building the training facilities, and a tentative schedule for unit training on a rotating basis.   Right now, we are looking good—your command alone increases the size of the Taurian Defense Force by more than 40%.  At least in ‘Mech units.  We’ve got a hell of lot more armor and infantry units, but we are going to be concentrating primarily on getting our ‘Mech force up to speed, along with a few of the conventional forces.”

Jaime Wolf smiled.  “I think the TDF is going to have much sharper horns in the very near future, Marshal Calderon.  Fleet Marshal Vickers—is there any chance of getting a tour of your salvaged WarShip?”

Helena Vickers smiled.  “That is entirely up to the Protector, Colonel Wolf.  Sir?”

Thomas thought for a moment.  “Why not?  Show them your ship, Fleet Marshal.”

“Vickers,” mused Natasha.  “I knew—I grew up with—a numbers of Vickers, a long time ago.  Good stock, most of them.  Wasn’t there a Helena Vickers who fought in the Reunification War?  Your parents must have named you after her, right?”

Thomas had just raised a glass of water, taken a sip, and then he began to cough as the water went down the wrong pipe at Natasha’s comment.  He held up one hand, “Sorry.  Went down the wrong way.”

Helena turned her gaze to the Black Widow and she smiled.  “Shall we say, tomorrow then?  1400 hours at the space port—my shuttle will transport you aboard the Saucy Sam.  If that meets with your schedule, that is?”

Brenda stood after Thomas gave her a sideways look.  “If you will follow me, we can begin that briefing.  After the military briefing, I believe Henri here has another intelligence briefing for Major Blake and Colonel Wolf—and then you are all invited for dinner this evening at the Protector’s Château.   This way, if you please,” she said, gesturing towards the doors.

As the Dragoons began to follow her, J. Elliot turned his head to glare at Natasha.  “Play nice—that is an order.”

“I always play nice, Elliot,” she purred.  “Well, by my own rules, I play nice.  Don’t I?”

“Behave, Captain,” he stressed her lower rank.

“Yes, sir, Colonel Jameson, sir,” she answered with a grin.  “Oh, this is going to be fun—and don’t you know, girls just want to have fun?”

Elliot sighed and shook his head, as Natasha just laughed.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on December 10, 2021, 01:28:08 PM

Wolf’s Dragoons DropShip Chieftain
Outbound to Gateway Point, Taurus System
Taurian Concordat
July 14, 3026

Jaime Wolf looked around the small table in his executive office aboard the Command-Overlord DropShip.  J. Elliot sat to his right—as usual—and Natasha to his left.  Stanford Blake was on Natasha’s left, while Jason Carmody sat between him and J. Elliot.  The rest of his senior command staff was deployed with their regiments—and Chieftain was en route to New Vallis to rejoin Alpha Regiment and Zeta Battalion there.

“What did we learn?” the Colonel commanding Wolf’s Dragoons asked.

“First off, Colonel, there is no way in hell that they salvaged that battleship,” Jason said in a sour voice.

Wolf raised an eyebrow and he nodded at the middle-aged man who commanded an independent aerospace fighter group—and one of the few remaining Dragoons with knowledge of WarShips and their operation.  “Go ahead, Jason—tell me why it isn’t salvaged.”

Jason snorted.  “I spent eight years in the Clan Wolf Naval Reserve Cache, Colonel.  Mothballed ships take time to restore to service—derelicts take even more effort.  But that ship?  She’s too clean.”

Natasha frowned.  “They’ve had her for over eight months—what is so wrong with it being clean?”

“Not clean as in spit-polished, ‘Tasha,” Jason said as he shook his head.  “The control systems—sure some have been replaced, probably from battle damage.  But most of them are still original equipment—just like the spares in their parts locker.   You leave a WarShip or a JumpShip floating out in the deep black for a century or more without power, without crew to maintain systems,” he shook he head again.  “Too many of her systems have never been replaced—and those systems are precisely the ones that should have required replacement if she’s been drifting for more than four centuries!  Second, they found her in the Hyades, didn’t they?”

“That was certainly implied, but I do not believe anyone actually said those words,” J. Elliot said slowly, his mind working on the problem that Jason had presented him with.

“Okay then.  Where are the micro-meteoroid impacts?  Sure, she’s got some armor burns on the outer hull—one damn big crater too—but the whole hull should be covered in impact points.  You can’t drift through this nebula for four centuries and not be hit once.  And the damage she does have on the outer hull?  That’s recent—no more than a year old.  That crater in starboard side aft armor plate?  That’s a direct impact from a NAC-35—and the scoring and deterioration of the armor isn’t more than one year old at the most.”

“Impossible,” whispered Stanford.

“And look at the crew.  Colonel Wolf, Colonel Jameson, you both know just how hard you have to work to get the kind of esprit de corps we saw in that crew three days ago.  Those spacers aren’t new to that ship—they know that ship inside and out.  They know each other and know they can rely on each other when there are lives hanging in the balance.  It’s right there in plain sight, Sirs.”

“It is not possible,” Stanford insisted.  “If she’s not a derelict, where did she come from?  Where did she get the crew?  How did she get that damage if it is no more than year old?”

“Where do you think?” Jason answered, and for a moment there was silence at the table, and then Stanford barked out a burst of laughter.

“Are you mad?  You can’t be seriously suggesting that this s-ship,” he sputtered, “came—somehow!—through time from the last days of the Reunification War!”

“Why not?  We know misjumps happen.  We’ve seen ships displaced by one or two weeks sometimes if the misjump is severe enough.  What’s to say that they had one hell of a severe misjump and ended up here?” Jason answered.

“That would mean,” J. Elliot said in a slow voice, “that Helena Vickers wasn’t named for one of Concordat’s naval heroes, that she is in fact . . .,” his voice trailed off.

“. . . that Helena Vickers,” Natasha finished and she chuckled and shook her head.  “She’s a firecracker, that is for certain—hell, she intimidates me and that takes some doing!  But it also explains this Calderon Red Hand,” and she paused.

“Their new ‘Mech battalion?” asked Stanford.  “What’s so strange about that?”

“Not much, I mean, Stan, even in the Concordat I am sure you can find forty-eight or fifty dispossessed MechWarriors and given the opportunity to get back in a cockpit, they’d just be all over it.  But you did read their Inspector General’s evaluation of that unit, right?”

“They just about maxed their eval, ‘Tasha.  So?” Stanford asked in a puzzled voice, and J. Elliot and Jaime both groaned as it came to them simultaneously.

“Major Blake,” Jaime said in a patient voice, “you can always finds MechWarriors to put into a cockpit.  But you can’t put together four dozen or so and make them anywhere nearly as effective as this evaluation suggests the Red Hand is.  I read it too—just was not thinking about what it meant.  But this battalion scored higher—across the board!—than the 1st Battalion, Taurian Guards did on their last eval.  And that should be the Bulls best unit.  Period.”

“And if they put this battalion together in the last year, why do they have four companies—forty-eight ‘Mechs—all of the same tonnage, all of the exact model, all consisting of a design—the Typhon—that everyone thought was dead and extinct for over four hundred years?” Natasha added.  “Not saying I believe you, Jason, but it does explain this Red Hand—what unit today has forty-eight Archers or Grasshoppers or Warhammers and not another damn thing?”

She shrugged.  “And talking with some of their people who came back with Edward—Sir Brigadier Edward Calderon—from New Vallis, the Red Hand kept up with that battalion of the Davion Heavy Guards posing as mercs when the two were released to counter-attack the Sixth Fusiliers and put paid to Michael’s ambitions.  The battalion that was under Ardan Sortek’s command.  That’s impressive, folks.”

“A ship that shouldn’t be here, a battalion of ‘Mechs long extinct and better than any other in TDF service,” J. Elliot said softly.  “You know, when you eliminate the impossible, whatever you are left with, however improbable, tends to be the truth.”

Stanford just stared at the others his mouth opening and closing without saying a word, and then Jaime sighed.  “And this affects us . . . how?  How does this change our operation out here?  To evaluate the Concordat as a possible base—industrial, at the least—to defend against the Homeworlds when they finally decide to come and invade.”

“It doesn’t,” J. Elliot said bluntly—but firmly.  “So they came forward in time.  They don’t have tech better than ours and we will see just how good their Red Hand really is on New Vallis.”

“They fought the Star League, Colonel Jameson!” snapped Stanford.

“And they lost.  Then the Star League fell, Major Blake, and not even General Kerensky could keep it alive, which is why Nicholas founded our society in the Homeworlds and led us back to the Pentagon for Klondike.  Putting an end to the rotting corpse of the Star League once and for all time,” J. Elliot replied in a bitter voice.

“My, aren’t we a ray of sunshine, today, old man,” chimed in Natasha with a smile.

“Keep on, Natasha—I know exactly how old you really are,” J. Elliot replied.  “And I am not that much older than you.”

“It’s not the years, Colonel Jameson, Sir.  It’s the damned mileage,” and she chuckled.  “Okay then.  I’m good with this—it has the potential for not being boring at least.  And I can always take the Black Widow Company out to Tortuga for some target practice if I get antsy and don’t see any action for a while.”

“Thomas might even pay for that, ‘Tasha,” Jaime said with a chuckle of his own. 

“God, I love this job.  I get paid for breaking things and blowing shit up.”

“And don’t forget—Thomas is planning on going into the CapCon in a year or two,” Jaime said more seriously.

And Natasha’s face stilled.  “Good,” she said flatly.  “I still owe Max a debt for handing our contract over to Anton.”  She paused for a moment and then looked up.  “Okay, Jay-El,” and she smiled.  “What’s say my Black Widow Company, a company from Zeta, and two from Alpha take on the Red Hand in wargames when we unload on New Vallis?  If you can keep up that is—old man.”

“One of these days, Natasha,” J. Elliot growled, “I am going to put you over my knee and give you a spanking you will never, ever forget.”

Natasha smiled suddenly.  “Promises, promises, promises, Jay-El.  Always with the promises but you never follow through.”

Cháteau des Calderon
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
July 15, 3026

“. . . and Precentor Taurus reports that—as of this morning—every HPG in the Taurian Concordat is once again operational and interstellar communications have been restored,” Semyon Cantrell concluded.

Thomas frowned.  He still wasn’t happy about having ComStar back in the Concordat, but then he nodded.  “Good.  What about the fund transfers from the Magistracy of Canopus, the Free Worlds League, and the Draconis Combine?”

“First installments have been transferred to the Treasury, Thomas,” Semyon answered with a grin.  “At the moment—even after paying the initial fees to Colonel Wolf for his services, the government is flush with capital.  Stocks are on a sharp rise and exports have almost doubled since we lifted the ban on exporting to worlds of the Federated Suns, even with the embargo on the Capellan Confederation.”

“Good.  Erebor?”

Raoul cleared his throat, even as Edward smiled.  “We will be ready to begin the first classes in August, Thomas,” his brother answered.  “Right now—and probably for the next two years—we are going to be focused on retraining educators, engineers, and scientists.  Thankfully, they aren’t going to need to go through the whole program—just focus on their particular professions and process, then integrate, the information from the Vickers Core.”

“Which,” Edward added, “has now not only been downloaded and copied multiple times, but we are beginning to distribute the various texts and art and music to libraries across the Concordat.  We’ve got a ways to go yet, but the knowledge is starting to flow out.”

Brenda Calderon nodded.  “And our industries which we gave a first look at the engineering data are almost done gearing up—in six months Vandenberg Military Industries will start producing the upgraded model of the Talos that was included in the Core.  Taurus Territorial Industries say it’ll be a year, but we are going to be building the Typhon as well.  Even Pinard Protectorates are getting into the act—they are going to put the Skyhawk back into production at their ASF facility within the next nine months.  The Rattlesnake is now in full production as well, and we are getting requests from the AFFS and LCAF to buy any surplus production.”

Joachim Perez, the Commodore who commanded the Taurian Aerospace Command, cleared his throat.  “The Outworlders have already asked about licensing the Skyhawk design—they took one look at it and fell head-over-heels in love!”  And he smiled broadly.  “We are looking good right now and will be a whole lot in just a few years.  Still not where we should be, but we are getting there, Protector Caldeorn.”

Thomas nodded and he leaned back in his seat.  “Give them the license with my blessing.  And what are my people saying about all this?”

Raoul grinned.  “Your support among the citizenry of the Concordat has never been higher Thomas—by-and-large, the people approve of what you are doing.  Not only are you the Protector who smashed McCarron’s Armored Cavalry and the Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers into wrack and ruin, but you ended the interdiction and got Wolf’s Dragoons out here to keep us safe.  Not to mention ended the Cold War with House Davion.  And the information pouring out of the Core—the non-military applications—the public sees that we are on the very verge of a new Renaissance.  Well,” he paused, “except for the CRP hard-liners who are absolutely furious over the Treaty Edward signed in your name.”

“Henri?” the Protector asked.

“We are watching them, my Lord Calderon.  We are watching them closely,” Henri replied in a somber voice.  “But, at this moment, they are only exercising their right to speak.  I have, however, increased security for you, your family, and senior government officials considerably.  If they decide to try something, we will be ready.”

“Like the Lyrans were ready for that attempted assassination of Melissa Steiner by one of Hasek’s fanatics?” Brenda asked sharply.

Henri shook his head.  “That came completely out of the blue,” and Henri shook his head as he remembered reading the confidential messages sent to Hanse Davion on New Syrtis via the Model K-0.  And the scathing and shocked replies!  “No one was expecting anything like that—and it was well planned weeks if not months in advance.  The Steiners got lucky.”

“How is that going to affect our plans?” asked Thomas.

“Right now, the Lyran Intelligence Corps and Davion’s MIIO are conducting intensive interrogations and running a thorough investigation throughout the Capellan March and the Hasek family.  They really don’t have a choice—it isn’t sitting well with Davion’s own hard-liners who aren’t happy with how he is currently treating the Haseks or for signing the treaty with you.”

Thomas sighed.  He sat back and he felt his stomach roll—his throat was actually dry at what he was forcing himself to say.  “How can we help?” he finally spat out.  And Thomas felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned his head to look at Edward and put his own hand on top of his son’s as he nodded at the approving face.

“I do not believe that we can—at the moment, Sire,” Henri answered.  “Other than keep our own hot-headed fools under control.”

Thomas nodded his understanding.  And then he chuckled.  “Never once in my life did I think I would be asking my government how we can help the damned Davions!” he whispered.  “Helena?”

The Fleet Marshal shook her own head.  “I well know that feeling, Protector Calderon,” she said in a wry voice.  “On the naval side, Chandler Shipwrights has completed the first Spacedock and started work on the second,” and she too chuckled.  The grandiosely named ‘Spacedocks’ were little more than orbiting scaffolding for unpressurized repair—and construction—yards.  They were a far cry from the state of the art and extensive shipyards of her own time, but something that the Concordat had lacked for far too long.  “Vandenberg will start her overhaul and retrofit mid-August, and when Spacedock 2 comes online, we are putting the Saucy Sam in her to finally repair the armor damage and fix some issues with her systems.”

“We have also received the first two Behemoths—the ones that the AFFS said they were sending.  Chandler has begun cutting them up and starting their conversion to the Goliath-class escorts.  It will take six months—at a minimum—but things are looking good on those two fronts.  The addition of the eleven JumpShips we captured from the . . . pirates . . . at New Vallis has given the TCN and TDF more options, but finding crews for those ships is stretching manpower.  And that will get worse after we get Vandenberg operational.  We are expanding training classes, but the TCN has been a rather low priority in this Concordat for quite some time.”

“Well that is going to change, Helena,” Thomas growled.  And he nodded at the commander of the Taurian Concordat Navy.  “How is your crew adapting?” he asked in a rather more quiet tone.

“Most of them are well—some are having problems adjusting,” she answered in a voice just as quiet.  “Some want to leave the service and retire—I have managed to convince most of them to stay a while longer, at least until we can get replacements trained and ready to take their place, but there are some in my crew who just want to go home.  Or at least make a new home,” she finished sadly.

“Hearing that beach on Brisbane calling your name, Fleet Marshal?” Thomas asked in a voice that was—only slightly—teasing.  And Helena smiled at him.

“When the work is done, Protector Calderon.  Not until after we deal with the Capellans, at the soonest, I’m afraid.”  And then she smiled.  “Although, according to one interpretation of the TCN Regulations, I have amassed quite a bit of shore-leave.”

Thomas chuckled.  “Take a vacation, Helena.  One of us needs to take one, anyway.”

“After we deal with the Capellans, Sire,” she answered with a smile.  And then that smile faded.  “Are you sure you can trust these Dragoons?” she asked.  “They don’t strike me as your typical mercenaries.  During the tour, they were asking all of the right questions for people who don’t know the first thing about WarShips.  Some of them were asking anyway.  I don’t think they believe you salvaged that ship.”

Thomas leaned back in his chair and he sighed.  “They have always honored their contracts, Helena; even when they suffered a lot of damage in the process.  Are they going to a problem for us, Henri?”

“I don’t believe so, Sir.  But, having spoken with their Major Blake over the past few days, I think their intelligence assets are quite a bit more extensive than we realized.  That man is sharp—and his sources are good.”

Edward cleared his throat and Thomas nodded at his son.

“What difference does it make if they know the truth about the Samantha Calderon and Fleet Marshal Vickers, Pop?”

“They aren’t Taurians, son,” Thomas snapped, but then he paused.  “But they are good at keeping secrets, right Henri?”

“After all these years, not one of them has ever revealed where exactly they came from, Sire.”

“You think we should tell them, Edward?” Thomas asked.

“We are trusting them with getting the TDF and Constabulary trained and ready for war, Pop.  I think telling them the truth will get us their respect—it will show them that we trust them.  And if we can’t, if they tell others, well,” Edward shook his head, “then that is something we need to know and know before we get them integrated too deep into our operational planning.”

Henri chuckled and Thomas looked at his son for several moments and then he nodded.  “Okay, Brigadier Calderon.  I’m sending you back to New Vallis—as aide-de-camp to Corey out there at I Corps HQ—so let’s kill two birds with one stone,” and the corner of Thomas’ lip raised slightly as he saw the shocked expression on Edward’s face . . . and then the grin as he realized he was going to see Moira again.  “You are authorized to fully brief Colonel Wolf and his staff on the truth.  Henri,” he continued, turning his gaze on the intelligence ministers, “you keep an eye out and an ear out.  If they betray that trust, I want to know.”  Thomas paused.  “If they don’t, I still want to know.”

“It will be done, Sire,” the intelligence minister answered with a slight bow of his head.

“Are there any other matters of concern before us today?” Thomas asked.

“Security needs to know just how many of the family will be attending the playoff game next week, my Lord,” Henri said.  “You are still planning on watching the game from the Protector’s Box?”

“First time in eighteen years the Samantha City Cavaliers have won the division pennant?  I’m not about to miss that—and Katherine and the children are just as big baseball fans as I am.  Raoul, you and the twins are coming as well, right?”

“Barring any unexpected illness among the girls, we’ll be there, Tom.”

Thomas smiled.  “Okay, Henri.  Tell security to plan on the whole family—minus Edward, sorry son, but you’re transport to New Vallis leaves tomorrow—will be attending.”

“Send me the video afterwards—without spoilers, Pop, if you don’t mind!”  Edward said with a grin.

“I think we can do that.  And if there is nothing else for today, I think we are finished,” Thomas said as he stood, followed by everyone else at the table.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on December 11, 2021, 11:56:46 AM

I'm getting a Sum of All Fears feeling about that game.  :-\

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on December 13, 2021, 09:31:03 PM

TCJS Patrick Flannagan
Zenith Jump Point, GKV-2198
Unknown Space
July 17, 3026

“. . . and medical has administered the test for the virus to all members of the crew—twice, Sir,” the Bosun reported.  “Not one positive result.”

Thank god, Aramis thought to himself as he released the lungful of air he had unconsciously drawn and held.  “Good.  Captain Walsh is jumping Group B to join us here at the Zenith Point tomorrow . . . with the additional ships, supplies, and crews, how is that going to help with the salvage effort?”

“We ain’t gonna salvage much, Sir,” the Bosun said in a sour voice.  “Every last of those derelicts has blown helium seals—I figure that fatigue and a lack of maintenance caused them all to fail.  None of those ships have any liquid helium left in their cooling tanks.  Now,” and he shrugged, “since the drives were dead cold when that happened, there shouldn’t be any permanent damage, but replacing the seals and liquid helium will take time.  And we don’t have a lot of either of those particular spares aboard the flotilla.  Sir.”

Aramis frowned.  Actually, they did.  Each JumpShip in the flotilla carried two full sets of replacement seals and enough liquid helium tankage to refill the cooling system twice.  But . . . he couldn’t use all of those spares in case one of his ships lost their own seals on the way home.  No, he had to keep a reserve—just how much of a reserve was the question at hand.

He shook his head.  “Talk to me, Bosun,” he ordered, asking the more experienced spacer for advice. 

“The boys down in engineering—and on the other ships—want to concentrate on getting six of those Merchants out there up and running.  Not a bad idea—we’ve got six Merchants in the flotilla ourselves and doing that will leave plenty of spare seals and helium for the voyage home.  But, I think we should instead grab four of those Liberty class floating out there.  It’ll cost us about the same amount of supplies as the six Merchants, but require less crew to man—and gives us four more docking collars.”

“Not any of the Leviathans?” Aramis asked.

The Bosun shook his head.  “Those things require a lot of helium, boss.  We could get one and two Liberty class, but that would cut our reserve stockpile to right at the bare minimum.  And those Compact Core ships?  The Aquilas and the WarShips?  They require three times as much helium tankage as a JumpShip of the same tonnage would.  They are all—including that St. Helens—way over what we can afford to spare.  If we want to make certain everyone in the Flotilla comes home.”

Damn, Aramis thought to himself again and then he nodded his head.  “Okay.  When Walsh gets here with Group B, let’s concentrate on picking out four of the Liberty class that are in the best condition—and tell medical that we will continue daily blood draws and screening to make damn sure that the virus doesn’t get aboard.  That includes full decontamination procedures for any personnel going aboard those ships.”

“Heard and understood, boss,” the Bosun answered.  “But we really need to consider what those sixteen collars are gonna be hauling back home, Sir.”

Aramis sat back.  From the reports he had already read, each and every one of those DropShips was loaded down with cargo that the Concordat—and its member worlds—desperately needed.  But the Bosun obviously had some ideas that differed from his own.

“Go ahead, Bosun, talk to me.”

“They’ve got a pair of Snowden Mining Stations over there, boss,” he said with a smile.  “Fully stocked and ready to be put back into service.”

Aramis sat up straight.  “The original Snowden?  The one with the K/F booms?”  And Aramis began to smile.

“Yes, Sir, Commodore, Sir.  And that derelict fleet has a modular space station—which includes a shipyard module large enough to accommodate a Wagon Wheel or any smaller WarShip or JumpShip.  It is small, compared to an Olympus, but the damn thing still takes up six collars.  I think we need to bring that one back, too.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you found those earlier?” Aramis snapped.

“Just got the report on them a few minutes before I reported here to your day cabin, Sir,” the Bosun answered with a chuckle.

Aramis shook his head.  “You have a low and mean sense of humor, Bosun.”

“I try, Sir.  I do try.”

Aramis snorted.  “That is eight collars—eight left.  Any ideas on those?”

“Yes, Sir.  The Winchester is carrying two Legionnaires—the Wagon Wheel has another two.  Both are fully loaded.  That is two battalions of ‘Mechs with attached aerospace fighters—battalions with four companies each.  The Protector will have an orgasm if we bring him those four droppers back.”

“Part of the Red Hand?”

“No, sir.  According to the manifest, they were part of the Concordat Chasseurs and Concordat Velites—two battalions each with forty-eight of the second generation Talos and eight Skyhawks.”

“Well, bringing ninety-six ‘Mechs and sixteen ASF home—plus the rest, plus the information on where the remainder of the Exiles Fleet is located—ought to please the Protector something fierce.  The last four collars?”

The Bosun shrugged.  “Pick a Jumbo—any Jumbo.  There are almost a hundred of those damned things over there and all loaded down with supplies for a colonial expedition.”

“Okay.  Sounds like a plan.  Pick me out a pair of Jumbos and four Liberty class that are in the best condition—and then we are going to get to work on moving those modules and DropShips.  And when we are done, we are all going home.”

With a few golden nuggets in hand and information on where to find the whole damned motherlode, Aramis thought with a smile.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on December 14, 2021, 12:43:26 AM

Victor Taurens Memorial Stadium
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
July 21, 3026

“Jake the Snake is ready on the mound . . . he waves off the first signal . . . waves off the second signal . . . here’s the windup!  Aaaand, the pitch!  Fast ball on the inside!”

CRACK!

“DAMN IT!” snapped Thomas as he watched the designated hitter for the Pinard Pirates drive the ball straight down the 3rd base line; it bounced off the wall just one meter shy of clearing it.  A double, at the least.

“And Espinozo rounds third and slides into home to tie up the game in the top of the ninth!” the announcer broadcast.  “All tied up at six runs for both teams in this winner-take-all playoff to determine the conference champions.  Jake the Snake Schaeffer looks worried; one out and runners for the Pirates on second and third.”

“Give me the phone,” Thomas snarled to Raoul.

“Tom, let them play,” his brother said with a wry smile on his face.  “Besides, Katherine is coming back from the little girl’s room—so behave.”

“Thomas Calderon,” she said with a scowl on her face, “I—and your children—could hear you clear in the lavatory.  Watch your language,” she ordered and then turned to Raoul who was handing Thomas the phone.  “Really, Raoul?  Why are you encouraging him?”

“He’s my older brother—and the Protector.  Besides,” he continued as he passed the phone to Thomas, “if I don’t he might just have a stroke.”

“Hello?” Thomas said as he took the phone and raised it to his ear and mouth.  “Get me the Cavalier dugout.  Yes.  Yes!  I know it is the middle of the game!  Get me the dugout and put that idiot coach on!”

“Time out has been called and there is a conference on the Cavalier mound.  Schaeffer is handing over the ball and heading to the dugout.  And coming out of the bullpen is . . . Philippe Suchet.  This will be Suchet’s first appearance in the post-season following his injury in the final game of the regular season.”

“SUCHET!?!” Thomas shouted as he stared through the armored glass window that filled the front of the Protector’s box, the phone forgotten in his hand.

“Thomas,” Katherine said patiently.  “It is a game, Thomas.  Your realm does not depend on the outcome, right?”

Thomas just looked at her in horror and then turned his gaze back down to the ball field where the replacement pitcher was completing his warm-up pitches.

“Suchet,” he whispered.  “The last eight games of the season, he threw a dozen pitches that were all hit for home runs!  He almost cost us the pennant!” Thomas wailed, as he hung up the phone, even as a bewildered voice on the other end said, hello?  Is there anyone there?

“Just a game, Thomas.  Win or lose, we—you—will be a good sport about it.  As an example to the children.  Right, Thomas?”

The Protector sputtered again and his mouth opened and closed and then opened again.  “Suchet?!?” he whined.  “What are they thinking down there?”

“Right, Thomas?” Katherine asked in a sterner voice.

And Thomas sighed and then he turned back to his wife and he nodded.  “Good sport.  No cursing.  I will behave myself,” he paused and turned to Henri Jouett.  “If he costs us the game, have him traded and shipped out to some team as far away from Taurus as you can get him,” he whispered.

Henri smiled and shook his head.  “Neither you nor I own the Cavaliers, my Lord Protector.”

“Well, buy them,” Thomas growled.

“We’ve tried—Thoreau won’t sell.”

“Da-ang it,” Thomas stuttered with a sideways look at Katherine, who nodded her approval at his sudden change in word choice.

“The count is 0 and 2 and here comes the pitch!  Curve ball and Morton swings!  Strike three!  Suchet has retired two in a row as the Cavaliers return to their dugout to start the bottom of the ninth inning here in Samantha City!”

“WHAT!” shouted Thomas as he turned back to stare down at the field.  “How . . . what . . . I missed it!”

“Six pitches—six strikes, and the Cavs have a chance to win this game without extra innings,” said Raoul.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Thomas wailed.

“You were having such fun whining, Tom, I didn’t want to stop you,” his brother answered with a laugh.

“Whining?  I wasn’t . . . I was, wasn’t I?” he finished, shaking his head.

Katherine walked over and took Thomas by the arm and pulled him towards their seats—the best two seats in the entire stadium.  “Come on, Thomas.  Let’s watch the Cavaliers win this game.  And enjoy it.”

“Okay,” Thomas whispered as he sat.  “And I’ll behave even if we don’t.”

“If you do that,” Katherine whispered in his ear, “I might even let you get frisky tonight, my love.”

Thomas turned to stare at his wife and then be began to smile.

CRACK!

And just as quickly, his head jerked around and he looked at the ball soaring towards the right field wall.  “GO!  GO!” he yelled as he stood up and pounded his fist in the air.

“And Barton connects on the first pitch of the bottom of the ninth!  It’s going deep . . . it might clear the wall . . . and it is a home run!  The Cavaliers take the lead and the conference championship with a homerun by Elliot Barton!  The Cavaliers win it!”

“Oh.  My.  God,” Thomas whispered as he sat back down.  “We won.  We won,” he said in an incredulous voice.

“We won, Thomas,” Katherine said as she laid her head on his chest and Thomas hugged her tight.  Then she sat up and pointed her finger at the Protector.  “And don’t you be spoiling the ending when you send the video to Eddie!” she ordered.

“I would never,” Thomas insisted, but he stopped at Katherine’s glare.  “Okay, I might.  I probably would.  Okay, I was going to gloat in my message—but I won’t if you insist.”

“Damn right, I do, Tommy-boy,” she whispered.  “What say we head home and put the kids to bed early—then we go to bed early?” and she smiled, her eyes twinkling.

Thomas swallowed heavily and then he smiled.  “Henri, tell security to have the cars brought around.  We are going home.”

“Of course, Sire,” Henri answered, even as Raoul chuckled and the nannies were rounding up the children.

ComStar “A” Station
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
July 21, 3026

“We had our chance at the stadium!” Precentor Taurus hissed.  “The Primus wants Calderon and his family dead—they were all there!”

“All of them except Edward,” Adept Robert West answered in a somber voice.  “And trying it at the stadium would have resulted in nothing but a blown operation and dead agents—our agents.”

“The Primus wants results, Adept!”

“Well, the Primus can bloody well wait!  Precentor, we have to do this right—and we have to implicate the Capellans.  Now, you are my superior in the Order, so you can relieve me—but Primus Kristofur himself assigned me this task and I am going to do my absolute best to carry it out.  Which means that if you order me to do something that will fail, I will just ignore you.”

“Why you insolent, son-of-a-. . .,” the new Precentor Taurus began to snarl, but he stopped when he looked at the cold, cold eyes of Robert West.

“Kristofur wants results, not action that fails to deliver the result he desires.  And if you don’t get that, Precentor Taurus, well.  You can be replaced.  You can be . . . retired, if you get my meaning.”

Philip Dane froze and then he swallowed.  “Are . . . are you threatening me?”

“I am, Precentor,” Robert answered with no change to his facial expression.  “Now let me get on with doing my job and Thomas will be dead in two months—otherwise, I’m going to have to message Terra than we another new Precentor Taurus out here in the hinterlands of the Periphery.”

Robert West stood from his seat and took two steps towards the door, and then he paused and turned half-around.  “I am going to take your silence as confirmation you are going to let me do my job—interfere one more time, however, and I’ll see to your retirement myself.”

Philip Dane did not say another word until Robert had exited and closed the door behind him.  And even then, it was only a whisper.  “Bastard,” but the voice that spoke that word was trembling and full of fear.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on December 14, 2021, 05:43:33 AM

Ah, that evil phone company is at it again.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on December 16, 2021, 07:00:11 AM

Fortress-class DropShip Black Bull
Inbound to New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
July 27, 3026

“Are you still brooding?” asked Jon Kincaide as he stepped over the hatch coming and entered the small cabin that was not only Edward’s sleeping compartment, but his office aboard the DropShip.

Edward snorted and he shook his head.  “I’m not brooding, Jon.”

The Subaltern chuckled and he sat down on the sole empty chair in the cabin and shook his head.  “Sure, you aren’t.  I mean, you are the one who has been pushing Space Master Lefebvre for a 2.5-g run to New Vallis—and he has constantly said no.  So, you’ve got another six days—instead of two and a half!—before you hit the tarmac and can say hi to your young lady doctor down there.”

Edward blushed and Jon smiled broadly.  “You’ve got it bad, Eddie,” he said in a laughing tone.  “You did get her radio message, though—she knows you are in-system and coming to see her.”

Edward looked up and he glared at Jon, but the gaze didn’t affect his best friend in the least.  And then he sighed.

“I got her message—and the ones from Baron Tyrell and Uncle Corey, as well the new Governor that Pop appointed.  And damn if I know just how much time I am going to have to spend with Moira!” he snapped.  “Uncle Corey wants me to report to his HQ right after we ground—Baron Tyrell thinks I should spend a month—a month!—touring and inspecting Defense Force installations scattered across New Vallis—Governor Hampton expects me, as my father’s son and Heir-Designate, to spend what little free time I am going to have making public appearances with him to boost his own popularity!”

It was all that Jon could do to keep himself from laughing as he saw the expression on Edward’s face.  But, he managed to turn the laugh into a brief cough, and shook his head.  “Guess you didn’t get the other three messages that we received.”

Edward groaned.  “You mean still more people want me to spend my time with them and not Moira?”

“Well, Raphael Mendoza has extended an invitation for you—along with myself and the ‘Mechs of your bodyguard—to participate in a field training exercise,” Jon said with a smile.  “The FTX will square off the Red Hand against elements of the Wolf’s Dragoons Alpha Regiment and Zeta Battalion, by the way.”

“Oh,” Edward whispered as he sat up and then leaned back in his chair.  “Oh!” he repeated in much stronger and more excited voice.

“Well, he thinks that since Corey and your father kept you out of the Battle of the Glitterstream, you might appreciate getting some time in the field with him and his troops for a week or two of maneuvers and training exercises against the Dragoons.  If you are interested, that is.”

“I am interested, Jon, very interested,” but then Edward sighed.  “But I doubt that Uncle Corey will authorize it.  He’s already sent me my work schedule and expects me to be ready to assume the role as his ADC the moment we touch down.”

“Marshal Calderon did plan on you doing just that, Sir Edward,” Jon said with another beaming smile.  “The second message was from your father.  At the request of Brigadier Mendoza, the Protector of the Taurian Concordat has amended your orders, changing the date on which you are to report to I Corps HQ as Marshal Calderon’s Aide-de-camp from August 2nd to August 20th.  He sent a copy of the message to Baron Tyrell as well, telling him that you are not the Inspector General of the Taurian Defense Force and to stay out of your, ahem,” Jon paused and cleared his throat, “affairs.  And your father says not to worry about Governor Hampton—any requests he makes for your time are just that.  Requests.  Not orders you are bound to obey.”

Edward smiled and he nodded.  “In that case, hell yes, Jon!  Get with the detail and get them up to speed—and have the Techs go over your ‘Mech and mine to make sure they are ready.”  And then his smile faded.  “Of course, being in a two week FTX means I won’t see Moira for at least a fortnight!”

“The FTX is scheduled to begin on August 6th and conclude on August 19th.  We ground at the space-port early in the morning on the 2nd and you don’t report to I Corps HQ until 0900 local times on the 20th.  That gives you three—almost four!—free days before you have the FTX begins,” Jon informed the young man in a bright and cheerful voice and then he laughed at the look on Edward’s face.

And Jon laughed.  “Come on, Eddie.  Sure, it might be a bit of nepotism,” and Jon held up one hand in a placating gesture as Edward glared at him, “okay, it is a lot of nepotism since the Protector doesn’t often amend TDF orders for a mere Brigadier on a routine change of duty station.  You could always message your father back and tell him thank you, but no thank you and report early to Marshal Calderon on the 2nd.  I’m sure he can find you some work to keep you occupied, if using the family influence for a bit of personal gain is too much of a cross to bear.”

Edward began to answer then he shut his mouth and he began to chuckle.  “I think I will accept a bit of family influence just this once, Jon.”

“Good, because I’d hate to have to explain to Moira that you had a chance to spend three and a half days with her, but you refused to do so because of your own stupid pride.”

“Come to think of it,” Edward whispered, “so would I.  She’d be pretty upset over the whole thing if I was foolish enough to turn it down, wouldn’t she?”

“Oh, she wouldn’t kill you—I think.  Just a bit of maiming and possibly crippling,” Jon answered with a chuckle.

And Edward snorted.  “Yeah.  And the third message?”

Jon smiled again.  “Oh, that?  Moira sent you another message—your father mentioned in his message that he and your step-mother personally informed Moira Tyrell of the changes he made in your orders—and that he has also instructed Marshal Calderon and Baron Tyrell to give you both a bit of privacy,” and Jon paused.  “But you will have members of the detail present escorting you both wherever you two go and whatever you two decide to do.”

Edward began to smile and this time, the smile finally reached his eyes.  “Hopefully, just not in the same room,” he finally managed to whisper.

“They will give you some space—but they are going to stay close in case someone decides they would like you better if you were dead, Eddie.  And that isn’t gonna change anytime soon, my friend.”

“Did you . . .,” Edward began to ask.

“Nope.  Haven’t opened Moira’s message and I made damn sure that neither the detail nor the crew of this boat did as well.”  Jon held out a data-card.  “Here you go,” he said as he handed the message to Edward.  He stood.  “And I am going to the ‘Mech bay to make certain that the Techs have our T-Bolts ready to go when we land.”

“Thanks, Jon,” Edward said as he too stood and shook the man’s hand.

“All part of the job of being your personal body-guard, aide, and friend, my friend.”

And with, Jon exited the cabin and closed the hatch behind him.

Edward sat down at the computer station and inserted the data card and the message loaded, and he sat there rapt as he listened to Moira speak about her plans for the three—perhaps four!—blessed days they would have together.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on December 20, 2021, 12:14:23 AM

Henderson Space Port
Port Sheridan, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
August 2, 3026

Edward passed through the doors of the arrival concourse and his smile faded as he noticed who was waiting for him.

“Eddie, my boy!” Corey Calderon said loudly.  “Welcome back to New Vallis.”

“Uncle Corey,” Edward forced a smile on his face and shook the older man’s hand.  Since Corey hadn’t addressed him as Brigadier, Edward hoped that it meant this meeting was neither formal nor work.

Corey shook his head with a grin.  “Not planning on ruining you spending a few days with your young lady, Eddie,” he said with a chuckle.  And then his happy expression faded.  “But, first, we need to talk,” and he motioned with one hand towards one of the security rooms where customs inspectors—on occasion—questioned visitors to New Vallis.

Edward frowned, but then he nodded.  “Okay then,” and he walked over to the door which was guarded by four men—but these weren’t customs agents or standard spaceport security.  No, these men were serious and expressionless and their eyes flitted from one passerby to the next.  Edward had grown up in the care of men and women just like these—and the tension he already felt ratcheted up another couple of notches.

One of the agents opened the door, and Edward walked in, followed by Corey and Jon Kincaide, then the door was closed behind the three.  A fourth person was already seated in the room and she rose as they entered.

“Sir Edward,” she said politely, “Marshal Calderon thought that perhaps it would be for the best if you and I met here and now.  I am Special Agent in Charge Abigail Carnes and I work for Henri Jouett.”

“Special Intelligence and Operations,” Edward replied.

“I am the station chief here on New Vallis—the last two times you were here, we didn’t meet.  That was because both of those times there was no reason for you to be aware of my identity and no real benefit to brief you on intelligence matters not within your purview.”  And she paused.

“That has now changed,” she said sadly.

“How so?” asked Edward.

The SAIC for New Vallis motioned to the seats and Edward sat, followed by Corey and Abigail, although Jon remained standing just behind and to the side of his charge.

Corey sighed.  “It’s the damn CRP, Eddie.  They have been flooding the airwaves with talk of how you are a traitor to the Concordat, that you remain in your position and as Heir-designate only because your father doesn’t want to cause a scandal by throwing you out—they believe and they are trying to make others believe that you sold out the Taurian people to Hanse Davion and the Federated Suns.”

“And those broadcasts and editorials and town hall meetings where the CRP has been spewing this crap has fallen on a few people easily influenced.  Special Intelligence and Operations has intercepted a number of communications between members of the CRP and people not previously associated with that party.  Communications that discuss the solution to the ‘problem of traitor and turn-coat Edward Calderon’ in most vivid detail,” Abigail added.

Corey nodded, his jaw set and a furious look in his eyes.  “When they got word that you were being posted here, the crazies and fanatics dialed up their rhetoric even higher.  SIO has uncovered both voice and text signal traffic that indicate they intend to kill you, Eddie.”

Jon stiffened behind him, but Edward forced himself to remain calm.  After all, threats against the Protector and his family were nothing new.  But this wasn’t Taurus.  And while his security detail was good—the best in fact that the Concordat could offer—it was only a small fraction of the Protector’s Own:  the men and women entrusted with keeping the Protector and his family alive and well.

“I take it that the means through which SIO acquired the signals intelligence means we can’t go through the Courts?” Edward asked.

Abigail smiled.  “Actually, we have arrested almost everyone implicated and they have been charged, arraigned, and are awaiting trail—all in accordance with the law.”

“Almost everyone,” Edward pointed out the key words from her statement, and she nodded.

“Seven of the suspects managed to elude our capture teams—we think when we started rounding up those members of the CRP and their followers, they got just enough of a warning to vanish.  We are hunting them down—but, Sir Edward, you are in grave danger here on New Vallis.”

Corey leaned forward and he sighed.  “And so is anyone in your company, Eddie.”

Now Edward did sit and his face whitened.  “Moira,” he whispered.

“Moira Tyrell,” Corey confirmed.  “We’ve got her a protection detail shadowing her around the clock, but all it takes if for one of these fanatics to get lucky once, just like that attempted assassination of Melissa Steiner on Tharkad showed us.  Erwin is worried, Eddie, and so am I.  So is Abigail.”

“Which means?” Edward asked. 

“For now,” Abigail answered after a brief glance at the Marshal who commanded the I Corps of the TDF, “I would recommend that you and Moira Tyrell be placed in secure custody where none of those associated with the CRP or their followers can reach you.  At least until we apprehend those fugitives still at large.”

Edward snorted.  “I’ll bet Moira told you two—and her father!—just where to stick that secure custody,” he said in a voice that held absolutely no laughter.

“Since I’d lose that bet if I took it, I’m not gonna take it, son,” Corey answered.  And he sighed.  “Eddie, Erwin and I want you to talk to her—get her to do the right thing.  It won’t be forever, but she’s putting herself at risk going back-and-forth to Port Sheridan General Hospital and working there while these assholes are out there trying to make you hurt even if they can’t manage to kill you.”

For a moment, Edward was silent, but then he nodded.  “I’ll talk to her, but I doubt she is going to back down, Corey.  She won’t let fanatics win by showing she’s afraid of them.”  And he let out a soft and bitter chuckle.  “Just like you or I or Pop or Erwin won’t.”

Corey nodded.  “I figured that you might say that.  So.  Erwin, Raphael Montoya, and myself go together with Colonel Wolf and we moved up the FTX—it starts at 0600 tomorrow morning.  And I’ve spoken—behind the scenes—with the administrator of Port Sheridan General, and he’s agreed that we might just need a trauma team on-call out there.  And do you know who he picked to lead that team?”

Edward snorted and he shook his lead.  “Let me guess—one Doctor Moira Tyrell?”

“Right you are, my boy!”  Corey smiled.  “She can’t complain because it is a prestigious posting requiring only the best in trauma care specialists—and Colonel Wolf has assigned his 7th Kommando special operations team to provide security for the medical detachement . . . and your quarters.”

“Combined with the rest of your detail,” Abigail continued, “we can keep you safe out there on the military reservation—none of the fugitives should be able to even get on the base, much less near you.  And if they do, the 7th Kommando, base security, and your detail are authorized to respond with lethal force.”

She sighed and shook her head.  “It’s not ideal.  I’d rather have you and Dr. Tyrell down in the bowels of Fort Locke—in the deepest and most secure bunker we have here on New Vallis, with a battalion of infantry for perimeter security and my best people and your detail for close-in security.  I can make certain that no one could get to either of you.”  She paused and shook her head again.  “But if wishes were horses, everyone would ride.  Having you two out on the military reservation is a good second choice, but it is still dangerous.”

“What isn’t in this life?” asked Edward.  “Special Agent Carnes, there has not been a day in my life since I was old enough to realize reality for what it is that I haven’t known that I am a target for someone who wants to hurt my father.  Every day is a risk and just going outside to a restaurant for a meal might be dangerous and deadly—but I am not going to let these bastards win by locking myself and my family away from the world.  They can kill me.  They can hurt or kill people I love.  But they won’t break me.  And they won’t stop me and mine from living our lives to the fullest extent we can and cherishing every minute of this life we have together.”

“Well said, son,” Corey chimed in.  “Okay.  I’ve got transport waiting out front for you.”

Edward smiled, and he shook his head.  “I’ve got a better idea, Uncle Corey.  Jon?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Signal Subaltern Kennedy aboard Black Bull.  Tell him that that we are deploying the ‘Mech and armored companies now—and find transport for the infantry component of the detail and the close-in security detachement—weapons hot and live ammunition loaded in all magazines  And have the Techs get my ‘Mech and yours ready.  Bastards want to take a shot at me?  Well, I’ll be in the cockpit of a Thunderbolt if they decide they want to die today.”

Corey laughed.  “Not even the CRP are crazy enough to take on fourteen ‘Mechs, eighteen Rattlesnakes, and a company of the best-damned jump infantry troopers that the Concordat can field—much less the agents from the Protector’s Own.  Governor Hampton will have a cow about what you are going to do to the streets of Port Sheridan, but I can live with that Edward!”

“In that case, Uncle Corey,” Edward replied as he stood, “I think Jon and I need to go back aboard Black Bull and get ready.”

“Godspeed, son.  Godspeed,” Corey answered and he and Abigail stood as well.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: masterarminas on January 12, 2022, 02:09:12 PM

Cháteau des Calderon
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
August 2, 3026

Thomas Calderon sighed as he looked out the bay windows of his private office.  He could see the trees swaying in the distance as the wind which preceded this late summer thunderstorm buffeted the branches and trunks.  The thick clouds—all dark grey heavy with the promise of rain illuminated by the flash and crackle of lightning—hung low, turning the afternoon into a gloomy and miserable affair.  Even without the droning voice of Semyon Cantrell.

“. . ., to sum up, my Lord Protector,” the Exchequer of the Concordat continued, “the entire economy is entering a boom phase.  Your decision to open the border to trade with Federated Suns has given our manufacturers new markets and virtually every stock traded on the Exchange is sharply up and continues to rise.  Add to that your announcement that the TDF will be adding two new regiments of ‘Mechs---six battalions!—to its force strength over the next eighteen months and the first round of payments we have received for copies of the Vickers Core,” Semyon paused and he smiled.  “Well, my Lord, suffice it to say the government is flush with capital more so than we have been in centuries.”

And then the smile faded.  “But we need to keep a careful watch on the banks and a tight rein on inflation—boom economies can become bust economies all too quickly, Sire.  We may need to slow our rate of growth down a bit to keep things from swept up into a bubble all too ready to bust at the first sign of bad news.”

“Not to mention that even with having more funds flowing into the hands of banks and stock traders doesn’t necessarily translate into the common man having more cash in his wallet, Semyon,” Thomas added.  “Keep it under control as best you can—but let’s do what we can to stop inflation from adversely affecting the common people.  If that means hitting the banks and other lending institutions with fines and new regulations, well, you bring it to me and I’ll sign it.”

“We are watching the situation closely, Sire,” Semyon acknowledged as he made one last entry into his notebook and closed the case.  “But so far—so far—they aren’t getting out of line and fanning the flames of greed too much.”  The Exchequer added with a grin.  “Not much more than normal, anyways.  We’ve not had to smack more than a handful and those were ones we were already watching because of their past financial chicanery.”

“Good,” Thomas grunted as he turned away from the window.  “What about the plans for the new colonies?”

“Well, before he left on his mission to locate Fleet Marshal Vicker’s Exiles, Hall and his Far Lookers had surveyed about a dozen systems with habitable planets.  We are really in good shape to go ahead and start planning for colonization—although that will strain our available interstellar transport.  And stretch the TDF if we need to provide garrisons for all of them.”

Thomas snorted.  “I’m not planning on colonizing a dozen systems in a single year, Semyon!  Pick the two best and we will begin there.  Once they get up and running, two or three years down the road, we’ll start another two or three.  And just keep on going.”

“That will certainly make the Far Lookers happy,” Semyon noted as he began to stand.  “Although the CRP will complain about how you are looking away from our ‘Lost Worlds’ so as to avoid a conflict with your new Davion friends.”

“Hardly friends,” Thomas whispered, and then he shook his head.  “Let them complain—that is all they have done for the past two decades,” and he shook his head again.  “Although, their complaints have increased in volume—both in decibels and numbers!—over the past six months, I will have to admit.”

Semyon nodded in agreement.  “Those fools do not seem to comprehend just how the Concordat is prospering from your changes in policy, Sire.  I think they live on hatred and vitriol,” he finished with an exasperated sigh.

Thomas winced.  Part of the reason that the CRP was so outspoken was the silent support he had given to Grover Shraplen before the man overdosed last year.  Grover had been one of his oldest friends and Thomas knew that he had allowed that friendship—the trust he had placed in Grover—to influence his own policy.  But now, with all that had happened in the past year, Grover’s death and the subsequent revelation of his financial connections with Sian and the House of Liao, Thomas had been forced to reevaluate almost everything he thought he had believed in.

“I was a damn fool,” he whispered as he watched the first drops of rain splatter against the bay windows of his office.

“Sire?”

Thomas turned his back to the rain and he gave the Ministry of his Treasury a half-hearted smile.  “I’ve never trusted the Davions, Semyon—too much bad blood between them and the Concordat in the past and they have never done anything before now to fix that.  But, I never bothered to do anything myself to try and set our relations right.  I used that hate and fear and,” Thomas chuckled bitterly as he accepted and then voiced his own innermost fears about his mental stability, “my bloody paranoia to fuel my Protectorship.  And I let Grover fan those flames all the while he was taking Max Liao’s money to undermine my realm.”  He paused and then he sat down at the desk.  “I was a damn fool.”

“I wouldn’t say that, Sire,” Semyon protested, but Thomas waved him silent.

“It is the truth.  I ignored what Henri and Brenda and even Edward was telling me to instead put my trust in a man that betrayed not only me but the Concordat and all of her people.  And now I suppose I am reaping what I have sown,” he shook his head.  “Mother would be so disappointed in me; you know,” he said in a quiet voice, “she never liked Grover and tried to discourage my friendship with him.”  And Thomas gave another bitter chuckle.  “Which only made me more stubborn in proving her wrong.  If Grover was a traitor, what the hell does that make me?”

Semyon paused for a moment and then he leaned forward.  “It makes you human, my Lord Calderon,” he said in a voice just as quiet.  “We have all had friends and acquaintances who we thought were one thing and proved themselves something quite different.  You wanted to think the best of Governor Shraplen—you wanted him to be worthy of your trust.  Just because he wasn’t doesn’t make you a bad man, Sire.”

“Just a fool, Semyon.  Just a foolish old man who put the entire Concordat in danger.  If I had kept on listening to Grover, who knows what I might have done,” and Thomas’ voice trailed off, leaving only the ticking of the clock to break the silence of the office.

Until Thomas shook his head.  “Enough of this maudlin self-loathing,” he muttered.  “Is there anything else for today?” he continued in a louder, stronger voice.

Semyon shook his head.  “That about covers it all, my Lord Pro-. . .,” and he was interrupted by a knock on the door of the office.  Thomas and Semyon both frowned as they looked at the clock; it was not time for the Protector’s next appointment.

“Come,” Thomas ordered.

“My Lord Calderon,” the uniformed guard of his security detail spoke as he opened the door, “Marshals Calderon and Vickers, Ministers Calderon and Jouett request a few moments of your time.”  The guard paused.  “They say it is quite urgent, my Lord.”

Thomas sat back in his chair and glanced over at Semyon who seemed as puzzled as he was.  “Show them in at once,” he ordered.

“My Lord,” the guard said with a bow and he exited the office; moments later Brenda Calderon, Raoul Calderon, Helena Vickers, and Henri Jouett were ushered in and the door was closed.

“Should I leave?” Semyon asked as he closed his folder of papers and notes.

“Henri?” Thomas asked, as he raised his chin towards the Exchequer.

“Perhaps it might be for the best, my Lord Calderon, if the Exchequer stayed,” Henri answered, and Thomas frowned because Henri’s face was pale and drawn.  So too were the faces of Brenda and Raoul, although Helena’s looked angry.

“What has happened?” Thomas asked as he felt a sudden knot in his stomach.

Brenda and Henri paused, but Raoul walked over the liquor cabinet that Thomas kept in his office and he poured two glasses of whiskey—and Thomas raised one eyebrow as he brother set one glass in front of the Protector on the desk, keeping the second for himself.

“We just received news from New Vallis, Tom,” his brother said quietly.  And he held up one hand as the blood drained from Thomas’s face.  “No.  Edward is fine,” and Raoul sighed.  “For now, at least.”

“For now?  What the hell is going on!” Thomas snapped as he stood and laid his hands on his desk, leaning forward.

Henri winced and then he steeled himself.  “Sire, Special Operations and Intelligence on New Vallis has discovered a conspiracy to assassinate Edward Calderon.”

For a moment, Thomas said nothing, but the blood drained from his face and he felt his arms tremble as he leaned against them.  He sat down suddenly—almost fell back into his chair, and his mouth worked, but just a strangle of air came out for what seemed an eternity.

“Wh-wh-what?” he finally sputtered as he sat there and stared at men and women standing and sitting in front of his desk.

“Edward is just fine, Thomas,” Raoul quickly added.  “SIO uncovered the plot before he landed on New Vallis and we have most of the conspirators in custody.  They have been charged and will be tried for their parts in this scheme.”

“How,” Thomas began and then he collected himself and lifted the glass, draining it in one massive gulp, and almost immediately had a coughing spasm.  “How did this happen?  What happened?” he asked after he had recovered.

Henri shook his head.  “A very small faction of the CRP on New Vallis decided that with the treaty that Edward brokered between us and the Federated Suns made him a traitor to the Concordat.  And they planned to remove him—permanently—from the succession.”

“SIO-New Vallis discovered the plot,” Raoul added quickly as he sat down the second glass of whiskey near Thomas’s hand, “when they overreached and tried to recruit other members of the CRP in their criminal enterprise.  Those citizens of the Concordat were appalled at what the conspirators had planned and reported the conversations to SIO-New Vallis.  The SAIC there used their reports to obtain warrants from the Courts to monitor their communications—voice, video, electronic, and postal—and gathered enough evidence that their convictions are all but assured.”

Thomas’s hand shook as he took the second glass of whiskey and gulped down about a third of the glass in a single swallow.  And then he stopped, put down the whiskey, and looked back up.

“Most of them,” he repeated Raoul’s words and Henri, Raoul, and Brenda all winced at the ice in the Protector’s voice.  Semyon looked stunned, but Helena just stood there with little expression on her face.

“Most of them, Tom,” Brenda replied quietly.  “Some of the conspirators managed to elude SIO, but they are being sought—and they will be found, arrested, tried, and convicted.”

“Edward’s still in danger?” Thomas asked quietly as he drained the second glass and stood on trembling legs.  “Brenda, I want orders cut to return him to Taurus immediately!”

“That is not a good idea, my Lord Protector,” Brenda Calderon began, “Edward is a serving TDF officer and you pulling him back before he even begins his duties on New Vallis will send very much the wrong message to the officer Corps of the TDF . . ,” but she was interrupted.

“I DON”T GIVE A DAMN!  HE IS MY SON!” Thomas bellowed.  And then he sat down heavily again.  “He’s my son, damn it!  I want him home and I want him safe.”

“Protector Calderon,” Helena spoke up softly, and Thomas looked up at her with unshed tears welling up in his one natural eye.  “If you do that, we can keep Edward safe—but he is safe now on New Vallis.  We—the TDF and SIO—have taken every possible step to ensure his safety, but you will be telling the officers and men of the Defense Force that you value the life of your son more than their own.  And what does Edward want?  What does your son want, Thomas Calderon?”

Thomas gave out a gasp of air as he shook and the tears finally began to descend his cheek.  “He would want to stay there and show those bastards they can’t make Calderon’s run,” he finally said in a quiet voice.  “Henri, Brenda,” he said in a voice that held a small quaver.  “Can you promise me that you will keep him safe?”

“We will do our best, Sire,” Brenda answered and Henri nodded.

“But you can’t promise me he will be safe?  That you will apprehend all of those who are part of this?”

“Thomas,” Raoul said quietly as he refilled one of the glasses on his brother’s desk and placed it in a trembling hand.  “No one can absolutely guarantee that Edward will not be harmed—just as we cannot guarantee that no one will ever take a shot at you or me or the rest of our family.  We have to trust our people—our loyal people—to do their jobs and do them well.  And Edward would never forgive you for calling him home and making him look the coward in the face of this conspiracy.  You know that, brother.”

Thomas sobbed and then he nodded his head.  “You tell Corey and your SAIC, Henri, that they will keep my son safe and alive.  They will!” he growled and he drank deep from the third glass, and with that the trembling in his arms and hands and legs began to subside.

For a moment there was silence and then Thomas finished the third glass and he set it down on the desk.  He took another moment and he gathered himself and then he looked up at his family and advisors and his jaw was fixed.

“Henri,” he growled, “I want every last member of the CRP to be detained and questioned.  Every single one of those bastards!  I want every one of them who had anything to do with this shot!”

“Tom,” Raoul said quietly.  “We have the conspirators in custody—most of them.  We will find anyone else connected—you don’t need a witch hunt or an inquisition.  We have this situation under control.  They will be tried under the law and punished accordingly.”

“NOT GOOD ENOUGH!” Thomas snapped.  “I WANT THEM DEAD!”

“Protector Calderon,” Helena said quietly, “you can give that order.  SIO will carry it out.  Even if the Courts object, they can do it.  But if you give that order, then you, Sir, will be destroying the Concordat and all it stands for.”  Thomas started to snarl something, but Helena raised one hand and he stopped.  “We will find the guilty—they will be punished.  But that punishment will be handed out by the Courts and in accordance with our laws.  If not, we are nothing more than mere bandits out here, as barbaric as the Inner Sphere thinks we are.  There will be nothing left of the honor of the Concordat and the Taurian people—nothing left of your honor.  Or that of Edward.  Or mine.”

“Let the Courts handle this, Tom,” Raoul added in a soft voice.  “We will stand these bastards before a firing squad, but we will do it legally.”

“This is just one faction of the CRP on one world, Thomas,” Brenda said as well.  “They don’t all mean you and your family harm—hell, we found out because members of the CRP thought these assholes were going too far and told us!  If we do what you want, that will never happen again.”

For a moment, everyone in the room was afraid that Thomas would get stubborn—that he would issue the order anyway, but finally Thomas nodded.  “We will do your way,” he whispered.  “But, Henri,” he growled and his voice grew stronger.  “I want SIO to monitor everyone that belongs to the CRP.  Read their mail, eavesdrop on their communications, go through their computer files, do what you have to do, but we are stopping this now before they can get lucky.”

“We will need warrants for that, Tom,” Henri said quietly.  “I don’t think the Courts will grant us anywhere near as many as you want.  We can get some, certainly, especially on those who have shown they are members of the hard-line faction, but we won’t get warrants to listen to everyone not matter what we do.  We can do it without warrants, but getting a conviction if we find something will be all but impossible if you bypass the law.”

Thomas began to snarl, but after looking at the faces of his advisors, his family, and the pictures on his desk of his children and wife and mother and sisters and nephews and nieces, he finally nodded.  “Fine.  Fine,” he snarled.  “Get your warrants to monitor their worst elements.  And if they are planning anything, throw those bastards in some dark hole to rot!”

He stood and pressed the intercom button.  “Bring my car around—I am heading to the HPG Station to speak with my son,” he ordered.

“Yes, Sire,” came the answer.

“And, Henri,” Thomas began, but the Intelligence Minister shook his head.

“We’ll make certain they don’t get a second shot, Tom,” he assured his Protector—his friend.

And Thomas nodded.  “Well, in that case, I have a call to place and all of you have work to do.”

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Rainbow 6 on August 04, 2024, 01:22:46 PM

Shame we never got any more of this.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on August 04, 2024, 03:10:37 PM

I agree, gotta try to get in touch with masterarminas.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Ice Hellion on August 04, 2024, 03:51:48 PM

Quote from: Takiro on August 04, 2024, 03:10:37 PM

I agree, gotta try to get in touch with masterarminas.

It is as if he had retired or vanished.

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Takiro on August 04, 2024, 05:53:45 PM

I found this post from April on SpaceBattles forums;

https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/it-has-been-a-while.1156879/

Hopefully he feels better soon and gets back to posting!

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Dragon Cat on August 05, 2024, 07:07:34 PM

That sucks (taps own head) touch wood I'm good

Title: Re: By the Horns (A BattleTech Alternate Universe)
Post by: Rainbow 6 on August 06, 2024, 05:13:32 PM

Hope he's better soon and gets back on soon.