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Its a WoB, beat it a pulp and burn the pulp the fire the ashes into the sun of the nearest system!

Not all true.  But I have a cunning plan, all will be revealed! 

I hope.

Davout

I take it the Blake Documents are all true in this universe?

I like cunning plans.

What a surprise. 

November 24th, 3021
Fort Ian
Kettering Proving Grounds
Kettering

He was sitting at his desk, eyes deep in paperwork, when he heard the door open. 
“Be with you in just a moment,” He muttered.  He read the latest report from Major Dupree, who commanded his 3rd Battalion.  They had just kicked 2nd Battalion, 2nd New Ivaarson Chasseurs in the teeth, hard.  Really hard judging by the accompanying comments the Battalion commander has attached in his own defense.  The door shut, and he assumed whoever had stuck their head in had left.  His aide probably saw the look on his face and was doing his best to cover for him.  He was very good at that. 
“Rough Day Colonel?” asked a voice.
He knew that voice.  Dreaded that voice.  He looked up from his notepad, and sitting in front of him was Yvonne Davion, Marshal, Princes Champion.
It didn't happen to Thomas Zibler often, but when he froze, he froze.  Hard.
“Don't get up Colonel.  It's not as if you knew I was coming.”
So this is how the axe fell.  With a grandmotherly smile and an offer of cookies...
”Uh, No Ma'am.  Thank you Ma'am, I was unawares of your travel plans.”
“Well, to be honest, this is a brief visit, I am on my way to Broken Wheel for a meeting and a tour of the PDZ.  I must say Colonel, that you have exceeded even my expectations.  Not a cycle goes by now when my deputy doesn't get a message from the last CO who came through complaining about something you said, or did.”
“Are those something I should be apologizing for Ma'am?'
“Good gracious! No!”  Great, he thought, even her laugh was matronly.  “That's one of the reasons he's there, so I don;t have to listen and or read them out right.  I should also tell you that I have another folder, albeit one not as thick, with messages from others who have participated saying it's on of the better things to happen to them.  And to be honest, we're seeing an uptick in requests to transfer to the unit.”
“I've seen those too Ma'am.”  It was a new phenomenon to him, actually having outsiders request in.  Since the Proving Ground RCT had been created he had vetted all the members, approved them all, and with only a couple of mistakes, had done very well.  That those previous members of his unit had gone on to do some very good things obviously had caught the attention of others.
“I will say though, a number of feathers have been ruffled in some of the After Action Review Sessions.  Mostly CO's and XO's who feel they are being to harshly judged in front of their troops.”
Zibler, couldn't help it.  He groaned and put his head on his desk, and would have banged it more than a few times had not the Right Hand of the First Prince been sitting there.  He sat back up.
“You know Ma'am, when we first started doing this, that was one of our primary concerns.  And the first couple of rotations, we had the Commander's sit in a different AARS, but we found out petty quickly it devolved into a “My CO told me to do this” and “My troops misunderstood/ignored/didn't hear me.”  It became a bitch session where every0ne was blamed, no one took responsibility, and nothings going to improve that way.  No, AARS where everyone is present is the only way to go.  If your ego gets bruised, it gets bruised.  But better bruised here then dead on the battlefield.”
If she was at all disturbed by his physical actions she didn't show it.  Yvonne nodded her head.
“I fully agree with that point of view Colonel.  And I and the Prince will continue to endorse that point of view.  If a commander cannot willingly admit his mistakes in front of them men and women he commands, then he shouldn't be allowed to send him into battle.”
“Well, to be honest Ma'am, that sounds a lot better coming from you than it does from me.”\
“How so?”
“Apparently I'm just a Colonel with an ego problem and no tact.”
Marshal Davion looked at him for a brief moment, then reached into her tunic.
“What if I could solve that?”
“I'm afraid you can't Ma'am, the tact thing will always be an issue.”
“I didn't mean that.”  She tossed something on his desk.
Zibler was obviously tired.  When he looked at them they were Marshal's tabs.  He was buried on the list.
“I didn't take you for the practical joker Ma'am.”
“It's not.  I had an interesting communique from Marshal Nicholas Stephenson, after his units rotation here.  He thought that you and your subordinates made a lot of good points, did a lot of good things, had a lot of things to teach his unit.  But then the RCT XO piped up and said that you were getting to much time and consideration, especially as, and I quote “A Colonel in command of an RCT that exists on paper only.”
Thomas picked the tabs up in one hand, holding them.  A Marshal.  He never thought he'd make it past Major, not after that incident.
“Ma'am, not to belabor the point, but isn't this just a dodge.  An end run around the critics?”
Yvonne Davion smiled, which was disarming.
“It is.  But the fact of the matter is Marshall Stephenson has a point.  So he raised the issue. And it was passed along.”
Zibler, despite his best effort, sighed, and picked the tabs up.
“Some people will still think it's a dodge.”
Smiling, Marshal Davion reached into her tunic again and pulled out a piece of heavy paper, and handed it to Zibler.  He opened it, read it once, then dropped it on the table.
“I'd frame it, put it behind you or keep it close, so the next time someone tries to discount this, they are put in their place.”  She glanced at her chrono.  “No rest for the wicked Marshal Zibler.  You have my congratulations, and my thanks.  However, I do have a request for you.”
“Yes Ma'am?”
“I understand that next years rotation has the 5th Syrtis Fusiliers coming?”
“Ah, yes Ma'am, that's true.”
“Make sure they leave with their tails tucked between their legs.”
“Yes Ma'am!”
The Princes Champion stood, and Zibler shot to his feet as well.  His half baked attempt at a salute was met with a laugh and a wave.  “Good Day Marshal Zibler.  Congratulations on your recent promotion, and good luck to you and yours this coming year.”  She shut the door behind her as she left.
Zibler, unsteady on his feet for a few moments, sat down, then picked up the paper again, and read:

June 15th, 3021

Be it known to all, on this 15th Day of the Month of June, in the year Three Thousand Twenty One, Thomas Andrew Zibler is hereby promoted to the rank of Marshal, date effective immediately, by my order, signed by my hand.

Hanse Davion.

The veriagraphed signature was just icing on the cake...

From an Intelligence briefing in September, 3022.

AFFS units are stretched to the limit.  With constant raids on the Draconis Border, and the aftereffects of the Tancredi Operation, and tensions on the Capellan border still at an all time high, something has to give, and soon.  And if this present raid by McCarron is a sign, we are in no position to do much. 
It's telling that Kurita is using Wolf's Dragoons for these raids, as they must use their own supplies, and then buy replacements from Kurita, Is this an attempt to try and force them into the company store approach?   With regards to current operations, something has to change soon.  Years of Low Intensity Conflict have taken their toll.  We all have reached a breaking point.  And the question before us is:  Who will break first?


June 3023

So what, they announced new investments.  I don't care what he spends, or how he spends it.  I know for a damned fact I ain't seeing any of the results in my lifetime.  Unless he's putting extra bodies in my fields so I can harvest the crops faster, I could care less who's coming here and why.

From the trivid series Interview in the Outremer


September 3023

Look, we're no slouches.  Next time you run across the 8th Sword of Light or the 3rd Prosperina Hussars, you ask them “Hey, are the 22nd Avalon Hussars walkovers?”  They'll give you the straight stuff.
Anyways, everybody's heard of Kettering.  We had a company Commander in the unit who was part of the unit there for a year, and the Colonel picked his brains but good.  And we practiced as well, blew through our training budget in almost 5 months.  Heck, we had guys in the sims on weekends and holidays practicing...May rolls around and we are ready.
So we get there, we pass and review, and we go to the first briefing.  And this room, it's like something out of the movies.  Holo display's and graphics everywhere, manipulative video feedback, sensor tie ins.  I thought that stuff only existed in the movies, it was that shit hot.  Anyways, we sit down, and across the room is the Kettering folks, and they looked, I don't know...bored. Marshal Zibler, he was on the ball though.  Spent three hours talking about what the next six weeks were going to entail, but it felt like 20, 30 minutes tops.  I loved the line about “After Action Review Sessions are not the place where you air out your grievances with your current command.  They are not the place to belittle and attack those you serve with.  What happens on the Training Ground is recorded and played back, without any edit.  So when you screw up, and you will, everyone will see it.  This is a learning opportunity ladies and gentleman.  Learn here, bleed less when its real.”
So that night were at one of the local watering holes, shooting the breeze.  The Kettering Guys are playing it pretty close to the vest, and I notice there's a sign above the bar, that says 23-1-4.  I ask one of the Kettering guys what that is, and he says that's the scoreboard.  Since 3016, they've averaged 4 cycles a year, fought 28 different units, and in that time they've gone 23-1-4, with the average score being 7-2-1 out of ten missions on the rotation.
So, I ask him.  “So, who was the 1?”  And he says “2nd Battalion, 1st Federated Suns Armored Cavalry.”  And I'm thinking, those guys are tip man, no wonder Kettering lost.  And the troop I'm talking to sees it in my face, and says “Final score was 5-4-1.  They had to win the last battle on the last day to pull out the win.  And they deserved it.”
I'm thinking to myself, man, that's gotta smart.  RUMINT said the Kettering troops were a bunch of insufferable prancing ponies because they never, ever lost.  They were good, they knew they were good, you knew they were good and they were still going to wipe the board with you.  So anyways, we're drinking and shooting the breeze, and I know I had to many cause I say “Man, I would have hated to be the unit that came in after the FSAC.  I know you guys must have been angry about losing for the first time, and just itching to take it out on whoever is next.  Guy smiled, and set his beer down. 
“You could say that,” he says.
“So, who was the next unit?” I ask, ordering another beer.
“Why Troop, that would be you guys.”  And the guy pats me on the shoulder and walks out.  And I get this feeling in the pit of my stomach like I'm going to throw up.
And they cleaned our clocks.  We went 2-8 against them, and one of those was a gift. 

From “Damn, I Volunteered for This?”, the memoirs of Mechwarrior Cody Jones, 3018-3048.



Look, I know a few  things after “fighting” the 10th Lyran on New Earth.  One is that we train more than any unit in the Inner Sphere, so it stands to reason we're going to be good.  Two.  I ran into a Colonel who had seven years in uniform.  Seven.  And he had two rows of medals, one of which he earned by jumping into a system and then out again because the local ASF patrol fired at the dropship he was on.  Third, if the 10th Lyran is a good Elsie unit, they're in trouble.  Given the proper jumpship and supply support I have no doubt I could make my way to Tharkad and beat any unit, or any three units, there with next to no trouble.  Four, When I told Duke Frederick that, I think he was ready to join me.  The Man's brave, but lord, he's a sledgehammer, and not every problem, strategic or tactical, is a nail waiting to be hammered.  That said, God help whomever they face should they get competent.

From a communique to Marshal Yvonne Davion, from Marshal Thomas Zibler.

New Avalon
January 15th, 3025


The nice thing about being underground was the warm air.  The not so nice thing was you forgot what the sun looked and felt like, although judging from the reports of local weathermen no one had seen or felt the sun in a few days.  You also forgot to what time it was.  If it weren't for the attendants, and the meal schedule, a person could quickly lose track.
Of course, a few weeks of inactivity meant losing track of the days was the least of many things to worry about.  Losing his mind over inactivity was another.  On the surface he had a nicely appointed apartment he never spent any time in.  In the Den he had been given an office, a small staff, and nothing else.  Various memo's came across his desk, he read them, then usually threw them away.  The only ones he did save were regarding the Kettering.  LaFarge and the new officers had picked up where he had left off, drubbing the 8th Crucis Lancers.
The other memo's he had studied dealt with the recent raid by MacCarron's Armored Cavalry.  He had gone so far as to appropriate whatever information he could, and with a Marshall's Rank and security clearance so high it was almost stratospheric, that was quite a bit of information, and he was studying it intently.  It was bold, daring, took more than a few risks, but the planning and logistics behind it were what impressed him.  It was long thought that coordinating an RCT on a planet taxed a commanders resources, and here McCarron had done it across two years and several star systems.  He had detailed maps and after Action reports printed out, covering one wall, and when he wasn't standing in front of them studying them, he was at his desk, studying them from afar.
When the knock on the door occurred, he was standing in front of the wall again, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, eating a roast beef sandwich, admiring again the coordination McCarron pulled off with his jumpships.
“ENTER!” he half yelled,taking another bite.  He heard a soft curse from his much put upon aide, but paid it no mind.
“Are we interrupting something, Marshal Zibler?”
Dammit, he knew that voice.  He had to stop impressing her like this.
“No Sir,” he said turning away from the wall.  Marshall of the Armies and Princes Champion Yvonne Davion stood looking at him, arms crossed, a slight smile on her face.  That's when he realized she was not alone.
“Marshal Zibler, it's a pleasure to meet you,” Hanse Davion, First Prince of the Federated Suns, walked forward, cane in one hand, other hand outstretched.
Zibler momentarily went into brain lock. Do I say Hi?  Do I shake his hand?  Do I salute?  Deciding that when push came to shove, the military way was the only way, He assumed a position of attention and began to salute, then realized he was still holding the sandwich in that hand. 
“Sir!” he barked.  “Um, sorry, My Prince, if you'll forgive me...” he raised the hand with the sandwich in it almost apologetically, stepped over to his desk, put it down, grabbed a napkin and wiped furiously for a second, then turned back around.  Both the Prince and the Marshall were looking at him with something bordering on amusement.  Beyond them he could see his aide hanging his head, shaking it.
The Prince proffered his hand again, and the Marshal shook it. 
“Please, Sirs, sit,” he gestured to a pair of chairs in front of his desk.  “Would you care for any tea?  I do have a pot of water ready.”  Marshall Davion went and sat down, declining his offer.  The Prince went over and stood in front of the wall, looking over many of the charts he had.
“This,” Hanse Davion said with a sweep of his hand, “Is most impressive.”  Marshall Zibler couldn't help himself, he went and stood next to his Prince, and started talking.
“I agree sir.  A most impressive campaign run by a very capable commander.  Hard to believe that this level of coordination was pulled off in this day and age.”  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Marshall Davion wince.
“Actually, Marshall Zibler, I was referring to your display of information.  You have data from three different intelligence branches and six different working groups organized in a clear, cognizant manner that I suspect very few people would have trouble following.”   The Princes voice was very matter of fact, he waved his cane at a few printouts.
“Yes Sir, thank you Sir.  If anything it's a teaching moment for us sir, one that I think we can learn from.”
“And that, Marshall Zibler, is why I am here.  Lets go to my office.”
“Uh, yes sir.”  They left quickly enough that Zibler forgot his jacket.  The walk to the Princes office was quick, with next to no small talk.  Once inside behind the double doors, Prince Davion keyed a device that sat on his desk, then sat down quite heavily, favoring his leg.
“Weather playing hell with your leg sir?” Zibler asked.  Davion returned the question with an arched eyebrow.
“My Uncle had a similar injury, said he always knew when the weather was going to be bad because it would hurt like a mother—well, it would really hurt.  I never really believe him till I spent the summer with him once and he predicted every day it would rain.”
Hanse smiled apologetically.  “I'll manage Marshal, although I thank you for your inquiry.”  He sat back in the chair, thinking for a minute, just long enough for Zibler to start contemplating exactly what the hell minefield he had gotten himself into this time.
“Marshal Zibler, first of all I wanted to congratulate you on your performance and the Kettering Proving ground commander.  You did yeoman's work in getting that up and running, and your record speaks volumes to you and your troops capabilities and efforts.  I have been very pleased with the results.”
“Thank You Sir,” Zibler couldn't help it, he smiled.  Praise was one thing, but praise from Hanse Davion was something else entirely.  “and thank you for the promotion, it did cut a lot of the chaff at the end of the day.”
“You earned it Marshal, I was more than happy to sign that particular piece of paperwork.  Now, what exactly can you tell me your working on now?”
Zibler paused.  “Well, to be honest sir, nothing really.  At the moment I seem to be “without Portfolio” as it were.  I've done some Gauntlet work for SINA, but other than that, not a lot.  I'm presently attached to Strategy and Tactics, but I have no official duties as of yet.  I know Marshal Karrendal at SINA wants me to give a couple of lectures this semester, I am looking very forward to that.”  And he was.  Teaching was one thing he found he had a knack for.\
“Well, Marshal, I have another assignment for you.  He hit a button, and one wall slid away to reveal a flatscreen display.  A Map of the Federated Suns was prominent, and it zoomed in.  Hanse Davion stood up, and with a small arm movement beckoned Zibler over.
“Watch, and tell me what you think, Marshal.”
Zibler did.  Hanse hit a button on the display, and data began to flow.  RCT locations, jumpship timetables, then slowly, lines began to appear, units moving from the core and edge towards the interior.  Ten, Twenty, Fifty, soon some 75 Mech regiments had wound their way across the Federated Suns and to the Capellan and Kuritan border.
“Impressive Sir.  The basic work looks good, and the movements are well planned, but there are some underlying issues I think were missed.”
“Thank you Marshal, it's nice to know my planning skills haven't eroded over the years.”  The Princes smile was genuine.  In her chair Yvonne Davion almost choked on the tea she was drinking.  Inwardly Zibler felt his stomach knot up.  “Christ man, one of these days just keep quiet!” his inner voice was telling him.
“Uh, you welcome Sir.  If I may point out a few things?”
“Of course.  Excuse me.” Hanse turned around and sat back down in the chair next to his Champion.
“It's ambitious, but there are several flaws.  The first is that this sort of movement has never taken place before.  Which means that something will go wrong, and judging by the time table in place I would say that bottle neck would be the transportation assets involved.  Looks as if a lot of the jump ships are assigned double and in some cases triple duty.  One failure would cause a ripple effect that would set the whole thing back.”
“Solution?” asked Marshal Davion.
“If this is what you want to do, temporarily seize civilian assets.  It's the only way this has a chance if succeeding.  The second issue I see is that this is overly ambitious.  100 mech regiments moving is going to play havoc with the system, and then set off our neighbors.”
“What if that's the final plan?” Asked the Prince.  Zibler blinked. 
“This is the “Run” part of the plan, Sir?” he asked.
“If you are referring to Crawl, Walk, Run, then yes.”
“Ah, well, that does make sense.  Well, There are always going to be logistical issues involved with such large maneuvers.  But, as long as your willing to give local commanders the leeway to get things done the best way they see fit I suppose, and the bullets and butter guys are up to speed, that shouldn't be a problem.  But to be honest, until we do it, there's no telling what issues are going to arise.  I could do my best forecast and still miss stuff.”
“So how big would the crawl phase have to be in your opinion Marshal?” asked Yvonne.
Zibler thought for a few minutes.  “At a minimum.  10 RCT's, with accompanying units.  If those were moved to the Terran corridor, it would be enough to set of alarms everywhere, which can be good and bad.”  He Paused.  “Plus it will give us a good idea on what needs to be done in terms of supply and the like.  There's going to be enough snafu's moving 10 RCT's, I can imagine the headaches moving more than 50.  No, 10 RCT's is a crawl.  Next we do 20, maybe 30 RCT's.  After that we see what we can really screw up...” Zibler stopped talking.  He felt it the right thing to do before further embarrassing himself.
Hanse nodded to his Champion.  “I can see why you like him, Yvonne.”  He stood up, walked next to Zibler, and swiped the deployment map away.  It was replaced by an Org chart, one that did it's best to show the AFFC high command and its departments.  Rumor had it if you stared at it long enough and relaxed one eye, various images would jump out of the jumbled mess in 3-D.  Hanse zoomed in, to where his name was at the top, followed by Marshal Davion's, then a line leading to Strategy and Planning.   Off of that line was a dotted line, leading to a box, with his name in it.  The pit in his stomach grew tighter.
“Marshal Zibler, what you've just seen is the basis for what I am calling Operation GALAHAD.  It is now your responsibility.  You answer to Marshal Karrandal in theory only, for the time being you talk to noone but myself and Marshal Davion about this.  I want preliminary plans and OpOrd's generated for a 10 RCT movement to these PDZ's.”
“Uh, yessir.  Thank You sir.”
“Marshal Davion and I will help assemble your staff.  This is going to be codeword clearance only, and I suspect we'll be spending quite a bit of time going over a few things related to this.”
Zibler tried not to gulp.
“Thank you sir.”
“Excellent.  Marshal Zibler, I thank you for your insight and opinions.  The guard outside will escort you back to your office.”  Hanse Davion stood, proffered his hand again, and this time, Zibler took it.  Than hand shake was just on the right side of bone crushing, and the look in his rulers face was determined, to say the least.  Suddenly, the knot in his belly went away.  Zibler could never explain why, but looking into Hanse Damion’s eyes, seeing what burned within, made him want to succeed, lest he be on the receiving end of that anger.
Marshal Davion shut the door behind him, laughing quietly to herself.  A guard in body armor waited outside.
“Where to Sir?” he asked politely.
“You know Sargent, I haven't the faintest idea.”

OK, some basic maps.

At some point I'll go back and redo them, there's enough small things wrong with them that my inner cartographer is twinging like a meth head needing a hit, but for what I am doing now, I think they fit the bill.

First Up, the Galahad Movements.

There's a couple more units movements in 3028, but I need to get those done.

Thanks,

Davout