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The Broken Sword

A Work of Fiction, set in an Alternate BattleTech Universe
By
Stephen T Bynum
All Rights Reserved



Chapter One

Hall of the Congress of the Terran Hegemony
Geneva, Europe
Terra
November 1, 2780

“There is no smoking allowed in the Hall, General,” the aide informed Aaron as he walked into the parliamentary building that housed the elected representatives of the men and women of the Hegemony.  Or rather the building that had once housed those representatives, before the chaos of the Amaris Coup and the twelve long years under his mad reign.  The once-pristine polished marble walls and columns still showed the pock-marks of bullets and light shells, the scorching of fire, and chips where the fragile stone face had been shattered by missile strikes.  Many of those who had once been elected were long gone—killed by Amaris and his followers.  Those few who remained had worked with Amaris during the Occupation . . . and now only the presence of his soldiers kept the population from tearing them to shreds in retaliation.

It would be some time yet before new Congressmen and women could be chosen and the institution rebuild—but time was a resource that Aaron sorely lacked today.  And his patience with the toadies who had consorted with Amaris was running thin.

“And exactly who is going to stop me from smoking?” he asked the Congressional aide as he took his cigar out of his mouth without slowing his pace.  “You?  Your masters within?  The Hegemony police . . . who no longer exist since Amaris disbanded them in a fit of pique?”

He stopped suddenly, the soles of his boots making a loud SQUEAK against the polished floor and he pointed the glowing coal at the tip of the rolled tobacco leaves at the face of the aide.  “Fight what battles you can win, boy—this ain’t one of them.”

“B-but there are rules here!”

“Fuck your rules, boy.  I am in no mood to indulge these people’s sense of self-importance—not today.”

He began walking again, and his aides and the security detachment followed, pushing aside the civilian in their wake.  “That wasn’t a good way to handle the politicians, General, sir,” whispered his aide-de-camp.

“I know, Ethan, I know,” Aaron answered with a sigh.  “Civilian oversight of the military and all that is one of our strengths—it is also a luxury we cannot afford at this moment, however.  Not with those five holier-than-thou idiots who are running the League into the ground at Unity City.”

Colonel Ethan Moreau nodded his agreement.  “Damn it, if The General was still here, he’d make them listen,” he said wistfully.

Aaron swallowed heavily.  The campaign to liberate the Terran Hegemony from occupation by the Rim Worlds had gutted the SLDF even before the final assault on Terra . . . but its gravest wound had been taken when a Casper drone had kamikazed the battleship McKenna’s Pride just three days out of orbit—and Aleksandyr Kerensky had been among those lost when the magazines aboard the WarShip lit off from the internal damage the drone vessel had caused.

That loss had galvanized the SLDF for the final assault—no quarter had been given or asked, not for Amaris, for his family, or for any who had worn his uniform during those two months of fighting to end the War once and for all time.

“I know, Ethan, I know.  And damn, I wish he were still here—he would find another way . . . a better way.”

Aaron’s party arrived at a pair of double doors and the guards standing to either side—SLDF guards—snapped to attention and opened them at his approach.  The General nodded and he dropped his cigar on the ground, crushing out the coal with his boot heel before he walked inside.

The chamber was magnificent in scale . . . but empty and desolate with only a handful of people filling its many rows of seats.  Aaron did smile warmly at the one-armed man who stood from his seat at his entrance—David Callaghan, one of the few surviving Congressmen from before the Occupation.  He had not been killed, but instead spent a dozen years in a dark, dank prison, being intermittently tortured for the amusement of Amaris’s Internal Security goons.  Callaghan was one of the few that Aaron trusted—and he walked over and shook the man’s sole remaining hand warmly.

“Mister President,” he said.

“Commanding General DeChavilier,” the newly elected President of the Hegemony Congress answered, but Aaron shook his head.

“No . . . they refused to confirm me as Commanding General, Mister President.  But since they also cannot agree on who to confirm, I have been ordered to remain Acting Commanding General of the SLDF for the immediate future.”

Callaghan shook his head.  “Imbeciles . . . who do they think the Defense Force will follow now that Kerensky is dead?  And call me David—there are too few of us here to get all formal.”

“I haven’t the slightest clue as to what they are thinking, David—they have ordered me to returned the SLDF to its peace-time stations and end our relief efforts here on Terra and Hegemony worlds . . . but beyond that, they have no orders for us.”

“End the relief efforts?” David asked in a wild voice.  “Haven’t they any clue?”

“They assure me that ‘loyal’ forces from the Member States will take over our mission here . . . I am certain it is but a cover to loot what technological secrets from our worlds they can, though.”

“Aaron, you cannot send the SLDF away—right now, we need every man we can making certain that Hegemony citizens don’t starve to death or die from disease . . . and we need to keep a lid on the desire for vengeance against those who worked for Amaris, willingly or otherwise.  If we start killing off our own because Amaris forced them to work for him, we might as well put a bullet in the brains of the Hegemony and be done with it.”

“I agree—which is why I am disobeying the orders of the High Council.  I have issued orders for all combat and non-combat elements of the SLDF to immediately report to the Hegemony, where we will garrison these worlds and engage in relief efforts.  And maintain the peace purchased with so much blood.”

Callaghan blinked and he nodded.  “They will crucify you, you know that.”

“Let them try, David.  Let them try.  I have a full briefing for you and your staff on our current state . . . and then we need to discuss how to move forward in light of the High Council’s bickering.”

“I’ve given that some thought—how does Director-General sound to you, Aaron?”

Aaron winced.  “Are you seriously suggesting that I stand for election?  I’m a soldier, not a politician.”

“Aye, and you were the right-hand man for General Kerensky when he freed those Hegemony worlds—and you are the man who defeated Stefan Amaris and killed him.  The Hegemony will vote you into office—and there is nothing that the Lords of the Member States can do to stop that—if you run.”

“What about you?” Aaron asked.  “You know how to run a government—better than I do.”

“They don’t know who I am—they know you.  And from where I am sitting, this is the only way we are going to preserve the Hegemony, because I’m certain those Lords in Unity are planning on dividing us up like a Christmas goose, Aaron.  And you know they are.”

“Aye,” Aaron whispered.  “Let me think about it, okay?”

“Sure . . . I’ll give you until the end of today—because that is when I am announcing by HPG that the Congress is authorizing an election of a Director-General . . . and announcing your candidacy for it.”

Aaron shook his head and he felt his stomach contract.  “You are going to just make me a candidate?  Were you planning on asking me or telling me?”

“As you yourself know, we don’t have time for pleasantries, Acting Commanding General.  The sooner we have a Director-General, the sooner you can get in that High Council chamber on an equal basis with those vultures and start fighting for the Hegemony!  It is your duty, Director-General Aaron DeChavilier—and duty is something you have never ignored.”

Silence hung over the chamber and then David Callaghan smiled, the scar tissue on the right side of his face making it lop-sided.  “And now I believe that you have a briefing report for us?” he asked as he indicated a table with a several chairs behind it—facing the very small rump of the Congress.  Aaron took his seat and he adjusted the microphone.

“Mister President, distinguished Representatives of the Hegemony Congress, the Star League Defense Force has been gravely wounded, but it is still willing and able to perform the duties entrusted to it . . .”