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Author Topic: KU Book 2: A Gathering of Spite  (Read 42227 times)

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Blacknova

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Re: KU Book 2: A Gathering of Spite
« Reply #15 on: July 02, 2018, 04:46:32 AM »

Chapter 38

Taurian Government Complex, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
16 August, 3024.


Protector Thomas Calderon enjoyed the feel of the warm afternoon sun on his back as he strolled along the white gravelled path.  The setting was idyllic, with paths meandering through a naturally sculpted garden full of babbling brooks, quite corners, and chattering birds.  Unfortunately, today was not the day to enjoy the peaceful gardens, today was a day for business, business with ComStar.  Precentor Martel Gordon, the man in charge of ComStar activities on Taurus and within the Concordat at large, walked at the Protector’s right, enjoying the garden as much as his host.  Both men had spent many hours here, discussing all manner of subjects as, in addition to being men of power, both had developed a friendly relationship over time.  However, this did not mean the Protector of the Concordat trusted his amicable companion; the man had once been a ROM officer and was likely still part of that shadow organisation.  Should push come to shove, Thomas was sure the man could cause all sorts of trouble.

“The conversation has been pleasant so far Martel, but I hardly think you came here to discuss the chances of the Taurian Bulls against the Coventry Cavaliers in Saturday’s preliminary final, much as I will be glued to your organisation’s reports of the match.  I am sure you have more urgent matters?  I know I have many to deal with, especially with the integration of the colonies still underway.”  Thomas referred to the campaign, still in progress, to bring order to the mad colonisation scheme that his predecessor had started.  Those half-baked colonists, still claiming Taurian citizenship, had flung themselves far and wide.  Suddenly, like flies to rotting meat, pirates had started to prey on the colonists and then on the bigger prize of the Concordat itself.  The only way to bring order was to take the colonists freedom and crush any pirates that attacked the newly won and garrisoned worlds of the Concordat. 

Normally, he would not have sent so many military resources away from the Davion border, those troops were the Taurian insurance policy, but in this instance, as his advisors had pointed out, the new colonies would give the Concordat strategic depth against Hanse Davion’s inevitable assault, something the Taurians desperately needed.

Martel, his long arms behind his back, mimicking the Protector’s stance, got to the point. “No, I have not come here to discuss sports; I have a matter of mutual interest to discuss.”

Mutual from ComStar? Hardly. Thought the Protector.  “What is this mutual interest Martel?  Invest in ComStar, attack a few Pirates?”

Martel smiled; something he rarely did.  “An opportunity for certain historic territories to be returned to their homelands.”

The Protector’s heart missed a beat. What is going on here? Davion can’t be that weak? The Confederation holds only Rollis and any others are half abandoned worlds.  He fenced. “Would these territories have been formerly considered part of the Periphery?’

Martel seemed lost in the study of a hummingbird that was flitting about near the path and answered in a vague voice.  “Perhaps.  Then all worlds at some point have been part of the Periphery.  Of course, these worlds are of a more recent vintage, if, that is, you consider Darlan Okumbe of recent vintage.”

Okumbe, hah!  Okumbe was the finest Taurian sculptor of the 26th Century, his masterpieces adorning many of the grandest buildings of the Concordat.  “The Concordat is always willing to support the desires for freedom or repatriation of any realm’s lost sons, we do not however, throw ourselves lightly upon such endeavours.  There’s an understatement.  The TDF could, in no way imaginable, hope to take worlds away from the Federated Suns.

Martel managed to tear himself away from the hummingbird for a moment to look at the Protector.  “ComStar has long respected the Taurian view of the universe and would never desire to bring harm upon the realm.  We would however, urge the Taurian people to be ready to take advantage of opportunities as they arise.”

The Protector held his tongue for a moment as they walked along, thinking hard. So, the rumours my people bring me about the Capellans is true, and that means the other rumours of this triple alliance must also be true.  Could ComStar be so transparent?  Perhaps this grand attack on the Suns is what my people need to reclaim those many worlds lost so long ago?  Still, no need to tip my hand yet.  Let us see how important this really is to ComStar. 

“You must understand Martel, that the governing of a realm so vast and sparsely settled as the Concordat, has certain challenges attending its proper government.  Communications for one.  Many units are tied up in the colonies, and without adequate communication, I find myself thinking only of the difficulties inherent in the actions required for the rapid exploitation of the vagaries of interstellar chance. I see no way to rapidly communicate with the people I would require to, should such action be ever contemplated.”

Martel made a slight bow of his head as he answered. “My dear Protector, the Primus had thought just such problems may arise.  She has also stated, to me personally, her distress at the deplorable state of interstellar communications in the major Periphery realms.  She believes deeply in our Order’s role in bringing illumination to the furthest reaches of space and would support any Taurian endeavours to assist in making such noble sentiments real.”

So, ComStar is willing to build me as many HPG’s as I need.  Faster communications means better logistics and military coordination.  Trade will increase and I can integrate the outer colonies faster, getting the troops back to the Davion border sooner than anticipated.  The danger is still great, but the opportunities.  Davion humbled and our realm restored.  I will be remembered as the Protector who brought the Concordat out of the dark ages. Time to put a caveat on this little deal.

“The Concordat would be eternally grateful to the Primus’s vision and the Office of the Protector can provide details as to where illumination could best be sought.  However, the Concordat cannot and will not promise to run after shadows and half chances.  We are not a rash people and therefore will require an unequivocal sign that fate has smiled, or we shall stay on our worlds and let the fates be dammed.”

Martel stopped, and faced the Protector. “The signs will be unequivocal, of that you can be sure.”
Logged
Dedicated to committing viciously gratuitous bastardy of the first order.

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Blacknova

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Re: KU Book 2: A Gathering of Spite
« Reply #16 on: July 07, 2018, 10:16:27 PM »

Chapter 39

Laverack Barracks, Townsville District, Australia,
Coventry Province, Lyran Commonwealth,
19 September, 3024.


The officer stood waiting for the passenger airlock of the DropShip to open onto his exile.  By looking at the man, you would not think he was going into exile, he was turned out immaculately.  His Lyran dress uniform was more resplendent than a Versailles wedding and almost as gaudy.  Decoration and brocade streamed from his dark blue, high collard jacket and the creases in his white stirrup, blue stripped dark pants, looked as though they had been pressed by the foot of a Mech.  To add to the overall effect, was the supremely haughty and contemptuous look, no doubt honed be years of practice, which hammered any crewman who had the poor graces to enter the officer’s line of view.

The man stood as still as a mountain and appeared as immoveable, radiating an air of such contempt and hate, that it seemed likely that the airlock would melt from the force.  Exile. He thought. I do not deserve this. I have been wronged. Despite what he thought about the situation, the young officer, at least according to the Lyran military elite, did deserve his punishment, he deserved his exile and so much more.  He was now The Liaison Officer. The title in itself seemed so innocuous, yet within the circle of Lyran officers, the position was known as the end of careers, the place no one spoke of, a dark and final exile.

Two months ago, the young officer, not yet twenty seven and already a Hauptmann-Kommandant, had been attending a social occasion on Duran, at the behest of the world’s Duke.  A young woman, seeming to be of backwoods ancestry and no match for his own proud line, had been most persistent in her advances toward the dashing officer from the 6th Lyran Guards.  However, following several stiff drinks and what seemed like hours of pestering by the young lady, the officer was forced, in a way which could never be considered kind or gentlemanly, to tell the young woman exactly what he thought of her, in order to be rid of her and have the chance to talk to far more promising social connections at the function.  That was his first mistake.

Twenty minutes later, Kommandant-General Sharon Hellman, commander of the LCAF’s Reserve Corps, had the young officer up against the wall enduring the chewing out of his career.  The General’s daughter, heiress to the Hellman fortune, was a wreck, distraught at the rough handling the young officer had given her. 

His excuse was his second mistake.  Telling the General that he thought her daughter was nothing more than backwoods hickery and that if he had known she was of decent stock he would never had treated her in such a way, only served to make the situation worse.  The General had made it clear, he would serve as The Liaison Officer for his offence, she would see to it.  The General had been as good as her word.  Banished from the 6th and demoted to Hauptmann, the traditional rank of The Liaison Officer, the young man was now on Australia.  Hell on earth for Lyran Officers.

The young man went over the limited briefing material in his mind.  Australia, settled 2301 by colonists from the Terran Australia continent and the South Pacific Islands.  Declined initial membership into the Commonwealth in 2341, but became and ‘associate member’ in 2365. Resisted, along with 20 other strong worlds, the efforts of Archon Robert Marsden, but capitulated as long as their associate status remained and with it certain privileges for the world. This fact kept the world off the official maps of the Commonwealth until the founding of the Star League forced the world to become a full member of the Commonwealth. Due to the privileges accorded the world, it was shunned by the Lyran nobility, due to not only the advantages it enjoyed but also its representatives and nobles constant complaining about Tharkad’s ineptitude in nearly all fields, and their complete lack of regard for proper noble behaviour.  Outright bribery on the part of the locals, due to their natural resources and productive industry, as well as their strong military forces, saw one of the Lyran stock exchanges placed on the world.

It was the world’s military which was the real problem however, having a well-developed sense of contempt for anything Lyran.  The young officer could not understand it. The world was given an honoured position in the Commonwealth and the soldiers of the planet were given the distinction of serving in the LCAF, however, they seemed to treat the LCAF, and the Commonwealth as a whole, as a burden to be sneered at and derided.  The legendary unruliness of the soldiers from this world and their habit of disregarding commands from LCAF officers, often without even reading them, had seen the LCAF officer Corps establish the position of The Liaison Officer.

This was the place for the socially disgraced to be sent, where they could be forgotten and left in the hell which every Lyran officer dreaded.  It was bad enough when The Liaison Officer only had to work with the local militia brigades, who had the audacity to decline their official Lyran titles and call themselves by their own names and designations.  Just who did they think they were?  Australian Light Horse!  What a joke.  However, the position the young officer had been exiled to was now an even more painful position.  The previous year, the worst offenders in the militia, along with insubordinate, ex-LCAF Australian MechWarriors, had formed a mercenary command called the Blacknovas.  Now he was liaison to both.  Suicide seemed a good option at this point.  Many had used it before. He could see why.

As he waited away the interminable minutes, wishing to leave this DropShip full of idiots, but dreading the mass of fools awaiting him, he did not move a muscle.  He would remain a Lyran officer to the bitter end if needs be.  “Oi.” Shouted a voice. “I’d wait for the transport if I were you.”  A scruffy looking crewman yelled across the room as he entered.

He merely stared at the man with the same look of contempt he had given the airlock. “It’s 38 degrees out there straight up. Probably half again that with the tarmac and engine heat.  Best wait inside mate, unless you want end up in the wards with heat exhaustion.”

He looked away from the man back to the airlock.  Crewmen who did not salute or address their betters correctly, did not deserve either response or acknowledgement.  “Suit yourself Peacock!” the crewman said as he punched the button that cycled the lock open.  The young officer began walking out of the DropShip, ignoring the verbal barb and moving out into the open, with the DropShips cool air surrounding him.  Then it him.

The air was like a wall of heat, more intense than when his Zeus had nearly shut down on Carse.  It was physical, and it was not just the heat.  The world’s sun was reflecting off the white tarmac like the flash of a nuclear detonation, his eyes watered from it, blurring again and again, despite his attempts to blink them clear.  Within moments, his uniform felt like plate armour, heavy, hot, and draining the fluid from him as fast as his body could produce it.  And the noise!  The winding down of the DropShip engines was bad enough, but the sounds coming from the open woodland off the edge of the tarmac and behind the chain-link fence was incredible.  It sounded like every insect in the Inner Sphere was baying for blood in that wood, all at once.  The physical assault on his senses was worse than combat, that he had been trained to deal with. This, this reception, this was truly the gateway to hell itself. This was a more fitting way to arrive at the end of his career could he have dreamed of himself in his darkest moments.

In the shimmering distance, he could just make out the shape of a vehicle and hoped against all hope that the vehicle was coming to get him. My kingdom for a cooling vest. He thought, as he remained ramrod straight, his pride not to be sullied despite his now apparently mad choice of leaving the DropShip.  The shimmering shape slowly approached as wave after belting wave of heat and sound washed over him, every moment threatening to be the one to drive him back into the DropShip.  He could feel rivers of sweat pouring off his body, soaking his pristine uniform and ruining his carefully crafted look.  That was the worst thought of all, and the one though which nearly sent him back into the cool confines of the DropShip behind him.

Eventually the small four wheeled, camouflage painted, jeep type vehicle pulled up with a screech in front of the young officer.  From the driver’s side, on the right of the vehicle, jumped the scruffiest looking private the young officer had ever seen. The man’s camouflage fatigues looked as though they had never seen the Regimental laundry, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, the back of the shirt hanging out of his pants, and his slouch hat looked as though it had been molested by an angry tank. Placing the hat rapidly on his head, the driver moved quickly around the vehicle looking more battered than a party crashing Locust at an Atlas convention.  The driver scurried around the vehicle and made straight for the Officer’s carry bag. “Jesus.  What the bloody hell are doing out here? Get in the truck before you collapse!”

The young officer remained at attention, glaring at the driver. “You will salute superior officers, before asking permission to address them in such familiar ways.” He barked, appalled at not only the driver’s lack of uniform discipline, but also his general lack of regard for the officer’s rank.

The young driver stopped, dropped the bag a looked at the officer. “Right then, your one of those are you? Here.” He threw the most rudimentary of salutes, one which more or less resembled an attempt to swat a fly, of which there seemed to be many present, than the respect due a superior officer. He then grabbed the bag and moved away before the officer could say anything.  “Best get in the car, you’re startin to look like a melted wedding cake.” 

Normally the young officer would have given the man a massive dressing down and demanded a proper salute, but the heat was now unbearable, and weakness in the form a slumping to his knees would not do.  The officer moved to the door, which of course was not held open for him, opened it and climbed into the blessedly cool interior which, despite its utilitarian fit, was as comfortable as a Ducal suite, as far as the overheating officer was concerned.

The car suddenly accelerated, tossing the officer into his seat as the young driver seemed to be trying to do his level best to crack the land speed record before the jeep had left the tarmac.  The young man looked over his shoulder, oblivious to what was in front of the careening vehicle. “You Peacocks are all the same arn’t you mate, more balls than brains?  Whatever possessed you to wait outside today?”

The officer ignored the question with one of his own. His voice was slow and measured, containing just the right tone of condescension which one used when talking down to inferiors. “This peacock term I have heard used, what does it mean?”

The driver laughed, causing the jeep to swerve a little as it passed close to a massive Chippewa Aerofighter parked on the edge of the field.  “Peacock!  That’s what we call all you Lyran pretty boys they keep sending us.  You lot all arrive looking more gussied up than a Brisbane whore on New Years.  Honestly, where do you get the time to put all that junk on?  You bunch need to learn that all that glittery crap’s about as useful as a paper bag when the figtin starts.”

“THIS, is the uniform of an officer of the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces, worn according to regulations, something you would best learn to emulate.  I will have no hesitation of reporting you to your superiors when I meet them shortly.”

The driver smiled into the mirror as he threw the jeep into a hard-right turn onto a road that lead to what appeared to be an extensive base facility. “Sweet.  I look forward to it.  Can you make sure you note the time you said that on the report?” He checked the clock on the dash. “12:14 local.  You just won me $150 from the boys.”

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

Five minutes of frosty standoff later, the jeep came to a screeching halt in front of a small compound, with long, single story huts lining three sides.  The flag poles in the centre held the Blacknova, Australian, and Light Horse standards. The flagpoles were accessed by two paths, one leading from where the jeep had stopped to the building on the opposite side of the compound and the other crossing the compound from the doors to the other two buildings and meeting the first path at the flag poles.  Awful looking, scrubby, native vegetation was planted along the fronts of each of the buildings and was doing its level worst, in the officer’s opinion, to look like a garden.  The long, low buildings did not inspire much appreciation either, being dark in colour with grey roofs and white trimmed windows and doors.  This ungodly place is worse than a Tamar slum.  The young officer now knew for certain that he was at the end of the universe.  Nevertheless, he would show no weakness and would present himself as a Lyran officer was expected.

“Here you are.  CO’s in the building straight ahead.”  The driver made no move to get the officers bag or door, forcing him to do both himself.  He had hardly closed the door when the jeep was off again, hurtling away down the road into the base’s interior.  Straightening himself, he swapped the bag to his left hand, turned on his heel to the left and began walking in a measures stride towards the main entrance to the central building, all the while being assaulted by the heat.

Halfway between the flagpoles and the building he had been directed to, a soldier, or sergeant to be more exact, materialised in front of him.  “You new here?”  Again, no salute and the height of rudeness.

The officer, obviously becoming delirious from the heat, decided to answer. “Of course.”

“Your one of those Lyran types aren’t you?”

“So it would appear.”

“S’pose your pretty well of then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well off.  Like wealthy, y’know?”

“I could be considered well off, yes.”

“Can you spot us a twenty then?”

“Excuse me?”

“Can you spot me a twenty? Twenty Kroner? We’re all heading out tonight and I’m a bit short.  I’ll get it back to you tomorrow after pays and all.”

The young officer snapped.

“THE LCAF IS NOT A CHARITY! I will not loan money to a senior non-commissioned officer whose lack of financial restraint prevents him from socialising.  You will report yourself to your commanding officer this minute.”

The sergeant looked at the young officer directly, stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged.  “No would covered it you tight Lyran bastard.” 

Before the officer could respond, the sergeant turned and meandered away to a group of non-coms gathered at the door of the building to the left, who were snickering and looking at the officer in ways that ranged from mild pity to outright contempt.  Squaring his shoulders, he turned away and moved into the building, planning on discussing the appalling situation with his superiors.

The corridor he entered was wonderfully cool and led him to a cross corridor with a sign pointing to the left which announced “Commanding Officer”.  He turned down the white painted corridor, passing closed office doors to his right and left until he stood facing an open, wood panelled door with Lt. General Michael Monash stencilled on it.  Entering the room in question he saw an aide sitting behind a simple desk, pushed up hard against the right wall.  The tiny anteroom led into a larger room directly ahead.

Appraising the aide, who seemed somewhat more presentable than anyone he had seen so far, despite being well under LCAF standards, the young officer announced himself.  “Karl von Prussen for Leutnant-General Monash.”

The aide, a Kommandant by his rank pip, did not even look up. “No Lootnant Geneerarrls here.  There is a Lieutenant General if you want to see him though?”

Swallowing his pride Karl replied. “As you wish, the Lieutenant General will do.”

The Kommandant looked up.  “Will he now.  Go straight in, he’s been waiting for you.”

Karl walked straight past the man without another look, becoming more and more angered by the utter contempt that was being shown by these people.  On entering the office, he came to full attention, saluted in precise Lyran fashion and announced himself. “Karl von Prussen, reporting for duty as LCAF liaison to the Australian Militia and Blacknovas mercenary command.”

The last words nearly faltered as he saw his commanding officer.  The man was somewhere between stout and portly and wore undress fatigues, like some common soldier.  He had short dark hair and moustache and was longing against the window on the rooms left, looking out into the courtyard where the flagpoles were.  The office was not much better, cluttered and scruffy with little to distinguish it as the office of a senior officer.

“I see you failed the sergeant’s test?”

Taken aback by the question, Karl could only manage “What test, Herr General.”

“My point exactly.” Responded General Monash.  He turned from the window and approached Karl, who was still saluting and extended his hand.  After a moment, Karl dropped his salute and shook the General’s hand.  “I do hope you learn the ropes a bit faster than that while you’re hear Captain Prussen.”  The General released his hand and offered Karl a seat under the window, sitting himself on the chair opposite.

“I will endeavour to do so Herr General, as I do with all my commands.  I must however point out that my Lyran rank is Hauptman-Kom…I mean Hauptman von Prussen.”

The General gave him a hard and level stare.  “Whilst you are here, you’ll find yourself lucky to get Captain Prussen.  I’d suggest you let the matter drop. It’s really not worth your effort.”

Karl paused for a moment before answering.  “As you direct General.”

“And drop the General.”

“Yes…sir.”

The General looked at Karl in a manner that made him feel like he was a carcass on display.  “Colonel Melhuish of the Blacknovas will be here shortly, you will be travelling with him over the next few months, so I suggest you spend some time with him.  He has a…unique sense of humour, very much an acquired taste, so try not to take anything he says to seriously.”  Karl nodded as the General handed him an official LCAF mobilisation notice.  “Best bring yourself up to speed by reading that.”

Karl looked down at the yellow note and began reading.  Blacknovas Mercenary Regiment in cooperation with two Australian Militia Brigades (to be nominated by Militia Command) is to embark immediately for Tamar.  Recent movements in the Rasalhague District are of potential cause for concern and the nominated formations are directed to conduct reconnaissance raiding and assaults on worlds yet to be determined by Tamar Theatre Command.  This deployment will also test LCAF plans for rapid deployment of reserve forces to the front.

Karl looked up, ignoring the rest of the message.  “Why this command Sir?  The 2nd Royals could just as well undertake it?”

The General smiled. “Because we’re the best at this sort of Dragon Baiting and old Kat wants us to put Defiance’s new Banshee’s and Hatchetmen through their paces.”

Karl was aghast, firstly at referring to Archon Katrina Steiner as Kat, and secondly that such poorly regarded militia formations and mercenaries would have access to the latest of the LCAF’s weaponry.

“Don’t look so shocked lad, we’ve been breaking Defiance’s toys for them for years now.  Once we stop being able to break them, Defiance considers them ready.  It also gives Iggy, Colonel Melhuish, a chance to see if you’re as hot a Mechjock as your file says you are.  That, plus the chance for the Blacknovas to blood themselves at the Dragon’s expense.”
Logged
Dedicated to committing viciously gratuitous bastardy of the first order.

The Kapteyn Universe - http://www.ourbattletech.com/kapteyn

Follow the KU on twitter: Matt Alexander
@BlackNova01

You know there is something wrong with the FWL, when Word's spell check changes Impavido to Impetigo and Zechetinu to Secretion.

Blacknova

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Re: KU Book 2: A Gathering of Spite
« Reply #17 on: July 22, 2019, 07:38:04 AM »

OK, so apologies for not updating the story for some time now, but I have many more chapters to share and so the story will go on. I hope you enjoy your return to the Kapteyn Universe.

Since it has been a while, there will be two chapters to get things going again.

Chapter 40

Sandhurst Royal Military Academy,
England, Terra
25 October, 3024.


Precentor Martial Hamilton stared at the holoscreen in his offices alcove as he waited for the game to begin.  The quarterfinals of the Rugby World Cup were on and the teams competing in the night’s game were going to produce a titanic clash.  The ComStar Whites were taking on the Terran XV in the hometown clash of clashes.  The talk over the last month, since ComStar downed the Marlette Marlins 26-3 and the Terrans dispatched the Outworlds Aces 51-30, was that the Terrans were no hopers, coming off several lucky wins against weak opponents.  The Precentor Martial thought otherwise, seeing in the Terrans a rapidly improving side, playing an innovative game that was finding it easier and easier to pull apart opposition defences as the tournament progressed.  He had 100 C-Bills on the game with Precentor Naval, who had represented ComStar in his younger days.  I wonder what Precentor Waterly will think of my backing of the Terran team over ComStar?  Nothing like another black mark. In addition to that bet, the looser would wear the uniform of the other service branch for a week.  Not something to be taken lightly.

The most sought-after trophy in sport since the Amaris Coup, the Rugby World Cup was the only remaining worldwide trophy from Terra’s pre-spaceflight days, the other remaining trophies being vaporised in by Rim Worlds attacks on Earth. Luckily for Rugby, the World Cup was touring the Inner Sphere during the Coup and survived to become the most sought-after piece of sporting silverware in existence.

Pat, Precentor Naval Neville and his aide, Precentor Julia Brighton would all arrive shortly, all as intent as Angus on seeing the game and having a good time whilst doing so.  Orders were out that the room was to be disturbed for nothing short of a new Succession War and that if Kerensky returned, he was welcome to watch the game…as long as he kept his mouth shut.

Tonight would also prove a good occasion to go over their growing plans for the future, plans that both naval Precentors were now part of.  Angus thought back to the conversation that had initially broached the subject of ROMULUS and REMUS with Neville.  One and a half hours to steer the conversation in the right direction, one hour to drop the hints, another hour to see if he picked up on them and two more to get it all straight for the Naval man.  Who ever said that the senior service was for deep thinkers may have over shot a little thought Angus uncharitably.  Despite his slow initial uptake on the subject, Precentor Naval had been readily able to see the writing on the wall for the Order’s and Terra’s future.  Maintenance of fleet security and control by Precentor Naval would be absurdly easy.  Long compartmented away from the rest of the Order, the Naval arm was almost a world to itself, devoted to its people and traditions.

The Precentor Martial thought to himself about tonight and the match and then thought about the thousands of ComGuard personnel, stuck on transports, heading out into the Free Worlds League and Capellan Confederation who would not see it live.  Although no ship had yet left Terra, Ross or Lyuten, they were at or near to loading or already heading for the Jump points.  Units were leaving earlier than planned as the Steiner and Davion realms seemed to be catching on and the Kapteyn powers were becoming nervous.  Is the cat out of the bag or not?  It would not matter either way in the end, too many forces were now in motion to stop and the blows would fall as planned.  The Precentor Martial’s own planning would continue, now at a more accelerated rate as plans were modified and contingencies acted upon as needed.

Rumours from Andurien concerned him the most.  Few Andurien troops were involved in the Free Worlds operations and they represented a wild card on an under-defended Capellan border, a border soon to be garrisoned by a thin line of disguised ComStar troops, masquerading as mercenaries.  Should the Andurians throw off the shackles and strike, two whole CBG’s would be strung out facing the anger of five full Andurien task forces.

That the attack itself would be devastating to ComGuard forces was enough, but in addition an interdiction would be called and the Confederation would have to strike back, weakening the Suns front and crashing the whole offensive.  The Precentor Martial had an idea, whether or not it would work was beyond him, but an additional CBG or two near Prix, all saddled up and ready to respond may well be the answer.  He would write the orders and see it done, he needed to.  That front had to hold until 3027, and then it could go its own merry way to hell as his soldiers came home.

Then there was the Periphery to worry about.  What has gotten into the Rim lately?  Every tin pot dictator and man with a gun was out attacking pirates, or each other, and demanding and more extraordinarily getting, whatever it was they wanted from an Inner Sphere keen to keep them out of Inner Sphere business.  Oberon had set the bar, seemingly exhorting or stealing whatever it wanted from the Lyrans as it built its little empire.  What the Lyrans were actually getting from the deal was hard to see.  Oberon was no real threat to the Lyran state.  Maybe Katrina’s becoming a little paranoid as she ages?  We all seem to.

Canopus, Taurus and the Outworlds were engaged in an overt show of brotherly love, but there was something else at work there, they all hated the Inner Sphere too much to truly knuckle under for the greater good.  Avellar was ever the dutiful one with Calderon seeming to pretend his paranoia was a thing of the past; the Magestrix was, on the other hand, playing true to form, demanding and domineering from start to finish.

Then there was the Primus.  That one should have been left to the wolves at birth.  Waterly was not yet suspicious of Hamilton’s moves, but the time would come when his hand, though not revealed, would become discernible.  All manner of contingencies were in place for ROMULUS and REMUS, but the fact of the matter was that anything could happen from now until they were enacted and no one, not even Hamilton, had any idea of how the universe would play out over the next few years.

Angus decided that the best thing was to stop thinking and focus on the team sheets now being displayed for the night’s game.  He sat back, sipping from his beer as he heard the noise of the others coming up the hallway to join him.
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Re: KU Book 2: A Gathering of Spite
« Reply #18 on: July 22, 2019, 07:50:39 AM »

Chapter 41

The Grimm Palace, Oberon VI
Butte District, Oberon Confederation
3 September, 3024.


Prince Hendrik of Oberon, one day to be, hopefully, King Hendrik IV of Oberon, was bored.  No, that did not quite grasp it, he was actually bored out of his mind.  Not that there was nothing to do right now; He was practically co-ruler of a nation struggling with the integration of many new worlds; the director of an ever expanding industrial base; and responsible for a line-up of foreign diplomats, all of whom wished to kiss his royal ass.  These were all challenging aspects of a challenging career, one that, in its rapid rise, could only be considered meteoric.  Challenges of industry, trade and diplomacy were all well and good, and young Hendrik understood their critical nature to the future of his own power.  However, they were not war.

War made his soul sing.  For nearly eighteen months, at the head of the 1st Guards, Hendrik had done what no other leader in the region had for centuries, he had brought war, but more importantly, successful war, to the coreward regions.  Hendricks’s War, as he liked to call it, but to his annoyance others were referring to as the Pirate’s War or, The Oberon Expansion, had burst forth in early 3023 upon his family’s long-time rivals of Butte Hold, Star’s End, and the Greater Valkyrate.

One thing was different this time though; Oberon had a proper industrial base.  That base, set up to support the military, was one of the benefits of his Lyran education.  He had seen what the Lyrans could build when on Tharkad, and he wanted the same for his state.  With the easily accessed resources of his father’s financial estate, and the business acumen of a starving prostitute, he sold his vision to Lyran industrialists, and though at times he felt rather dirty, he got what he needed – heavy industry, supporting the beginnings of a military industrial complex.

Then he swindled the swindlers.

That was fun.  The looks on the faces of the Quickscell Industries executives was priceless.  He had had stills from the room’s security file taken, sharpened, enlarged and placed on his office wall.  That image usually brought those seeking an audience up short and was the reason, at least in the Prince’s mind, that Olivetti Weaponry never got out of line during negotiations over their own investments.

Hendrik had genuinely believed that Quickscell was the best fit for the small, but rapidly growing Confederation; the company was not stuck in a rut of procedure and could rapidly adapt to new situations.  However true that may have been, the case remained that Quickscell did not take his advice and provide better quality control for their armoured vehicles.  When Galleon and Scorpion tanks started falling apart in combat, if they ever made it there at all, the young Prince was forced to act.  It was an action to not only provide his new Oberon Cavaliers tank formations with tools that actually worked, but to make sure his plan was seen to function properly by his ever-suspicious father.  Had Quickscell continued as they were, his plans would have died along with their executives, when his father’s patience ran out.

The plan had taken him ten years to get started, or at least the military part had, the previous ten years before that being used to turn large parts of the Black Canyon and Dao Sing regions into industrial areas.  Those new industrial areas, financed by some of the most disreputable, but also wealthiest, of the Lyran’s Merchant guilds, were to provide the solid foundation of a diversified civilian economy, as well as the basis for a support structure for a military industrial complex.

The deals he had wrought with the Lyrans were going to be a burden for many years, made with men who wished to avoid even the light hand of Tharkad in their business dealings.  It was a problem he knew he would need a solution to.  And Quickscell had provided the answer and the example to the others.

Quickscell had been more than willing to jump on the Oberon industrial bandwagon, if there was little oversight, good money and a chance to live life to the fullest for those posted to the new facility.  Over a battalion of light tanks and enough APC’s to outfit 2 infantry battalions rolled off the lines every six months, so that within a year and a half of opening, three of Hendrik’s new Oberon Cavalier units were in the field.  It was not all wine and roses though, as the new formations were never at more than 60-70% readiness, and units on operational deployment had suffered combat losses 30% over norms.

His father had stated his misgivings at that point, with those misgivings forcing Hendrik to see the chance of his plan’s failure. The Quickscell Executives were called in by Hendrik, presented with the evidence of the continued failure and told to get out of the Confederation within a week.  Hendrik, on his father’s authority, seized the facilities, renamed them Red Eye Heavy Industries, and tried to sort the mess out.  Quickscell, of course, complained to the Lyran Government, who of course were happy to see Quickscell get what they deserved for many years of shoddy merchandise.  The problem remained though, who to get to run the facility, and who would now help the Confederation with BattleMech facilities.

That’s where Olivetti Weaponry came in.  They hated Quickscell, for some reason or other, the reason was not important, the hate was. Olivetti wanted to take a 40% stake in Red Eye, along with other benefits, and Hendrik was happy with that, as long as they assisted Oberon with the construction of ‘Mech facilities.  The project to get ‘Mech facilities online was a nightmare, one which nearly undid all of Hendrik’s work.  Almost, but not quite.  There was just enough capacity in the new civilian sector to support the facility, but civilian industry was set back five years, only passing its old output in 3023.

But that was what clinched his campaign – The tanks flowing from Oberon and later Elissa, as well as the Locusts, Wolverines and Riflemen that Olivetti produced.  Not all the Mechs went into Grimm’s armies, many were sold by Olivetti on the open market to recoup losses, but the fact remained that both Oberon and Olivetti benefited from a mutual disdain for Quickscell and were getting profit of that dislike.

So, with these nice new toys, Hendrik went to his father in late 3022 and asked where he would like to holiday, Gotterdammerung, Butte Hold, or Star’s End?  His father laughed, told his son to choose and to take what he could.  Two weeks later, he showed his father the plan for Operation CYCLOPS.  Hendrik planned to unite the Coreward worlds in 2 years and then strike out for the Chainlaine Isles.  At the end of that time his father would have the same standing as the other great Periphery leaders.  Although at first hesitant, the old man came through, seeing the chance for some serious personal gratification and approved the plan, in the process promoting Hendrik to General.  It was then time for his son’s true calling.

That bastard Redjack Ryan never knew what hit him.  In 3023, two battle groups left Oberon, one for Butte Hold and Star’s End, and one to crush the Bitch of Gotterdammerung.  The training, stringently enforced by Hendrik, which both the Oberon Guards and the new Oberon Cavaliers had undertaken for the past two years, payed off.  Using years of experience operating as pirates, as well as fighting them, the Oberon forces new all of Ryan’s tricks.  Ryan was wiped out and Maria Morgraine was not far behind her lover in going to hell.
 
Star’s End was another matter.  Despite having ex-spacers from the Star’s End crew to guide his forces in, he still faced the battle of his career.  However, once he had a proper foothold on the main Pirate base, and had broken the back of the Star’s End Mech units, the lads running Star’s End saw that they could either die or surrender.  It was traditional at this point to execute pirate commanders, but instead, Hendrik promoted the Star’s End pilots to officer ranks and attached their remaining aero units to his own Guards.  There were grumblings in the ranks, but it worked.  It also restored the bare minimum of air cover Grimm needed, air cover that the Star’s End Flyers had been more than successful in denuding during that hard fight.  Plus, the chance to live was a wonderful motivator for the newly promoted pilots.  Star’s End also netted Oberon the shipyard facilities that had long provided Star’s End with extra capital.

And so the campaign went on, Von Strang’s World and the rest of the Valkyrate and then onto the Chainlaine Isles.  That’s when the Regulators showed up.  Strange lot those people, but effective at what they did.  Their employment had added the extra punch that was needed to bring what could have been a long drawn out campaign to a swift end.  The campaign for Chainlaine was a logistical nightmare, one that taught Hendrik several important lessons, but in the end, Chainlaine noble houses more focused on bickering whilst they fought Oberon were no match for a now experienced and well led army.

Just towards the end of that campaign, his father sent word from Oberon of an interesting deal, presented by an unlikely benefactor.  Hendrik made quick pace to Oberon and was astounded at what was offered.  All it would cost were a few design specifications and some mercenaries that were not required now that the Chainlaine Campaign was nearly over.

There had to be a catch somewhere, but he still could not see it, the temporary loss of a couple of unnecessary merc units for a great bounty, however flawed that bounty was.  His engineers and technicians were already complaining about the holes in the information, but they said they could fix them and improve on the basic components.  So, Hendrik advised his father to take the deal, take it and run with it.

As he leaned back, gazing at some of the information the trade had passed on, he thought deeply to himself about where to go now? Some suggested taking over from his father, but he was not keen on that idea, as they had developed a good, if not warm, working relationship and his time would come as it was.  He had no real option for war, unless he went mad and took on the Lyrans or Kuritans, something he would only consider should one or the other undertake a major campaign.  Despite that, he was getting rich of Lyran investment, so why rock that boat?  There was still Santander and that blood-soaked animal Helmar Valesek to deal with, but he would make sure that hammer fell with precision and power.

All in all, it seemed that he was going to have to get used to a quite life for a while, not something he really wanted, but something that appeared to be the fact of life for the next few years.  Maybe it was high time to find a wife?  He’d have to look into that, as he was probably the most eligible bachelor this side of Tamar these days.  There was an idea – dowry. What could a new bride bring to Oberon?  That got him thinking deeply on the subject.
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Re: KU Book 2: A Gathering of Spite
« Reply #19 on: July 27, 2019, 07:04:10 PM »

Chapter 42

Littleton Retreat, Alphard,
Marian Hegemony
4 November, 3024.


Caesar Sean O’Reilly, successor to the recently late Marius O’Reilly, stood on the deck of Littleton House, staring across Twofold Bay and its idyllic surrounds, long the private estate of the O’Reilly family. Sean had always enjoyed this place, a location that was often the front piece of Marian tourism brochures, but one where tourists were sure to be shot on site. The house sat at the end of a long bay, facing north, its wide and deep verandahs framed by the thick local vegetation.

Sean was in a slightly pensive mood, his youthful face tight with small worry lines, which made his dark eyes appear darker and caused his otherwise handsome face, with its longish brown hair, to take on a menacing appearance. Where is Carson? He thought. Carson, or Julia Carson, was his most important advisor. Not more than a sometimes advisor to his father, Carson was the person responsible for saving the Marian line on Logan Prime when his father was killed. Had she not rallied the First and Second Legions to her call, the ORCA forces would have ended both formations as viable combat units, and allowing them to have been waiting for his own Third Legion upon his own landing.

That had to have been his less than stable father’s worst moment. Up to that point, Sean was forced to admit, the old boy had been doing well. Industry and trade in the Hegemony were booming and several worlds settled by Marian colonists were officially brought into the fold. Old Marius had even managed to take and hold Niops, much to the pleasure of the long-oppressed masses. The Hegemony did not have the freedoms of realms like the Free Worlds League, but it was a virtual paradise of liberal ideals when compared to the old Niopian system.

No fact had demonstrated the regular Niopians support of the Marian regime more, than the 2nd Atrean Hussars disastrous attack on the world in support of the Lothian/Illyrian/Circinian alliance, known as ORCA. The 2nd Atrean Hussars had expected an easy first combat assignment, underestimating their opponents severely. Unknown to outsiders, the Marian attack on Niops had freed the long-suffering underclass of Niopian society. Taking advantage of this, the now-dead Marius O’Reilly had begun arming the population and turning Niops into a fortified camp. The old boy planned to protect his valuable new acquisition, with a large local and fanatical militia being the easiest way to do it. This freed up Marian offensive forces for use against ORCA and kept the few unruly Niopian ex-rulers as a well-controlled minority. However, the remains of the previous Niopian ruler’s clique did come out to play eventually, fielding a surprisingly strong underground force.

The training of the Atrean Hussar’s pilots got the invasion force through to its meeting point with the rebel forces on planet, further adding to the Hussars low regard for their opponents. On the ground, the League units and their new allies were horribly outnumbered and the green troops of the FLWM unit lacked the seasoning to take the fight to the defenders. After just 19 days, the League forces, little more than 2 companies of Mechs and two mixed infantry/armour Battalions, abandoned Niops under the cover of their fighters and jumped back to Romita. Suffice to say the massacre of the Niopian Rebels who supported the Hussars during the battle by the Marian Militia was bloody, brutal, and effective.

Following the acquisition of Niops, old Marius saw the greater prize of Lothia and Illyria as there for the taking. The initial plan would have worked, but for three problems; Marius’s arrogance in thinking he had enough forces to win without reinforcement, and therefore not waiting for Sean and Legio III to join up with the main battle group; the lack of good intelligence on the ORCA alliance, which secretly included the Canopians and was supported by the Free Worlds; and Captain Manuel Todor, who led the Lothian Commandos in their attack on the Marian HQ on Logan Prime.

Logan Prime was where the late Caesar planned to break the armies of Lothia and Illyria, after which he could absorb their states and greatly increase the strength of the Hegemony. Hadn’t planned for Dame Logan though, had you father? Thought Sean. He had been thoroughly impressed by the Lothian leader’s diplomatic abilities, as had everyone. Just prior to Marian forces grounding on Logan Prime, Dame Logan had managed to get Circinus and Canopus to put pen to paper and join the Outer Reaches Coalition Agreement (ORCA) with Lothia and Illyria. Better yet, she managed to convince the Illyrian Merchants Council to allow her to speak on both Lothia and Illyria’s behalf.

To make matters worse, she also managed to get the Free Worlds League to transfer enough supplies and equipment to delay Marian advances on Logan Prime long enough to allow the effects of Free Worlds and Canopian strikes into Marian space to severely compromise Marian security in a three-front war.

But before that all happened, dad, you thought you were there. The initial landing on Lothia had nearly caused the complete collapse of the ORCA forces, with the highly experienced Legio I and II, supported by the Blackstone Highlanders and auxiliaries, not only hitting the line ORCA forces hard but driving back the various mercenaries that were dropped in the path of the Legions advance. Victory was all but assured at that point.

Until Captain Manuel Todor led his Lothian Commandos on a night raid on the Marian HQ, killing every senior Marian commander except for Julia Carson. When the Sentinels, one of ORCA’s mercenaries, hit the Marian line ten minutes later, the chaos was dreadful. The Marian forces were close to rout until Carson stabilised the line and Sean dropped Legio III across the ORCA advance shortly after arriving in system. Even then all was not lost, as Marian reserves were enough to force a victory through attrition, even counting the late-arriving Circinian forces. But when the Free Worlds provided supplies, moved a battle group to Lothario and attacked Niops, whilst the Canopians struck at Islington, Baccalieu and Ballalaba, Sean, as the new Caesar, had to admit that the game was up and flee the system with his troops.

I think one could call those few weeks interesting times. How the hell did we get here from there? The Marian Hegemony should be a memory right now, especially if that bastard Duncan Marik had gotten his may. Prick!

It was at this point, that Julia Carson walked out onto the deck, looking every part the leader of the Marian Military, a post she was appointed to by Sean, in order to free him up in dealing with the power vacuum that now existed at the top of Marian politics. “What the hell have you been doing Sean?!”

“It’s nice to see you too Carson. No standing on ceremony today?” Answered Sean, appearing nonplussed by his general’s temperament.

“I’ll stand you on your head, is what I’ll do you little idiot! Are you trying to provoke the Free Worlds into invading the Hegemony, or is this all some sort of sick joke? When I left for Niops in September, all of ORCA and half the damn Periphery were on side and willing to agree to our proposal. By the time I arrived there, Niops was on full alert for an invasion and word was that you and that idiot Duncan Marik were engaged in an interstellar pissing competition. I hate to tell you Sean, but you’re not going to win that game.”

Sean waited a moment before addressing his general’s concerns, letting her catch her breath and savouring the fact that this was the first time in their short stint together as leaders of the Hegemony where he actually knew more than she did.

“There is no pissing competition, Duncan pissed in his uncle’s shoes and the Janos didn’t like it.”

Carson’s eyes narrowed, not a good look, considering she looked like someone had spent the better part of ten years hitting her about the head and shoulders with a Mech. “Spill.”

Sean continued. “When you left, our proposal for a ceasefire, reparations to Lothia, Illyria and Circinus we could afford, a partial standing down of our military and release of certain mercs was accepted. Better yet, our broader proposal for our own inclusion into ORCA, along with as many other periphery realms as possible was working. If there is one thing the Periphery is never short of, it’s idealism. Dame Logan, Centrella, Calderon and surprisingly King Grimm, were all almost indecent in their rush to endorse the proposal and seem like the noblest supporter of peace and prosperity on the Rim. It was a little disturbing really.”

Carson relaxed a little, pulling a bench across and seating herself with about as much grace as a train wreck. “Go on.” She said.

“Problem was, no one wanted the Inner Sphere involved, especially Canopus. That’s one paranoid woman over there in the Magistracy. Anyhow, Dame Logan – now there is one hell of a good diplomat, hardcore idealist, but a brilliant diplomat – she decides that she will approach the Free Worlds about leaving Lothian space, but all the while praising their efforts and offering undying friendship. She can really turn on the charm when she wants, and it seemed to be working on Janos. Word was he was considering pulling out in exchange for little more than token gestures from us. Seems there is something really big going on in the League and Janos want no other major distractions at the moment. However, his dickhead nephew Duncan went a little screwy when he heard that his pet war might be called off and started issuing demands to the Marian Government in the clear, demands that would pretty much see us loose Niops and have left the Hegemony as little more than a protectorate of the League. I think I might have lost my head a little bit there.” Sean admitted a little guiltily.

“A little.” Julia snorted, “Your response was a mix between a Caesarean address, a two-year old’s temper tantrum, and an adolescent’s determination to start a fight.”

“It was a little rash, I agree, but it seems to have turned the trick.” Sean added

“How.”

“It seems as though Dame Logan took the whole series of events as her fault. She is desperate to see an expanded ORCA body encompassing most of the major Periphery states and is making damn well sure it happens. She negotiated, through ComStar’s good offices, the release by us of the remaining Niopian nobles to the League, a stupidly small reparation for the League from the Hegemony and a leash on that idiot Duncan Marik. Janos wanted out and Logan gave him enough to make it palatable to Parliament. I imagine its pissed that fool Duncan off though. We lost nothing we could not spare and we will soon be part of a Periphery wide alliance. What’s even more nuts, is that Canopus and Oberon were calling all sorts of fire down on the League for trying to restart the Reunification War. Just gotta love that Canopian fear of the League. Better yet, in her own gesture of peace and love, the Magestrix committed to withdrawing from Marian space, in the name of solidarity against League aggression, or some such nonsense.”

Carson fixed a long, hard stare at the young Caesar. “You are the luckiest idiot god ever put breath into.”
Sean nodded vigorously, “I know. Best of all, the state will recover and be stronger for our trials. With what we gained recently from our new friends; we can look to a very secure future.”

Carson leaned back. “What of Operation GALDIUS now? Your father was so close, and with what we have gained, added to the strength we will have following our recovery, we can still take what we want from ORCA.”

Sean paused, readying himself to give Carson an answer that she would not expect. “I think I’ve caught that idealism bug that’s going around. All I could think of for the last few months was recovering, then taking our new toys and teaching Lothia, Illyria, and Circinus one hell of a lesson, then hammering Canopus, just for shits and giggles. But after what Dame Logan has done to protect us as part of the Periphery, even after attacking her realm, and the actions of that maniac Kyalla Centrella with her unilateral withdrawal and support against the Free Worlds, I actually feel obliged to be nice to our neighbours.”

“Good.” Was all that Carson said in return.

“What do you mean good?” Sean asked, utterly confused.

“If you had tried to start another war with our neighbours, they would have united and destroyed us, quickly or slowly, but they would have made sure we were removed from the balance of power completely. In that case, I planned to remove you from power. Thank god you saw sense, as running this madhouse is not something I want to have to do any time soon.”

Sean was a little stunned by that.
 
« Last Edit: July 27, 2019, 07:06:39 PM by Blacknova »
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Re: KU Book 2: A Gathering of Spite
« Reply #20 on: July 27, 2019, 07:06:54 PM »

Chapter 43

Sturmwelt Department Store
Silesia, Solaris City, Solaris VII
Rahne Shire, Isle of Skye
2 October, 3024


After hour meetings weren’t often a common thing for the CEO of Sturmwelt and Sons, GMBH, but Alois Sturmwelt had, on occasion found them necessary to manage his Skye-wide chain of well-known department stores. But this meeting, requested by the militia and the LCAF was unusual. Word was, war was again on the horizon, you could almost feel it with the drop in tourism to the Game World, and even the regular customers were a lot more furtive these days. One element in the equation for possible war was that fact that survival equipment and personal body armour was practically vanishing of Sturmwelt store shelves as fast as it could be put up.  The other factor in favour of war breaking out sooner rather than later was the odds the Solaris bookkeepers were running. Over the last six months, the short odds had moved from September 3026 to March 3025.

One hopes the Marks won’t come here, between all the stables, and the two units on the world, plus the militia? It’ll be a damned bloodbath. The only military objective of any value is Solaris City. Is that why the militia wants to come and speak to me tonight?

Alois wasn’t a fool when it came to military matters, he hadn’t always been a CEO, having once served his nation as Hauptmann Alois Sturmwelt, 17th Skye Rangers infantry. He had seen war up close, and nasty, as it always was for the poor bloody infantry.  Nasty was especially true that last fight desperate and brutal fight on Nestor. That Centauri Lancer Vulcan didn’t leave a lot of us alive, thought Alois, glancing furtively at his mynomer leg, or whole. He’d taken his medical retirement in stride and turned a pension and an acumen for business planning and management, with over twenty years of careful investment, and built it into something. Now the damn Mariks might blow it all to hell and gone.

He was especially proud of the flagship store here on Solaris, the vast area it covered and contained was a capitalist Mecca. From the well-lit aisles, to the clearly marked prices and cheerful staff, who were kept happy with good pay and benefits, al  accentuated by specially commissioned artwork from rising young local artists. All that loving attention had made this store the jewel in the Sturmwelt crown. Alois thought about going down to the militia and offering his services, once it became clear that war was coming, planning to see if he could get volunteers from his staff to defend what was theirs.  Solaris their home too, and they should get a chance to fight for it, if that’s what they want. Others he’d transferred deeper into Skye, especially those with families. He glanced at the picture of his sister, once an aerospace pilot with the 7th Donegal Guards, long dead in some skirmish with the Black Warriors some dozen years ago. I can’t ask people to lose their families, I’ve already lost mine. Alois thought mournfully as he looked over the store’s bright rows from his vantage point above the main floor in the conference room.

There was a knock at the door. It was Helga, his assistant; she’d stayed late to help get things set up for the meeting. She was a stocky woman, with almond eyes and jet-black hair shot through with grey, showing the effects of her forty years. Helga looked like somebody’s kindly aunt until one remembered that once upon a time, Helga had been a Warhammer pilot with the 23rd Arcturan Guards; and a holy terror up and down the Tamar front for many years. But that was twenty years ago now.

“Sir, the delegation from the militia and the LCAF is here, can I show them in?” she said through the closed door.
Alois smiled, “Yes Helga, do so, then get on home, have Marcus drive you, the streets aren’t very safe this time of night.” It was a sad fact of life on the Game World, that it attracted all kinds, including the worst criminals. Even Silesia wasn’t safe after the sun went down. I hate to think what the homicide rate’s going to be this year.

Alois shook his head to rid it of the cobwebs forming. It was time to see what he could do for his adopted homeworld, and by extension, the nation he loved. Though he was born of Skye, he was no supporter of Free Skye. He’d seen enough boys and girls come through his platoon, and later company, to know there were brave men and women to be found throughout the Commonwealth. And far too many of them died before I even knew their names. Though, to be honest, the rest of the old sweats and I didn’t bother to learn them till they’d seen some action with us, no sense in getting attached to someone who might not live very long.

More mournful thoughts were swept away as the door opened, disgorging a gaggle of men and women, into the room, six in all, dressed in LCAF walking out uniforms. The newcomers quickly set up a small holoprojector and the leader of the detail, a Kommandant from the looks of his epaulettes, motioned to Mr. Sturmwelt to sit down. Alois obliged him, returning to the seat he’d given up moments before.

The leader of the LCAF delegation stood, his dun skin and brown eyes suggesting Tamar origins, though the nameplate stated his name as “Gershwin”. “Herr Sturmwalt, I am Kommandant Gershwin, assistant deputy S-2 for Planning for the Thirty-Second Lyran Guards Regimental Combat Team, I am here, with my counterpart, Kommandant Hegstel from the Tenth Skye Rangers.” Gershwin motioned to a short, blonde woman, who nodded and smiled, “as well as representatives from the Solaris Militia, and a representative from the 65th Logistical Studies Group.” A giant ebon skinned man with wire frame spectacles and short hair nodded at that particular mention to Mr Sturmwelt, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Longherin or Loki, if I miss my guess. I’ve dealt with their type before. How that lot can try and maintain their secretive nature when they hulk around like this fellow, screaming their affiliation for all to see eludes me.  Being that, this will be an in-Commonwealth job, so he’s most likely Lohengrin, the lesser of two evils.

Gershwin continued, oblivious to the thoughts racing through Alois’s mind. “Mister Sturmwelt, it was with interest that we noticed your application to local authorities to form a volunteer battalion from the staff of your store, in the event of an invasion. While we’re quite flattered, we have other ideas in mind for your store. Ideas that are going to, by law, require your permission.”

Alois sat up with a start, “If you were going to say no, you wouldn’t have come all this way. And you sure as hell wouldn’t have brought the holoprojector.”

Gershwin chuckled. “I was told you’re a shrewd man, and that you’d been an infantry officer with the 17th. So, let’s dispense with the pleasantries, Kommandant Sturmwelt. If war happens, and there’s no reason to suspect it won’t. There’s a good chance the Mariks will come for Solaris as they have always wished to do. The League’s been feeling a bit big of late, with their success on Cavanaugh and the near crisis they touched off in the Periphery, we suspect Solaris’s traditional neutrality will mean little when war comes.”

Alois nodded in understanding.

“Good, now, to operational matters; Solaris City, and its environs, are the only real military objectives on this world and form the centre of gravity for the entire system’s defence.  Well, we intend to make the Mariks pay a very bloody coin for it when they come. We all intend to do our part and we know it’s going to be hard as hell on the people of the city. You’d be surprised though, how many, even in the BattleMech Stables, are agreeable to assist us in the defence of this world. In many cases, I would say it’s not out of love of the Commonwealth, but love of Solaris, or more importantly the profit they all make from Solaris under the jurisdiction of the Lyran Commonwealth. With these people’s assistance, Marik will find this world a most dangerous place.” Kommandant Gershwin smiled a rictus grin, a faraway look in his eyes.

“That’s all well and good, but how does my store come in?” Alois asked, a note of concern in his voice.
Gershwin motioned to the member of the delegation from the “65th Logistical Studies Group” who rose. “Call me Mr. Lorn, sir. I know that sounds odd, but you’re just going to have to bear with me on this. Sir, your store is a hell of a draw for everybody. It sells a lot of high-end items, and souvenirs…as well as a nicely stocked duty-free section, correct? Just the target for victorious Marik troops to loot the hell out of, especially when we also set up the combined forward logistics HQ within the store, right?”

Alois blanched…  “Just what are you getting at?”

Mr Lorn smiled, and it was the scariest thing Sturmwelt had ever beheld, even scarier than that blood-red Vulcan he’d faced on Nestor. “You know how a mousetrap works? Bait it with something tasty, then drop the hammer, hard. Well, you’ve got the bait, made tastier by our presence. Me and my associates? We can provide the hammer…a whole lot of hammer. We just need your permission to be the cheese.”

It was then the holoprojector started, and it projected a 3-D projection of the building plans of the store…with the failure points highlighted….and understanding dawned on Alois. Well, it’ll be expensive, but how expensive will a Marik occupation be? Eh? Then the certificate, signed by the Wyatt Theatre Margrave appeared on the screen, promising full restitution for all damages caused. Just have to get the artwork out.

Alois leaned back and smiled. “What do you need from me, mein damen en herren?”
Logged
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Re: KU Book 2: A Gathering of Spite
« Reply #21 on: August 04, 2019, 12:03:01 AM »

Chapter 44

LCS Nordlander, Nadir Jump Point,
Thorin, Wyatt Theatre, Lyran Commonwealth
4 October, 3024.


“It’s foolishness is what it is.” Barked Ryan Steiner, his blue eyes flashing.

“Again Ryan, you are being most amusing Ryan, and your vehement protests could be misconstrued as cowardice if were inclined to be unkind.” Answered Frederick Steiner.  Frederick’s response got the reaction he was hoping for, as Ryan started to bluster and prepare a retort.

However, Frederick cut him off before he could launch into a tirade. “The matter is not open for discussion Ryan.  Standing Orders from the LCAF High Command leave me no option other than to make all speed for Thorin’s surface and aid in the defence of the world.  The defenders have little hope against the armada arranged against them.  With the full strength of the 10th Guards thrown into battle the world may hold until reinforcements arrive.  Better yet, we get to see how well this Kapteyn Alliance performs in the field.

Six hours ago, the 10th Lyran Guards RCT had arrived at a LaGrange jump point close to the world of Thorin, in order to allow Ryan Steiner a chance to visit the world quickly before the RCT moved on to its new posting in Davion space.  The posting was the effective exile for both Ryan and Frederick, but Frederick had to admire the move of his cousin Katrina, the Archon. You give Ryan and I posts we cannot turn down, ridding yourself of two opponents to your rule. Clever Katrina, very clever.  However, three hours later, massive emergence signatures were detected at the Nadir and Zenith jump points, later resolving themselves into large fleets from both the Draconis Combine and Free Worlds League.  Frederick was left with little choice; with such a large force inbound, the 10th Guards would have to make planet fall and assist the defending 5th Lyran Regulars and Militia on world.  The task would not be an easy one, with four FWLM Mech Regiments and two Mercenary units from the Combine, backed by several conventional Brigades and Aero units preparing to make planet fall.

Frederick knew his role and contacted Colonel Gustav Von Buren, commander of the 5th Regulars, who happily relinquished command to him as the commander the 10th Guards RCT.  That’s when Ryan started making waves.  The man was no soldier, little more than slimy and underhanded politician, and a lap dog to the former Archon, Alessandro Steiner.  Frederick had learned to detest the man on their enforced journey together, with his most recent outburst adding cowardice to his plethora of less than sterling character traits.

Ryan had stood in Frederick’s office for fifteen minutes, coming up with reason after reason why the 10th Guards should move on from Thorin, leaving the world to its fate.  So, it was with great glee that Frederick had suggested that Ryan accompany the 10th to the surface, to provide a welcome boost to the morale of the world’s defenders.

“I will not be accompanying you to the surface Frederick, it’s out of the question.  My role with the Davion court is too important to jeopardise.” Ryan tried to puff himself up, but his lack of standing in the situation did little to add to his authority.

“What you want and what will actually happen are to entirely different things Ryan.  You best prepare yourself, we are about to decouple from the JumpShip and begin our in run, and of you cause me any more problems, I’ll have you strapped into an APC by force if I have to.”

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

November 5th, 3024
Left Bank of the Salido River, 9 km from Fairfax
Thorin
Wyatt Theatre, Isle of Skye
Lyran Commonwealth


General Frederick Steiner, Commander of the 10th Lyran Guards and Duke of Duran, and once, in his own mind, presumptive heir to the throne of the Lyran Commonwealth, stood on the embankment above the Salido River, his steel-grey eyes watching the “falling stars in reverse” of Marik and Kurita Dropships leaving Thorin. His combat fatigues were rumpled from not having had a chance to bathe for two weeks, and along with the week of facial hair and eyes ringed in red, it all made him look more like one of the homeless than a leader of men.

That was a rough time they gave us, but their hearts were not truly in the fight, unlike our troops. He thought to himself. Frederick had been reflecting for many hours as the Kurita and Marik forces departed. Once, not all that long ago, he would have yearned for such a victory, to parade before the masses his great skills as a leader. However, the past year had sobered him, as though he still opposed much of what the Archon was doing, he had to admit, she was doing it well, and her implementation of the Davion style RCTs, which he had vociferously opposed, had saved the day on Thorin.

Frederick once would have thought that nothing good ever came from that “damnable woman” Katrina Steiner, or that anything she did was Lyran enough.  But that thought had been burned away in the fire of Thorin.  The RCT concept, something he had once referred to as “the expensive and hollow payment Katrina gets for whoring the Lyran Commonwealth out to the Davions” had saved them all and in quite spectacular fashion, and much of that was due to his growing willingness to use the force properly. When the RCT’s conventional units had first been attached in 3024, he had been aghast and refused to use them for more than rear are security. However, the professionalism of those soldiers and his gradual mellowing had seen him adapt to them.

Frederick looked across the river to the base camp of the 101st Panzergrenadier, a hive of activity as techs tried to repair the damage of the last month fighting.  The 101st Panzergrenadier Brigade showed us that you don’t need to be a ‘Mech jock to die well for your country. The 101st and the Lohengrin made this victory possible. They kept us one step ahead of the enemy, though the cost to them was severe.

The 10th, like many of the other premiere Lyran units, had been raising a lot of trouble along the borders with the Mariks and Kuritas of late.  At first, it had seemed to many, Fredrick included, that Katrina was raising hell just to raise hell, but he had come to realize there was a greater purpose. We could have taken those worlds, but could we have held them, that’s the open question, isn’t it? Katrina chose correctly, where I would have dumped us into a war we could not win.

In response, the Mariks and Kuritas had come calling to Thorin a month ago, their actions suggesting that they were trying to give their alliance some unity in blood.  What House Marik had found was that Theodore Kurita hadn’t thought enough of this entire operation to jeopardize his best troops, so he did what any self-respecting Successor Lord would have done in such a situation; he’d sent mercenaries. It seems given what occurred, that was a prudent decision.

The 10th Guards, with the 101st at their head, had hit the Orloff Grenadiers hard enough to unbalance the Marik line, whilst the militia and 5th Lyran Regulars tied up the DCMS mercenaries.  Although Frederick’s plan was bold, he lacked the force to turn a stunning tactical victory into a rout for his opponents.  The battle did, however, provide enough breathing room and time for a call for help to be answered.

A relief force was now inbound, with the 1st Skye Rangers at their head, screaming for Marik blood. Those sons of Skye are going to be rather disappointed, not that I am complaining, I’d rather see the heels of the Mariks and Kuritas after this month.

It was then that Frederick heard footsteps behind him and tensed. It has to be him again…time I suppose to set him straight…

“Why are you here Ryan?” Frederick’s voice was deep.

Ryan shook his head to shake out dust from his blonde hair as he stopped next to Frederick, on his right side. “To talk cousin Frederick.”

“Are we going to plot how to use the deaths of so many of my men to bring down my cousin once and for all?” he said, with hints of both exhaustion and cynicism warring in his voice.

Ryan shrugged, “No, not tonight. Tonight, I just wanted to celebrate being alive with an old friend and a bottle of Glengarry Special Reserve.” Ryan quipped as he produced a small bottle of the amber liquid and two metal cups.

Frederick sighed “I suppose a bracer won’t hurt now.”

Ryan nodded as he poured a couple of shots. “Frederick, one wonders what the hell are you doing wool-gathering out here?”

Frederick shrugged his hunched shoulders, wincing as his knotted muscles protested the action, shrugging with the look of a man who had come to realise that his life until quite recently had been something of a lie. “Ryan, I’ve been an idiot. The Archon’s throne wasn’t mine to begin with. And Alessandro? Alessandro almost plunged us into civil war. I have decided I don’t wish to play their games any longer. I am not a politician, I am not suited to that world, despite what the flatterers say. I belong in a line regiment, looking after the Commonwealth with the skills I have, not those others pretend I have.”

Ryan tried to hide the panic rising in his gut: Oh god, no! Frederick abandon us…and he was going to prove so useful to me and Uncle Alessandro! He smiled disarmingly and motioned for Frederick to sit on some nearby rocks. He looked Frederick in his steel-grey eyes and smiled “Why do you so demean yourself cousin?”

Frederick sat before answering “Simple. Katrina’s little alliance may still not be the best of ideas, but there’s no doubt we’ve gotten more out of it than I thought. That little Davion RCT innovation may have saved our lives over the past month. Those tankers and infantrymen over there on the other bank, they won this battle for us.”

“But Frederick, your counterattack it was-” Ryan opined, a note of concern in his voice.

“Made possible by the efforts of some very brave Lohengrin troops operating with elements of the 101st Panzergrenadier.  If not for those troops, this regiment and the 5th Lyran Regulars would be dead, or stuck behind Marik razor wire, and you and I would be with Duke Sakuma enjoying the dubious hospitality of the Marik military governor.”

“So, your experience has given you a revelation has it?” Ryan asked idly.

Frederick exhaled, his entire body ached from lack of sleep, meals eaten on the run, too many hours in his Atlas or hunched over a map table in the regimental CP. “Yes Ryan, it is easy enough to grasp when you remove ego from the equation. I’m never going to like Katrina.  She and I are far too different, but I am coming to realize that I can learn to live with her. And if not the throne, then perhaps a career as the loyal opposition, with a stress on the loyal, is in order.”

Ryan kept his thought to himself, as his plans for the throne depended on using Aldo Lestrade and Frederick Steiner as patsies to be used for his benefit and then cast away. But now dear Cousin, you’re jeopardizing all that with your sudden bout of idealism. Uncle Alessandro will probably want to have his associates kill you…but I think simply passing a message to Also Lestrade and letting his men do the deed will work better…much better indeed.

Frederick smiled, “Yes, I can be a thorn in Katrina’s side without having to be some ugly plotting little traitor. I won’t do it anymore. The soldiers we lost here, they deserve much better than that from me, especially after what they did here. Half of them are dead or are filling Thorin’s hospitals. I owe them much better than that. I think, when we depart for our tour with the AFFS, I’m going to let the 101st have the place of honour in the departure parade. It’s the least I can do.”

Ryan blanched, the place of honour for parades was assumed as one for Mech units, not for a lowly light armour brigade.

“Don’t look at me like that Ryan, you know damn well I am serious. And no, I am not drunk or exhausted. I’ve grown up, and it was not a minute too soon. Maybe you should too”

Ryan ignored the challenge and changed tack as he cleared his throat “But what of Lestrade?”

Frederick smiled ferally “What of the little toad? He protested the formation of one of the two regiments coming to relieve us! Who has cared more about the people of Skye? You, I or that “woman” we both despise, who has been acting to keep the DCMS and FWLM off-balance? We both know a storm’s coming.  A blind man could see it.  We either bend like the reed, Ryan, or we die. I do not intend to die from a lack of mental flexibility.  However, I am sure Aldo will never see things in such a way.”

Ryan ground his fingers into his palm in frustration, How dare he! He just can’t walk away from us, from all WE did for him. Very well Cousin, if you won’t “play ball”, then you’ll have to be removed from the playing surface.
Logged
Dedicated to committing viciously gratuitous bastardy of the first order.

The Kapteyn Universe - http://www.ourbattletech.com/kapteyn

Follow the KU on twitter: Matt Alexander
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You know there is something wrong with the FWL, when Word's spell check changes Impavido to Impetigo and Zechetinu to Secretion.

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Re: KU Book 2: A Gathering of Spite
« Reply #22 on: August 11, 2019, 02:36:13 AM »

Chapter 45

Sandhurst Military Academy,
England, Terra
11 October, 3024.

Precentor Martial Angus Hamilton continued to sift through the huge pile of reports on the desk in front of him, not really wanting to deal with any of it.  He was still recovering from a severe case of the flu, brought on by what his doctor told him was chronic exhaustion from over work.  When Pat heard, he bundled Angus and his wife into the first available transport to Australia and told his commanding officer that if he heard from him before two weeks were out, he would personally shoot Angus for dereliction of duty.

Angus would never admit it publicly, but the two weeks at home had been a god’s end, allowing him to recover from his infection and actually stop thinking about the ComGuards for a short time.  After being back for three days, he still could not focus properly, as the flu had come back the minute he returned to Sandhurst.  Nevertheless, he was forced to knuckle down and concentrate, as the final checks for five forming Combat Brigade Groups and several reconditioned WarShips would need to be completed by the week’s end if they were to commission on time.

As he looked over the notes for the 130th Brigade, he heard a commotion in the hall outside his office and the sound of many feet, walking quickly across the hard hallway floor.  Seconds later, Primus Myndo Waterly burst through his office door, her golden hair wreathing her angry face like a molten halo as her robe billowed out around her, adding to the dramatic effect.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!” she screamed, throwing a thick, wire bound document at Hamilton, which he ducked with ease, but otherwise he remained motionless at his desk.

Hamilton’s lack of movement, or apparent surprise, seemed only to enrage Waterly further.  Before she could launch into one of her tirades, Hamilton interjected. “It seems to be a document Primus.  How can I answer you with any more detail than that, when you storm into my office unannounced and start throwing things at me?  I assume it is of importance and warrants detailed attention, but I again ask, how will that be possible when you do not even explain what is contained within the document?”

Myndo paused, seeming to gather herself and with bluster and threats typical of her demeanour recently, she began. “Very well Hamilton, but your continued place as Precentor Martial will hinge on our discussion here today.”  Waterly gathered her robe before her and sat, allowing Hamilton to see her two aides in the corridor, just before they closed the door, leaving the Primus and Precentor Martial in peace.

Without looking to the document, which was on the floor somewhere behind him, Hamilton began digging for information.  “What is the issue at hand Primus?”

Myndo, now apparently composed, began her explanation.  “Over the last few months, ROM has managed to create an algorithm that has allowed us to crack most of the current codes used by the Successor Lords and allow them to read the mail of the great powers.  ROM tells me that this advantage won’t last forever, but it is certainly useful for now.”

Hamilton nodded. “Useful is an understatement, instead of learning what we need after events have transpired, a current and accurate picture of the inner thoughts of the Successor States will be invaluable over the coming months.  However, I take it ROM has learnt something disturbing from this bounty.”

The Primus fixed Hamilton with an icy stare. “You state the obvious Precentor Martial.  But yes, to answer your question, ROM has discovered something of great distress to me.  It would seem that one of the Successor States had made an unprecedented discovery.”

Hamilton cocked his head to one side. “A memory core?  We know that the Outworlds and Taurians have made small discoveries in the last year, but nothing truly ground-breaking, and although the Marians have disseminated what they learnt from Niops, the sum total of regained knowledge is not truly significant.”

Myndo vehemently shook her head. “I disagree, any regained knowledge is a blow to Blake’s grand plan.  Unfortunately, ROM is too busy creating chaos for the coming war to be ready to launch another Holy Shroud.  There will be a reckoning, and maybe more with this new information.  How ready is the fleet?”

Hamilton’s insides went cold. “The fleet?  Why is their readiness of such sudden importance?”

Myndo’s voice dropped to a cold whisper. “Because dear Angus, it would appear that a Successor Lord has made a great discovery and is almost ready to deploy the first new WarShips not under our control in nearly 150 years.”

Angus’s eyes widened in disbelief. “That is grave news, but I fail to see how it directly affects my standing as Precentor Martial.”

“You are responsible for military security for our order.” Myndo answered “You should have been aware of this earlier and had contingency plans in place.”

Hamilton chuckled “I see Belov has been playing games again.  Yes, the ComGuards are responsible for analysing and reporting on Successor State military developments.  However, all our information comes from ROM, so we can only comment on what we are given.  As this is the first I have heard of this, I would suggest that either ROM has been hiding it from me, or this is the first ROM knows of it as well. What else can you tell me?”

Myndo did not seem convinced by his answer. “It is all there in that document. Read it.”

Instead of reaching for the document, Angus pressed a button on the intercom on his desk.  The voice on the other end said, “Naval Operations.”

“This is the Precentor Martial.  Send Precentor Naval to my office immediately.”

“Aye Sir, Precentor Naval to Your Office immediately Precentor Martial.” The intercom shut off and Hamilton looked to Waterly.

“Best we use our in-house expert on such matters.  He will be here in a few minutes.”

“Very well.” Answered Waterly.

The next few minutes went slowly as neither spoke.  Hamilton was now sure that Waterly did not mean to remove him. Belov would be in for it though. Smug bastard, if he is playing us, Myndo will gut him like a pig.

Footsteps in the hall announced the approach of the Precentor Naval, and a knock at the door his arrival. “Come in.” said Hamilton.

Precentor Naval entered and closed the door, clad in his undress naval fatigues. “Morning Sir.” He began and then he saw the Primus “And Primus, an unexpected honour.”

The Primus, still in what must have been a towering anger, merely pointed at the crumpled document in the corner. “Get that, read it, and explain its implications.”

Precentor Neville looked at Hamilton puzzled, but on a nod from the Precentor Martial, crossed the office and picked up the document, opened the cover and tilted it to get the light from the nearby window to fall on the first page.  After a few moments a muttered “My god” gained Precentor Naval a hard look from the Primus, but undeterred, he skimmed through the entire document.  When finished, he looked at both the Primus and the Precentor Martial.

“Impressive, but hardly worth worrying about.”

Myndo’s voice took on a decidedly unpleasant edge. “Hardly worth worrying about!  You are trying to tell me that the redevelopment of the Successor State WarShip fleet and the apparent spread of this technology to the Periphery as well, is not worth worrying about?  This Lostech rediscovery could set our plans back years.”

Neville shook his head “Hardly Lostech Primus.”

“NOT LOSTECH! Then what is it if not the grail to those unholy warmongers!?”

“If you would forgive a little history to explain this Primus?” Asked Precentor Naval in level voice.  Myndo nodded once.

“When the Second Succession War broke out, the practices of the first war continued, with the remaining shipping infrastructure, especially naval yards, being the main targets.  However, despite the loss of all naval construction capability, the knowledge of how to construct capital grade weapons, compact cores and large inter-planetary drives was not.  With the loss of Invincible after Hesperus, a gentleman’s agreement not to restart the naval arms race seemed to fall into place.  No state could really afford to restart naval construction, although anyone theoretically could have done so.  It would seem that this recent discovery has provided the tools to do just that quickly and cheaply.”

Myndo did not seem entirely placated. “I still fail to see how this is a minor inconvenience.”

“That’s easy enough to explain Primus.” Began Neville “The design specs here seem to point to small ships, little more than over-sized assault ships.  Sure, they can be produced in numbers, due the fact that existing JumpShip yards can accommodate the small hulls they are built on, and that the initial design seems to use many components of the Invader-class transport.  However, they are small anti-fighter platforms more than anything else.  It would take several of these ships to face up to even one of our Destroyers.  We currently have in service over thirty WarShips, and although after ten years we may well be outnumbered, we will never be out gunned.  Add to that the fact that we are constantly expanding the Titan Yards, which produce more than any one Successor State can, and we will maintain a large advantage in naval power for at least the next fifty years.”

Waterly interrupted. “That’s all very well Precentor Naval, but what of the dissemination of this technology?”

Neville shrugged. “To be expected really. It’s too valuable not to trade.  Look at what has been gained by the trade of this information. New regiments, large numbers of replacement Mechs and Tanks, and design schematics for dozens of models.  By negotiating quickly and broadly, maximum gains have been made for the trade of information and materials which would have been developed or stolen in time by enemy states anyway.”

Myndo seemed to be finding it harder to stay angry at her advisors.  “But what of the original materials that were discovered, why did we not know of these before?”

“Because Kerensky lied.” Answered Neville. “It would appear that the materials came from the Rasa Fleet Service Yards.  They were used during both the Reunification War and the War against Amaris to service, repair and rebuild SLDF WarShips.  However, due to their presence in a Successor State, Kerensky had them shut down and hidden.  Records seemed to indicate that he took the yards with him and our own searches in the last century failed to locate the base, so it all seemed to match.  It would appear however, that the base was mothballed and hidden, then rediscovered a few years back.  It seems, from these documents, that the yards were moved to where they could be used for WarShip construction, but there was more than could be effectively used due to the dearth of available yards for hull construction.  So, the excess infrastructure has been traded for supplies, mercenaries, and design schematics.”

Hamilton, as always, was impressed by Precentor Neville’s ability to explain subjects simply and in a straightforward manner and as always, in a way that took the vicious edge of the Primus.  “Thank you, Graham, you have explained this situation clearly and in way that highlights the true meaning of this discovery.”

“Your welcome sir.  I will have the Naval Staff begin simulations with the details of the ships.”

“Excellent, I also want you to begin to accelerate plans for new designs to begin entering the fleet once the reactivations are complete.”

“Yes sir.”

Hamilton turned to Myndo. “I hope this has alleviated your concerns somewhat Primus.  Although a serious development, it is not a grievous as was initially feared.”

Myndo nodded slowly, obviously lost in thought. “Yes gentlemen, thank you. I will, however, need to have a long and frank discussion with our Precentor ROM.  But whilst I am here, please, I would like an update on our forces and their expansion.”

The conversation continued on into the afternoon, as plans were discussed, and the Primus’s ruffled feathers smoothed.
Logged
Dedicated to committing viciously gratuitous bastardy of the first order.

The Kapteyn Universe - http://www.ourbattletech.com/kapteyn

Follow the KU on twitter: Matt Alexander
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You know there is something wrong with the FWL, when Word's spell check changes Impavido to Impetigo and Zechetinu to Secretion.

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Re: KU Book 2: A Gathering of Spite
« Reply #23 on: August 17, 2019, 07:57:35 PM »

Chapter 46

Davion Palace, Avalon City, New Avalon,
Crucis March, Federated Suns
25 December, 3024.


Hanse Davion leaned forward over the chair, attempting to stretch his lower back.  He had not had enough exercise lately, with the increasing tensions of the war that was now certain to come, and he had spent far too much time in uncomfortable chairs, paying little heed to his posture.  The result was a constant dull ache in his lower back, something that was doing little to improve his slowing fraying patience.  He straightened up, his crumpled uniform looking worse than he did, and looked across the room at his long-serving Intelligence Secretary, Quintus Allard.  The man was doing far more work than Hanse, yet apart from a slight expansion of the grey in his hair, showed little negative effect from the building crisis.

“What are the latest assessments on CCAF troop movements Quintus?” Hanse said, knowing he needed to get the briefing back on track and stop daydreaming about more comfortable places.

“Sketchy, but altogether indicative of a large move of forces from the Free Worlds border of the Sian and Capella Commonalities to the St. Ives Commonality.”

Hanse grimaced. Damm it, the bastards are coming and its three or four years too early.  Still, this will be a short war, no matter what happens. No one has the supplies to mount a major offensive, and no one will have those until mid-3027 at the very earliest.  The reports from the RepDep Command last year showed that we have in hand now about 12% of what we would need for a major offensive.  That’s worlds better than during most of the third war, but not for what I have planned for the Sun’s future.  Then there’s all the fighting since June, nothing to change borders, but if there are many more battles like those on Kittery and Mitchell, there won’t be a spare part between Alcyone and Midale to be had for love or money.

The battle of Mitchell, several months ago, had seen several AFFS formations forced off-world by new Capellan units, backed by McCarron’s Armoured Cavalry.  Although Mitchell was never a target for conquest, Hanse had backed Morgan Hasek Davion’s plan to send a message to the new Chancellor.  Unfortunately for Hanse, Candace and her brother had counter-attacked hard, doing more damage than they received, then proceeded to brutalise AFFS forces on Kittery.  Only the mauling of the Red Lancers a month later had given the Capellan March anything to cheer about.  Now Capellan forces were on the move all over Liao space and for all his trying, Quintus was unable to track them all.  That worried Hanse greatly.

“What do you know Quint?”

“We know there are significant concentrations of forces on St. Ives, Purvo, Warlock, and Maladar, with indication more units may have moved into Taga, Homestead, Necromo, and Ares.  Other information has forces in Sarna and Tikonov rearranging, to reunite scattered regimental groups.  Either the CCAF is undergoing the largest reorganisation since the Second Succession War or were seeing the initial moves of strikes into the Capellan March.”

“And we can’t move in time to stop them!” Hanse retorted, pushing the couch away as his temper broke. “Why the hell couldn’t MIIO or DMI get any earlier indications?  We have never had this sort of intelligence failure before, even when Michael was playing his bloody games!”

“I don’t know Hanse and it pains me to say that.  Our agents had no foreknowledge of this move and the loss of Alex Mallory on Sian in June was a blow we are yet to recover from. I can tell you that the new mercenaries appearing along the Free Worlds/Capellan border are likely new formations, raised as part of the Minimum’s Movement and signing straight on with the Kapteyn Alliance as dual-purpose peacekeepers, perhaps even with Combine assistance.” 

“A secure border for Janos and Candace is dream come true for both.” Hanse snorted and smiled a wry grin.  Surrounded by enemies, as were all the Successor States, the Federated Suns had only once had such a luxury, over four centuries ago.

“What of Katrina, what does she say?”

Quintus reached down into the teetering pile of folders and reports on the coffee table that was between his seat on the couch, and Hanse.  He dug around for a moment, before pulling a binder from the stack and opening it. “Simon Jonson has had similar difficulties penetrating ISF and SAFE security, but indications are that a large number of regiments from the Pesht district are now in Rasalhague.  Additionally, FWLM troops have effective control of Loric and are fighting on Dixie.  If there is going to be a war on, it looks to have already started on that front.”

Hanse looked down, running operational scenarios through his head; how and where to move troops, what units to task with what counter-strikes and where to route transport and supplies.

“What of the Draconis March and Task Force Black?”

Hanse had formed Task Force Black by accident, as mercenaries were hired in the ongoing efforts to hunt down the rogue Redfield Renegades.  Initially, the Black Tigers and Hell’s Black Aces took up the chase and were later joined by six other commands, four of which had the word Black in their name somewhere.  Naming that task force was easy.

“TF Black is over Lima and awaiting orders to conduct the deep strike on Benjamin.  We know that there are troop movements in the district, but we believe the path through is clear. However, there are large movements in Galedon as well, and it would appear that we have lost track of Wolf’s Dragoons.”  Quintus said this last part with deep regret in his voice.

However, Hanse smiled at him. “Which means they are either off on one off their disappearing acts, with Kurita moving forces to compensate, or they will be over New Avalon in 2 months to wreck up the place.”

Quintus nodded “I would go with the latter, or some other high-profile target.  Wolf is too dangerous to have on the other side of the border, but so far, we have had little success at trying to pull him away from the DCMS.”

Hanse changed track again, his mind racing. “What of the Taurians, the last thing we need is for them to get in on any fun that the Kapteyn Alliance is having?”

Quintus sat back, picking up a glass of water as he did so, “That’s the good news. It would appear that the Taurians are bored with beating up on colonists and just seem to be floating about with little real purpose at the moment.  There is talk in military circles over there about forming new units and creating some sort of standard for combined armed task forces, but what will come of any of the talk is not yet clear.”

“So Quint, what do we have to throw at the DCMS and the CCAF when they come.”

Quintus smiled “More good news is that we have plenty, although supplies are at 10% your requirements, following all the recent raiding and planetary denial strikes, and transportation may be an issue.  We can drop RCT’s on any assault and still call on the March Militia’s as a solid reserve.  Most of our best mercenaries are on contract until 3026 at the earliest and both the Capellan and Draconis Marches are in the hands of able and loyal retainers.  My assessment is this: We will be hurt badly by these coming strikes until we can bring our forces to bear.  Then we can begin the gradual reduction of the enemy and eventually take the war to them.  However, due to low stocks of parts and supplies, I don’t see a general offensive on our part before 3026.”

Hanse moved around the couch to seat himself opposite his intelligence minister, as Quintus finished off his water and returned the glass to the table. “I believe Quintus that we shall need to weather a fierce storm, but a short one.  The DCMS cannot support a full two-front war for long and the Liaos and Mariks will be eyeing each other off, looking for the opportunity to drive the dagger into the other’s back.  Once the DCMS’s attacks stall and the Capellans and Free Worlds are reading themselves for a renewal of their old war; that is when we will strike.  Not just us though, we will hit with the strength of the Lyrans behind us.  The benefit of the joint planning staff from the LCAF and AFFS will pay great dividends at that moment.”

“I don’t doubt it Hanse.  We will likely lose parts of both the Kittery and Ziliang Salients, or one altogether.  It will be a bloody slog to reclaim both; perhaps we should look to strike around Tikonov in retaliation?”

Hanse smiled “Possibly, but I think something more creative will be needed.  I want the Chancellor to wake up of a morning wondering if the sky on Sian will fall in that day.  I believe Morgan and Justin have been working on something?”

Quintus smiled at the thought of his son’s progress “Yes, they call it CASE BLACK.  It is predicated on no support for the Capellan March coming from the Federation at large, with the Taurians invading as well.  Basically, front line forces under threat are pulled back out of the salients to concentrate force, followed by a general counterattack at St. Ives, which then wheels around at Sian.  Something like that should get the Chancellor’s attention.”

Hanse laughed for what felt like the first time in days.  “Hell, a move like that would get Kerensky’s attention.  Talking about getting Kerensky’s attention, what do you make of all the diplomatic flurries in the Periphery after the Marian’s little war?”

Quintus crinkled his neck, trying to loosen it as he spoke, You’re as tired as I am aren’t you Quintus, but you so rarely show it though?

“My Prince, it would seem that the Periphery is moving towards a general alliance.  It appears to be trade-related, with some stipulations for the common defence and for assistance in technological research.  They are calling it ORCA, for the Outer Reaches Coalition Agreement.  Seems all the major Periphery powers are willing to sign, along with several smaller states as well.  It presents no threat to us, even considering Taurus, as the agreement does not cover assisting other Periphery states when they are the aggressors.  All in all, it may well focus the smaller powers on pooling their resources and finally ridding us of most of the pirates in the area, which is of benefit to us all.”

“The end of piracy, that would be nice, as would the Canopians and Taurians invading the Capellen frontier, but it’s a little much to think that the combined forces of the Periphery could invade and dismember the Capellan Confederation.” Both men laughed hard at Hanse’s joke before quiet fell over the room.  Hanse then looked up and fixed his blue eyes on Quintus intently.

“Go to bed Quintus. I don’t want to see, or hear a report from you, for twelve hours – And that is an order form your Prince.”

Quintus passed a hand across his face, showing how tired he really was. “If only all orders were so welcome.  I trust you will rest too?”

Hanse put on a straight face. “Yes mother.”

Both men laughed again as Quintus got up and let himself out.  Hanse was as good as his word, though he never left the couch.
Logged
Dedicated to committing viciously gratuitous bastardy of the first order.

The Kapteyn Universe - http://www.ourbattletech.com/kapteyn

Follow the KU on twitter: Matt Alexander
@BlackNova01

You know there is something wrong with the FWL, when Word's spell check changes Impavido to Impetigo and Zechetinu to Secretion.

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Re: KU Book 2: A Gathering of Spite
« Reply #24 on: August 24, 2019, 09:38:55 PM »

Chapter 47

Sykkolmishur Plains, Rasalhague,
Radsdat Prefecture, Draconis Combine
27 December, 3024.


The Dragon was finished; however, its pilot was too stupid to realise it and continued to try and press on past Hauptman Karl von Prussen and strike at the rear echelon of the Blacknova’s, three kilometres further west.  Prussen brought up his BNC-3S Banshee’s right arm for balance, as he drifted the targeting reticule over the Dragon’s centre of mass.  One squeeze of the trigger later and the Dragon’s centre of mass seemed to fold in on itself, as the power of the dual beams wrought havoc on its internal systems, before sending the huge machine face first into the dirt.

“Nice shooting Peacock, you’re ace for this run.” His radio growled with the sound of the HQ Company Commander, Captain Paul Mitchell.   Mitchell and his lance were a kilometre to the north, engaging the rest of the Dragon’s lance at long range.  North of them were the four more ‘Mechs from the command company, all of which had been deployed to ensure that the way home for the Blacknova’s 6th Company was open and clear.

Two days ago, the 6th, along with the Command Company and 4th Company had landed on Rasalhague as part of Operation PEST; the Blacknova’s chance to do what they did best, explained, in their own words as “Kick the living piss out snake bastards and nick anything that isn’t tied down.”

The plan called for the regiment to split up into six separate units, each backed by a small number of Loki soldiers, and simultaneously strike at Rasalhague and the province’s five Prefecture Capitals.  The plan was madness, with each tiny force coming in disguised as merchants and dropping just outside the capital city of each world.

For Hauptman von Prussen, colloquially know as Captain Peacock to his new assignees, his first excursion with them has been an eye opener.

Upon arrival at Tamar, he had finally met Colonel Ian “Iggy” Melhuish, the small and scrawny looking commander of the regiment.  The man was quiet at first, seeming to have little presence, further confirming Karl’s view that the entire unit was a cosmic joke.  The Colonel had however, asked some pointed and searching questions of the Captain’s past and skills, rapidly jumping from topic to topic.  By the end of the conversation, he had also taken to calling von Prussen George, for no apparent reason.  Karl could get no explanation from any of the others in the Command Company, to which he had been attached, and who simply told him that if he was called George, then George he was.

Karl, as LCAF liaison, had attended the final planning meeting for Operation PEST, where the official reprimand from Katrina Steiner, for taking and holding Skokie when ordered on a simple heavy raid, had sparked controversy.  Karl took great pleasure in reading the missive from the Archon, which stated in part “…cease and desist all unsanctioned actions against the Combine, or the Commonwealth will have no choice but to end our contract with you and blacklist your unit.  If you offer armed reprisals or resistance against LCAF units, we will be forced to classify you as a pirate and act accordingly."  Karl felt justified in the Archon’s remarks, the Blacknovas were a band of seditious, ill-disciplined and dangerous mercenaries, much like the militia on Australia from where they were drawn, who required a firm hand if they were to be controlled.

However, to Karl’s great distress, the Colonel pulled a different message from his coat pocket and proceeded to read it after Karl had finished.  It stated “Dear Iggy, sorry about my earlier message; you know how these things go, though.  I needed to publicly disavow what you did in order to maintain discipline with the rest of the forces.  If one of those idiot social officers got it into his head that he could climb the ranks faster by attacking just anyone, well, we wouldn't have a military in six months.

"You did a damned fine job taking Skokie, and I'll be sending troops to secure it as soon as possible.  When they arrive, there will be an additional three transports for your use.  I've got an assignment for you, and I think you'll like it.

I want you to head Coreward into Rasalhague.  Conduct recon raids as necessary; there have been some menacing troop movements thereabouts that I'm worried about.  Find out what you can and smash as many of the snakes as possible along the way.  Don't spend your troops, though; we're going to need you in the coming months.

Good luck, old friend, and Godspeed. Sincerely, Katrina."

Karl had nearly chocked as the Colonel read the message, or more so, recited it from memory whilst looking at the Lyran officer the entire time.  He then informed all present that he had told Katrina Steiner that he intended to steal the 12th Loki detachment and tour the Rasalhague District.  The Blacknovas were officially told to proceed as they saw fit.

Five weeks later and the Blacknovas were striking hard, the intent being not so much to steal, but to show the impotence of the Dragon to the people of Rasalhague.  The district had always been restless, but with pirate raids and the SPA getting stronger by the day, the Colonel believed the time was right for some rabble rousing.

So, two days ago, the Command Company elements, along with 4th Company, landed north of the Capital and the struck around the west side of the city, shooting up whatever came in their path, moving quickly and changing course almost at random.  The militia and the 8th Rasalhague Regulars had come out to play, but to little avail.  At least a company of the 8th’s ‘Mechs were down, for only 3 mercenary ‘Mechs, and the unlucky battalion of militia that got in the way had been handily broken in forty minutes of intense fire and manoeuvre.

Meanwhile, 6th Company was playing a game of what their commander called “Hide and go #$%& yourself”, which seemed to involve the 6th laying successive ambushes for the 107th Rasalhague Armoured Brigade, whilst making off with whatever they could carry.  Late the night before, the 6th broke contact with the 107th and skirted the city to the south, whilst playing the banned Rasalhaguian anthem on all channels and blaring from their speakers.  In the words of the Colonel “If I didn’t know better, I would think that Captain Moran wants to incite the Governor to riot.”

Riot the Governor did, as the balance of the 8th came pouring out of the city on the 6th’s tail.  The vanguard of the 8th Rasalhague had been so busy chasing the 6th, it never saw the waiting ‘Mechs of Mitchell’s Company.  Once the raiding unit passed through the lines of the Command Company, the lead troops of the 8th had run straight into the waiting arms of Captain Mitchell’s men.  Ten minutes of battle saw Karl bag three kills and the Command Company repulse the 8th Rasalhague’s lead elements.  Moments after the Dragon Karl had shot up hit the ground, the Colonel’s voice was on the air.

“All Novas, withdraw to point 6.  Command, you have the rear, 4th in front. Nice work there George”

Several “right o’s” and a “yep” came over the radio.  When will these savages learn proper radio discipline?  The almost casual and open radio chatter was one thing that Prussen could not adjust to.  He answered after the others had finished.

“Roger Nova Six, understood, proceeding to point 6 as rear guard.”

The reply that came back was very deadpan, “You do that George.”

For the next thirty minutes there was no contact as the column moved south, at right angles to their previous westerly course, at 50km/h, coving the 40km to point 6, the extraction point, as fast as possible.  Then, as suddenly as they always did, Aerospace fighters appeared on Karl’s long-range sensors.

“Nova 6, Peacock. Four inbound contacts, 020 degrees, altitude 5000, speed 700, contact in sixty.”  Karl read off the data his battle computer was feeding him as he readied his weapons.

“Thanks Peacock. Nova’s, wheel spread and spray ‘em.” Came the reply, very laconically.

As one the ‘Mechs moved from column formation and spread out into three lines, each getting longer along an east/west axis, as the ‘Mechs spread out as fast as they could, now facing the threat from the north, all having reversed course.

The four fighters, now identified as Shologars, concentrated on the Archer of Sergeant Chris Dale, to Karl’s left.  Despite the entire first line of the Blacknova’s opening up, the incoming fighters were able to score hits all over Dale’s ‘Mech, eventually hitting the Archer’s ammunition bins and obliterating the ‘Mech, moments after Chris ejected.  Return fire clipped the last Aerofighter, which suddenly rolled and wheeled, before diving into the ground between the first two lines of ‘Mechs.  Fire from the third line blew another fighter to pieces in the air, before the two remaining fighters turned east and screamed away at low level.

Before the call from Colonel Melhuish was over the line, Karl was already moving to where Chris had come down and was trying to untangle himself from his chute.  Karl got a thumbs-up from the man, before leaning his ‘Mech down and ejecting the chain ladder for the man.  A minute later, Chris clambered into the cockpit, looking no worse for wear.

“Thanks mate, thought I was buggered there for a moment.” Chris looked around the cockpit, which was, in a word, immaculate. “Holy hell, this has to be the cleanest cockpit I’ve ever seen!”

“A cockpit should be clean, regulations stipulate it.”

“Bit hard when your ‘Mech is, or was, over a century old.  Dad’s going to be pissed.”  Chris’s voice was somewhat glum, as the reality of being dispossessed sunk in. He folded down the jump seat and strapped himself in.

Karl could not help but feel sorry for the man. “Nova 6, Peacock.  Tike is onboard and well.”

“Nice work Peacock.  All right Novas, lets keep onto six.” Came the Colonel’s reply.

The formation moved away from the burning wreckage of the Archer and the two Shologars, returning to their former speed and heading.  As the formation ate up the distance to the extraction point, Karl thought back over the last three days.  A force, less than a battalion strong, had hit a Provincial Capital, taken several Mech’s as salvage, shot up a company of the enemy and a battalion of militia and escaped with four ‘Mechs lost. It can’t all be luck.  Melhuish has some skill as a commander, despite his complete lack of protocol, and the disciple and skill of the units MechWarriors under fire has been almost as good as a Royal Guards formation, even if they have no proper Lyran structure to their ways. Still, they are insubordinate and reckless and no doubt we will here that the other raids have been repulsed with heavy losses.  Despite that last thought, a little part of Karl thought he may be proved completely wrong.

What Karl did not realise, was that these raids would later be considered as the opening shots of the Fourth Succession War.
 
Chapter 48

Unknown System,
Deep Periphery
31 December, 3024.


The Captain was on the bridge, floating. This is the best part of a journey he thought stuck in deep space with an engine still charging, with days to float and watch in quite tranquillity and solitude. His thoughts jarred at that It would be solitude, if our high-ranking guest did not keep interfering and making suggestions.  I do not care if he was recently one of our highest office holders, the man is a pest.

For the past six months the ship and her crew, with the attached DropShip, had been moving deeper and deeper into the Periphery, further from home, and help, should anything go wrong.  However, being this far from real civilisation made the Captain happy, as he had never fitted in.  He had struggled to get where he was and then jumped at the chance to be sent of on his own, on what many other would consider exile.  To the Captain, it was sweet peace.

Six months of travelling, mostly through systems not yet surveyed, towards the holdings of the Hanseatic League.  His guest was most keen to meet the Hansa, having heard of them, but never meet them. He is not missing much. The Hansa a self-righteous, not realising how insignificant their little trading empire is.  Should even a power of moderate significance turn an eye their way, their petty arrogance would be ended. It would be another two months at least before they reached Bremen, where they were to resupply, then head out on the main leg of their journey, stopping and cataloguing systems for future reference, something that seemed to excite their grand passenger more than anything else.  What did he call it, getting back to his roots? I really do not care.

The Captain continued to float, watching the dark expanse of the void for hours, not bothered by his crew, who knew better, or by further thoughts of his guest, he merely drifted in quite contemplation of the grand spectacle of the stars.

Here Ends Book 2.
Logged
Dedicated to committing viciously gratuitous bastardy of the first order.

The Kapteyn Universe - http://www.ourbattletech.com/kapteyn

Follow the KU on twitter: Matt Alexander
@BlackNova01

You know there is something wrong with the FWL, when Word's spell check changes Impavido to Impetigo and Zechetinu to Secretion.
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