BattleTech: Redemption Rites, page 4
Haya stood behind the colonel and the Captain-General, next to the pair of burly security agents the Captain-General’s retinue had insisted on, looking up as well. The gigantic machine looked unnatural to her. To her mind, the Dragoons were well to be rid of them.
“I will give you six,” Kincaid said. “All Ares. Five are functional; the sixth is disassembled for study. My technicians have been documenting, experimenting, and learning how they’re assembled and built. We have full design and metallurgical studies. And I can give you two complete sets of maintenance and repair documentation, a version two and a version seven. My chief technician tells me seeing the delta between the two versions is…instructive.”
Nikol turned away from the machines. “How in the hell did you get two different generations of docs?”
Kincaid offered a Gallic shrug. “They were just sitting around.”
“And for these machines, and the intelligence, all I have to give you is…what? A recharge station and some assurances?”
“Nockatunga, yes. The nadir. Free passage, no questions asked, in any Free Worlds system. The right to accept contracts from anyone. I will stipulate that we will refuse all contracts against the Free Worlds League and its member provinces for a minimum period of ten years. Between you and I, we Dragoons have another target in mind.”
“Alaric Ward.”
“As the Captain-General says,” Kincaid said.
“Which means you want to strike into the Empire, and you’ll be looking for patrons who wish that.” Nikol smirked up at Kincaid. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Alaric Ward let eight in ten of the Dragoons die,” Kincaid said, his veneer of gentility slipping for the first time. “I have found what measure of justice I can provide from within. On the souls of our dead, he will pay the rest.”
“That sounds like vendetta,” Nikol said quietly. “I thought you were a soldier, sir.”
Haya tensed at what she saw as an insult, but the colonel just laughed it off. “Oh, it is vendetta, make no mistake. But we Dragoons have what you might call institutional knowledge in vendetta.”
“Poking the Empire from bases in my space may provoke the Wolves into retaliation, no matter who sponsors you,” the Captain-General said. “I have a duty to my people to protect the peace.”
“But you’re not at peace, Captain-General,” Kincaid said. He said it without rancor, but the words would have rankled Haya if he’d said them to her. “You are in a strategic pause, which you have failed to take advantage of, while the enemy is distracted with another enemy. Alaric Ward took his entire touman, except for what I imagine are the dregs and left-behinds to ensure the factories and the schools keep operating. He went to Terra, and he smashed both the Republic and the Jade Falcons. He killed eight in ten of my people, probably half his own troops, and damn near all the Jade Falcons. But he won.
“The Wolves took heavy losses, but they took the lightest losses of any group on Terra. All Alaric Ward will have learned on Terra is that every fantasy he’s ever been told about himself, every fantasy he’s ever concocted about himself, is true. He is, by Clan law, ilKhan of the Clans until he dies or abdicates. He will be back. I can show you recordings of his speeches, before the Dragoons left. He intends to found a Star League. How has that ever gone before, for the people of the Inner Sphere? I recall plenty of wars.”
Nikol, face composed, made no reply.
“Every day a civilian lives without strife is a day of peace,” Kincaid said. “I know that, and you know that, and your dedication to your duty does you credit.” He gestured toward the Ares tripod. “But we both know as long as those exist, there will be fighting. As long as people exist, there will be fighting. And it’s also our duty to subject those under our care to as little fighting as possible.”
“So I should strike now, before the Wolves return, because that will mean less fighting for my people? Is that what you’re saying?” Nikol’s expression darkened. “That the fighting is inevitable, so better that I start it?”
Kincaid spread his hands. “We have a duty to our soldiers, as well, don’t we, Captain-General? ‘The more you use, the fewer you lose,’ and all that?” He lowered his hands. “In time, it won’t matter. Eventually the ilKhan will find what he wants on Terra, whatever that may be, and turn his eyes outward. He has won the race his people have run; the Clans will need a new north star to chase, will they not? I doubt you are naive enough to think a people literally bred for war, their ultimate battle won, will beat their swords into plowshares and study war no more?”
“No, I’m not,” Nikol said, and Haya could see some of Kincaid’s words had struck home. “Still, I’m not ready to declare general war. You may be right. I hope you’re not. But there are still enough pieces on the board that uncertainty remains. What happens to your grand plan, for example, should Daoshen Liao pounce on Terra while the Wolves are weakened?”
Kincaid laughed. “It would be a slaughter. Not even Daoshen can send so many needlessly to their deaths. Not when he’s spent decades building the Capellan Confederation Armed Forces into a military worth its name. And while yes, that would likely buy you time, recall you almost certainly won’t face just the Wolves. If the ilKhan can actually establish his Star League, he could send the Rasalhague Dominion after Daoshen.”
Haya nodded, already seeing a flat map of the Inner Sphere in her mind. House Marik’s purple-hued region of space filled the clock from six to nine; abutted up against it was House Liao’s Capellan Confederation, which, from the last reports Haya had seen, claimed former Republic worlds right up to the very gates of Terra itself in heavy fighting. While Daoshen Liao, Chancellor of that realm, was easily a thousand times more stable than his grandmother had been, he was nothing if not unpredictable. If he knew Terra hosted the remains of both the Republic, which he’d spent his entire life fighting against, and Clan Jade Falcon, as well as the dilapidated remnant of the Wolf Clan, he might just send his military on a grand charge. But…
“Danai would never let him,” Nikol said firmly.
Haya nodded again. The Marik Captain-General and the Liao heiress were reputed to be fast friends. Danai Liao-Centrella was Daoshen’s youngest sister. If anyone could throw the leash on a megalomaniacal despot, it would be her.
But Nikol blinked once, hard, and visibly changed her train of thought. “I will tentatively agree to your plans,” she told Kincaid. It took everything Haya had to contain her elation, but Kincaid only bowed his head. “I want a day to think about it. Absorb some of those reports you promised. Can you wait that long?”
“Easily,” Kincaid said. “Captain-General, it has been a pleasure. I await your next communication. Do not hesitate to let me know what other information I can provide.” He turned, looked past Haya, and lifted his chin. Haya heard footsteps behind her. A moment later a small woman with an overlarge head and protruding, oversize eyes swept into Haya’s peripheral vision. Her skin was smooth and coal-colored; her hair was shaved to less than a centimeter. “Captain-General, this is Captain Carmody, the Chieftain’s commanding officer. She will escort you back to the recharge station.”
After a few more pleasantries, the Marik party swept from the ’Mech bay deck, leaving Kincaid and Haya standing alone, watching the lift the group vanished into.
“Sir,” Haya started.
“Let’s hear it, Captain,” Kincaid said. His command voice was back full-throttle. He glanced at her, nodded once, then looked away back toward the tripod.
“Sir, am I reassigned as your aide?”
“Worried about losing Charlie Company?”
“Yes, sir, frankly, sir.” Haya held one hand at waist-height, palm down. “Understand please, I am ready for this assignment. But I don’t understand. What…why did…” she stopped talking, unwilling to stammer more.
“Speak freely, Captain,” Kincaid said.
“What am I doing here, Colonel?” She pointed to the ’Mech next to the Ares, the blue-and-gold Archer. “I mean, I’m standing here with Jaime Wolf’s Archer. On the Chieftain, the general’s DropShip. And we were just talking to the Captain-General of the Free Worlds League!” She lowered her arm, took a deep breath, and went on. “I’m company commander, sir. And a pretty good one, or else you’d have replaced me. But this…”
“Feeling out of your comfort zone, Captain Tetsuhara?”
“A little, sir,” she admitted.
“Good.” Kincaid grinned. “Our comfort zone is a damned comfortable place to hide. I can’t afford to play it safe, not with any of my officers. Not now. There’s too much to be done, and the stakes are too high.”
Haya sobered up. Now it sounds like I’m whining. “Sir—”
“You’re here to learn that even Captain-Generals are just people. There’s no higher class of human that just easily makes the big decisions you sweat over. Not me, not Nikol Marik, not even Alaric Ward, and for damn sure not him.” He jerked a thumb at the Archer. “I can show you the archives. The Wolf felt the same doubts all of us do.”
Now he glared at her. “If the Dragoons are going to survive, Captain, it’s going to be because of young officers like you. And you’re going to need to be ready. Because those days are coming faster than you think.”
“Yes, sir,” Haya said. There was no other acceptable reply.
Kincaid nodded. “Now, get back to your company. Tell Major Gamble I may need you again, since the Captain-General thinks you’re my aide, but get them ready. Unless I miss my guess, she’s going to give me everything I want for the information about Terra and the Wolves, which means we can proceed to the next part of the plan.”
Haya couldn’t resist. “The next part?”
Kincaid had said, and everyone trusted, that there was a plan, but he’d refused to publish it. The rumor mill said he and maybe four others were fully read-in. When you’re at war with an ilClan, Haya thought, secrecy is paramount.
“Can’t rebuild without the right materials,” was all Kincaid said, still staring up at the Ares superheavy.
As she walked toward the same lift Captain Carmody had led the Captain-General into, all Haya could think about was how she could even begin to explain this to her company. She couldn’t, she knew. They deserved to know the colonel had a plan, but they already knew that. They didn’t need to know more.
She didn’t need to know more.
But when she closed her eyes she saw the list of names, and the faces that went with them, and heard Freya’s infectious laugh. She touched the lift call plate, squeezing her eyes shut, her fingernails into her palms, and told herself it was enough. There would be more soon.
There had to be.
CHAPTER 4
ALLIAGO CITY
GIENAH
WOLF EMPIRE
18 JUNE 3151
“The Star Colonel wished to see me?”
Star Colonel Othar looked up from the report he’d been staring at. Radu, clad in gray leathers with the paired red stars for a Star Captain on his collar, stood in front of his desk. Othar swiped the report closed and sat back.
Radu stood straight, braced to attention and waiting for Othar to release him to relax or sit. Othar had to bite back his grin; he could almost imagine the great, scarred Ricard screaming at the cadets to stand straight, giving them their first taste of discipline. Othar remembered his own training officer well. Star Commander Guthrid would make the sibko stand outside in Tamar’s rain for hours, rigidly braced to attention, making them understand discipline is what gives a Clan warrior the strength to do their duty.
And duty bent for nothing, not desire or a weak bladder or the freezing rain. There was duty, and everything else.
Sitting here now, watching the newest member of the Clan Wolf touman wait, duty was foremost on Othar’s mind. But he couldn’t help but remember that day, two weeks ago, when he had greeted Radu just off the field after his Trial of Position.
By the time Othar and Star Colonel Ricard reached the Timber Wolf, Radu had already descended from its cracked and smoking innards. Up close, the ’Mech had taken a pounding: armor plates hung loose, and white-orange smoke wafted from joints where overheated lubricant cooked off. The amputated arm still coughed smoke and the occasional spark.
Ricard had remained carefully one step behind Othar the entire way, and one pace to the right. It must have cost the giant Elemental to shorten his steps to equal Othar’s strides. Other noticed it, but said nothing. If Ricard chose to show his deference, that was only right. Othar was a MechWarrior, a product of a more advanced bloodline, and a senior officer. He focused his attention on Radu.
The boy was tall, wiry rather than bulky, with the corded muscles of a young man who’d worked every moment of his waning adolescence. He wore his dark hair long on the top, brushed back over his head. Sweat-drenched and compressed from being inside a neurohelmet, it fell down the sides of his shaved temples. He wore a patchy beard.
“Attention,” Ricard said as the pair came to a halt. Radu glanced at his trainer, then at Othar, and braced.
“You are Star Captain Radu,” Othar said. “All here have witnessed it. It is my duty and honor to welcome you to the Wolves.” He offered his hand, nodding so the boy could relax out of attention. Radu shook it, once, with feeling and a strong grip that didn’t try to crush, just make sure its presence was known.
“I am honored,” Radu said. His voice was mellifluent, full of confidence. He had just done what few in their Clan had: defeated three opponents in his Trial of Position. He was entitled to his confidence. He looked past Othar and Ricard, the ghost of a frown crossing his face, before he returned his attention to the young man.
“Your sibs wait for you inside,” Othar said. “I asked to meet with you alone.”
“If you will excuse me, then, Star Colonel,” Star Captain Ricard said, but Othar held up his hand.
“Stay,” Othar said. “You deserve to hear this, too.” He was going to have to say it over and over again, as would they all, in the days and years to come. Best to figure out how now. “You are, to my knowledge, the first warrior to test into the touman of the ilClan.” The words felt hollow, at first, and then brought a surprising pang of regret. He hadn’t expected his emotions to switch from longing to regret so quickly.
“The ilClan…”
“The battle for Terra has been won by the ilKhan and the Wolves. The Republic is no more, and the Jade Falcons shattered. We are the ilClan, now and forever. Thanks to ilKhan Ward and the others who went.” The last sentence tasted bitter.
“Great Father,” Ricard breathed from beside him. Othar looked up at the scarred man’s face. Tears, as pure as he’d seen inside, coursed down his cheeks. “I never thought I would live to see it,” he gasped. “We are the ilClan.”
“The battle is over,” Radu said. A frown creased his face, his earlier confidence gone. “Truly?”
“I received word by verigraph,” Othar said. “As I came to your Trial.”
“My Trial.” Radu laughed bitterly. “What did I Trial for, Star Colonel? This old fool—” he inclined his head at Ricard “—raised us on our duty to reclaim Terra. To be the Khan’s instrument of victory. And now you tell me, on this day of my triumph, I did it for nothing?”
“Radu—” Ricard warned, his voice still husky with emotion.
“Star Captain Radu,” the boy growled at his former teacher. “I am four generations your superior, as I proved this morning on this field. No matter what else I am, what else there is for me, that I did. No one can take it from me.”
“No one can take it from you,” Othar confirmed.
“I missed it,” Radu whispered, finally. Othar saw his fists shaking, clenched at his sides.
“So did I,” Othar said softly. “So did we all, here.”
“What glory is there left for me now?”
Othar reached up and squeezed his shoulder. “There is duty,” he said. “And what glory we can find in it.”
That was as much answer as he’d yet found for himself.
“Sit,” Othar said, indicating the chair across from his desk. Radu sat down stiffly, back straight, and put his hands on his knees. “Tell me about your Timber Wolf in the Trial.”
Radu’s brow creased. “My Timber Wolf.”
“Aff. You chose the alpha configuration.”
“Aff,” Radu said. It was clear he had no idea why Othar was asking. A Timber Wolf, like many BattleMechs, was an OmniMech. OmniMechs were specially constructed to be reconfigurable; between battles, a skilled technical crew could switch out weapons and equipment, completely rearming the machine. A bevy of long-range missiles could be switched out for a close-range autocannon, or a pair of lasers for a Gauss rifle. It was just one of the strategic advantages that had made the Clans so unstoppable for so many years.
“I noticed your fire patterns were very precise.”
“Thank you,” Radu said.
“You had a targeting computer, quiaff?”
“Aff,” Radu said. A supplemental targeting computer helped adjust the aim of direct-fire weapons, but they were bulky enough that not every ’Mech could carry them.
“You traded heat sinks for it, quiaff?”
“Aff,” Radu said. Then, “If the Star Colonel already knows how I had my ’Mech configured, why do you ask?”
Othar sat back in his chair. “I want to know why.”
“Why what?”
“Why that choice, Star Captain?”
“Because I wanted to win,” Radu said, apparently choosing to humor him. “Because a Trial of Position is a known engagement, and unless it takes place in some weird environment, the tactical situation is basic. In that instance, gunnery will often carry the day. As I proved.”
Othar steepled his fingers against each other and pressed them to his lips. “So you cheated, quiaff?”
