EMCOTS-2 5

=Emergence (Concertverse) Book 2 - Chapter 5=
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==The Dragon and the Sword==
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===Walking a Delicate Line===
The Black Room
Luthien, Pesht Military District
Draconis Combine
Transglass Inner Sphere
11th June, 3143
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As was his custom, Matsuhari Toranaga was the last to arrive at the Black Room. In this case, however, it wasn’t the emphasis of his power and position that was the cause, but matters of duty.
It seems I am now cursed to always be wary of being late for an appointment, Matsuhari reflected as he passed through security checkpoints, waiting as the Otomo guard teams precisely verified his identity. It now seemed that every moment there was some new calamity that could only be resolved by the exercise of the Gunji-no-kanrei’s authority, or a decision that only he could make. Sometimes, in the few truly private moments he had, Matsuhari found his mind wandering to thoughts of whether this was truly worth everything he'd done — everyone he'd killed — to attain it.
He shook off those doubting thoughts angrily. That kind of philosophical rumination was for priests. His adopted father Saburo Toranaga had taught him a long time ago that a man had to know his trade and stick to it. He was the Dragon’s mailed fist, not its philosophical savant. It was best to remember that. Especially now, with all that had to be dealt with.
The guards finished their checks; all done precisely as they should be. Which was a very good thing for them as if they’d skipped even a single step, Matsuhari would have ensured that before the week was out, they and their officer would have found themselves in a frontline infantry regiment on the Davion front.
Stepping into the sepulchral heart of the Black Room, Matsuhari took quick note of those present. It was nearly a full meeting, with only the new Warlord Dieron not present. Kanbei Okamoto was busy putting his District back into order and could not be spared the voyage to Luthien. The Coordinator sat with a single aide at her shoulder and frustration and impatience still plain at her effective confinement to the Black Pearl, but less visible than it had been; our victories must be heartening her. The aide did cause him a moment’s consideration; he wasn’t the normal run of such well-bred incompetents from the Pagoda, for all he was trying hard to look like exactly that, but a real fighting man. The sort I would choose as an aide. He was a chu-sa, well-built, and a man of his hands from the sword- and control stick-calluses Matsuhari could see. Already seated were the Warlords of Benjamin, New Samarkand and Pesht. The former two men he trusted as Kyuzu was his man, through and through, and old Hayashida of Benjamin possibly the only man whose loyalties Matushari had never found any cause to doubt. The latter was one no man would trust. Saito was a survivor above all else, with no concern for anyone but himself. Still, that at least makes him predictable.
It was only a lifetime’s practice at self-mastery that kept Matsuhari’s hand from the grip of his katana as he locked eyes with the last man: Ramadeep Bhatia, director of the Internal Security Force. Outwardly, Bhatia looked like nothing more than one of the countless anonymous bureaucrats who kept the Combine running. A quiet, meticulously neat and almost obsessively private man who seemed as out of place amongst this gathering of professionals at lethal violence as a celibate priest would be at a Canopian pleasure circus. And that was a lie, for Bhatia had sent more samurai to the hells than a score of Davion regiments. Most hadn't been by his own hand, as those who annoyed the ISF Director tended to develop lethal stomach problems, step in front of speeding groundcars, or otherwise come to bad, and deniable, ends. But enough had fallen personally to the Director to give him a respectable reputation as a duelist.
Just that, taken on its own, wouldn't have unsettled Matsuhari much; it was the way of politics in the realm of the Dragon, that you won or you died if you chose to play the game, and his own reputation as a duellist was far more than merely respectable. But there were other, darker rumours - of abductions, torture and murder for no cause other than amusement - that followed Bhatia in the same way death followed war, and those did unsettle him. They were too consistent, from too many different sources, and they walked far too well with his own experience of the Director.
If it is ever within my power, Matsuhari vowed as he turned from that cold, reptilian gaze to the situation map, that one I will kill, no matter the cost. The map at least restored some of his equilibrium, and he set himself to the plans for the future.
“Tono.” Matsuhari acknowledged Yori with a bow; the full measure required of any subordinate to the Uniter of Worlds. While in fact the army, as personified in himself, ruled now, the proprieties had to be observed. Even, especially, in private.
“Warlord,” Yori replied with a bow of her own; the precise degree of that from the Coordinator to a respected subordinate. She’s learned self-mastery; and that was not altogether a good thing. Yori was willful, determined and decidedly more capable than he was happy with; keeping her as off-balance as practical was one method of control. “You bring Us word of those prefectures and worlds in unlawful rebellion against Our sovereignty?”
“Hai, Tono.” Matushari bowed again, before highlighting worlds and regions on the situation maps. “Those worlds of the Dieron District that declared for the attainted Emi have been restored to lawful governance; and the traitor Nova Cats expunged. Both Emi Kurita and Jacali Nostra are dead.” He carefully did not mention how Emi Kurita had died; there was no sense making it publicly known. Not least because she’d behaved in exactly the manner a noblewoman of the Combine was expected to behave in such circumstance; for that, if nothing else, Matsuhari respected her. “Katana Tormark is missing, but she will be found, and justice delivered upon her.”
And the irony is, Matsuhari noted silently, watching each disbelieving reaction to that statement that is the entire truth. He really didn’t know where Tormark was or if she was alive or dead. Her Battlemaster had been found on Kagoshima, a wreck with a lance of the Jade Dragon dead before it. There was blood in the cockpit that matched Tormark’s, yet no body. Most would have assumed her dead, but Matsuhari had made that assumption before, and been proven wrong each time. Tormark had her life nailed tightly to her backbone and now he was not going to presume her dead until the corpse was at his feet. And even then, I will take precautions.
“Corwin Sandoval’s foolhardy Operation PELAYO has been defeated, also.” Matsuhari continued, golden sword-and-sunburst icons withdrawing from the Combine; black-on-crimson dragon symbols pursing, Raman and Cartago swallowed by these chasing icons. Despite appearances, that was a half-truth at best; but some truths you could never speak, no matter where, outside of your own thoughts. It was unacceptable to admit that an enemy striking at the worlds of the Dragon was withdrawing largely by their own choice, having achieved as much of their own objectives as they were willing to risk for. No matter how swiftly and condignly they are punished for it. As well as the damage done to his own planning. “However, before we proceed, there are matters that I would be remiss if I did not bring to your attention, Tono.”
There were times when Matsuhari wished he had more commanders in Corwin Sandoval's mold. The man was a barbarian, granted, but he was also a more than able general, with admirable talent. With a dozen such under my command, the Inner Sphere would be ours. Right now, though, he had to concern himself with the havoc wrought by PELAYO and the Nova Cats on his logistical arrangements.
“While rebellion has been quelled, and the Davions’ incursion defeated, it was not without cost.” He called up unit strengths, for those that had faced the brunt of both campaigns; the Swords of Light, the Ryuken, and the Amphigeans. Their casualties had been heavy; and concentrated in the well-connected, Matsuhari noted. Those units had always absorbed a high proportion of the noble scions serving in the Pillar of Steel, it was what made them reliable.ow, though it would be an exaggeration to say every tenth noble family in the Combine was in mourning, it wasn’t much of an exaggeration. “Those losses have been made good by activating the upper-class years at our academies ahead of time, but that is a solution we can only use once. And it has delayed the replacement of casualties among the district regulars and other, less critical units.”
“Why?” Saito, speaking for the first time, and unhappy; not surprising, the Pesht Regulars, his units, were the ones most affected by that decision. “Activate them all. Let them learn in the field.”
Matushari refrained from a sigh only by considerable effort. He knew Saito was an idiot, but to make it so obvious—! A rebuke was on the edge of his lips when a third voice cut in.
“Saito, do not be more of a fool than nature meant for you to be.” Hayashida’s voice had faded with age, but he adjusted his style to suit rather than force it. The resulting whisper held the attention even more effectively than a shout. “Those of the upper class years have learned the skills they need to survive the battlefield; all that remains is refining them.” Collective nods at that; they all remembered their own academy training. You learned the core in the first two years, and then how to apply it fully in the next two. “Trying to learn such skills in battle against the Davions, or the Bears, would cost us losses we cannot afford.”
Saito wasn’t a complete fool, it seemed; reading the agreement with Hayashida’s words among all others present, he silently acquiesced rather than continue the argument.
"There are also matters of logistics to consider." Matsuhari continued. He switched the holographics back to the map, key stars highlighted. "Whether by accident or design, PELAYO struck many of our key forward supply bases, and the Nova Cats struck others. As well, the ISF has not been as successful as promised in restoring the Nova Cat factories to use.” There, let Bhatia the indestructible chew on that. He called up more figures. “To summarise, we have lost, or been forced to expend, almost two-thirds of the supplies assembled for the invasion of the Federated Suns.”
That drew a collective wince, which was good. Even now, too few of the samurai class genuinely understood logistics and its import. Saburo had taught him that, and even for someone who’d learned the importance of looking after supplies in a school where to fail was to starve, it had been hard to grasp how to apply that to an army. Finally grasping that this — enough of their military nobility truly understanding how important logistics was — lay at the core of the Davions and Steiners surviving the Dragon’s might had been a moment of almost holy revelation. At least Takashi and Theodore Kurita killed enough of those who truly would not learn that.
“Then it is from the Benjamin District we must strip supplies,” Hayashida said, “though even with how quiet the Bears have been, I admit that worries me. If they strike at us, while we deal with the Davions …”
“It seems unlikely.If anything, I would expect them to be far more concerned with these Arcadians the Sea Foxes have informed us of.” Kyuzu spoke up. “From the rhetoric we’ve seen from their ruler, it seems plausible the Bears will be concerned that they are associated with the Falcons and Hell’s Horses in the minds of these otherworldly crusaders, and thus draw down their forces facing us.”
“This is true.” Matsuhari acknowledged. “However, even with drawing as much in the way of supplies from Pesht and Benjamin Districts as we can without compromising their readiness, our original plans must be curtailed in their ambitions.” Especially as Khan Sterling McKenna has become much more reluctant in considering cooperation. The news of this new power has shaken her, badly. “So, I would suggest,” icons and lines began to move on the map, “an offensive against Le Blanc and Robinson, to cut the Draconis March in two and remove the source of arms and mercenaries hurrying our efforts to pacify the Reach. To that end, I propose…"
Once he'd finished outlining the plan, there was a notable relaxation of tensions within the Black Room. It would cost, but they were all used to paying for victory, and lives were cheaper than time. Time was the resource the Davions needed above all else right now, and the one Matsuhari had no intention of giving them.
“I don’t like the plans for New Ivaarsen.” Bhatia said, his voice a colourless monotone. “At our last reports both Chasseur regiments were there, with the First Robinson Rangers a single jump away. Surely more than the Second Vegans and Seventh Ghost could be spared, if we are to keep them from intervening in the assault on Robinson?”
Matsuhari considered that; quietly impressed by the insight, from someone with little real military experience. And he is right; it was hard to make that judgement when you disliked a man. “The Ryuken-roku could be assigned to that task, yes. Perhaps a Striker battalion of Wolf’s Dragoons, as well. That should suffice to keep the yakuza and Vegan scum at their task.” There were smiles at that; none of them had a high regard for the Ghost regiments or the few remaining Legions of Vega.
“And, to ensure this is carried out correctly, it is Our will that our chief Warlord lead the attack on Robinson.” Yori said, her voice sliding into the conversation like a blade. “And, to ensure all know of Our enduring faith in his loyalty, a battalion of the Izanagi Warriors will accompany him.”
Only Matsuhari caught the slightest hint of a smile on her face, and it shook him. He’d been planning to command that effort, yes, but at a suitable remove, only taking personal command at the death. Now … I cannot refuse. To do so would destroy any semblance of control he had over Yori, and his standing with the other Warlords. Not to mention resulting in his own ignominious death when those public watchers — or other, invisible ones — fulfilled their orders if he tried; indeed, my excessively honourable staff would do so without orders, in such a circumstance. In many ways, that didn’t matter; his sworn liege had given a command, and there was no option for a man of honour. And a man lives as long as he lives, not a moment longer.
“As the Uniter of Worlds commands.” he replied, bowing.
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===Dragon Ploting in Shadows===
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Yori Kurita waited until the warlords were long gone, and her guards had moved back out of earshot for anything but a shout.
“What do you think?” she said to her aide.
“I think that they will obey, for now,” Sho-sho Hisao Ikeda said calmly. “And also that the theatre lost a fine talent when you became Coordinator, tono.” He paused a moment, organising his thoughts. “Hayashida we do not need to worry about; he is loyal to the Chrysanthemum Throne alone, and an old man besides. Kyuzu, I’m not sure about.” A frown. “He is loyal, but he also owes Toranaga everything; where those obligations conflict, danger lies. And Saito is a fool.”
“True,” Yori allowed herself a smile at that, and at how closely Ikeda’s assessments matched her own. “But I do pay him very well to be a fool.”
“Toranaga and Bhatia, I cannot be sure of; they hide their feelings well.” Ikeda frowned. “I believe Toranaga suspects that I am not as I have chosen to appear. But they will obey, until they find a reason why they should not.”
“As I suspected of them, yes.” Yori considered a moment, before moving to her next need. “The Dragon’s Shadow? How do they shape?”
“Well,” Ikeda said, surety in his voice as he spoke on a matter the DEST operative was confident in. “They will be at full strength in perhaps six months to a year; depending upon how well our efforts to recruit personnel go. But, should they be needed, they can put two BattleMech battalions and a reinforced regiment of conventional support into the field now. And they are all absolutely loyal to you, Tono.”
“That is better than expected.” Another smile; more than Yori usually allowed herself. And Toranaga knows nothing of them. It was old philosophy, Capellan philosophy, but true despite that; the deadliest of swords was an invisible sword, one your foe could not see. “And the… other matter I asked of you to investigate?”
“There is little information to be sure of, Tono.” Ikeda selected his words with exacting care; this was a very private matter, and dangerous to be obvious about. “The primary package was delivered by the Salaryman, we have confirmed that; at risk to his own life, but that he is not afraid of. On the secondary, we have the agent the Salaryman engaged for its delivery, but it seems the Bureaucrat stepped in first, with far less discretion.”
“Thank you.” Courtesy was not often a virtue known to the Dragon, but Yori considered it worth exercising, for one as important to her plans as Ikeda. “Return to your work with the Shadow; keep me informed. And say nothing to anyone of the other matter.”
“As you command, Tono.”
Yori let herself turn inward as Ikeda left. So, Bhatia was involved as well; not a surprise. At least now, she knew those who she had blood debts outstanding with. Yori had never cared for Vincent Kurita and his family, but they had been fair to her....at least; if never anything more than that. There were ties of blood, however distant; vengeance upon those who’d killed her kin was an obligation.
We settle things with the Davions — one way or another — and then, Toranaga, if you live, you will learn that treating me as a puppet was a mistake.
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===Briefing the First Prince===
The Watchtower, Ten kilometres north of Avalon City
New Avalon, Crucis March
Federated Suns
Transglass Inner Sphere
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"It's confirmed, Sir; Cartago and Raman have both fallen."
Erik Sandoval-Groell carefully suppressed a reflexive wince at that news. That would be unfitting to the dignity of the Prince’s Champion, and not do the young officer’s clearly frayed nerves any good either.
“Details, Captain.” he settled for instead, keeping his voice as calm and level as possible. “I need details.” Both worlds were already marked in crimson on the Operations Room’s maps.
“Yes Sir, sorry Sir,” she replied, taking a moment to center and organize her thoughts. “We’ve confirmed that Raman was hit by Beta Regiment of Wolf’s Dragoons and the Forty-Fifth Benjamin Regulars, plus a battalion of the Ryuken-hachi. There, well, there wasn’t much left of the Raman DMM when they retreated to New Ivaarsen.”
Erik did wince at that, not that he was surprised. For the last sixty years — ever since they’d picked the losing side in the Sandoval Civil War — the Raman March Militia had been a dumping ground for the malcontents and no-hopers of the Draconis March Brigade. That they’d put up any kind of fight against better than four-to-one odds was a miracle. “And Cartago?” A cousin's demesne; a distant one, true, but you had to look out for family.
“Gamma Regiment of the Dragoons, their Wolfsbane battalion and the Ryuken-go.” the captain replied. Erik shot a discrete look at her nametag, which read “Kennedy, L.”, and considered it might be worth recruiting this one for his staff. “According to Colonel Rennie’s verbal report and dispatches, the Tenth Avalon were holding them off until they lost their command staff; freak bomb hit, the details are in the dispatches.” She held out a noteputer. “Code-locked to your thumbprint, sir.”
Erik nodded, taking the noteputer and applying his thumb to the print reader. Skimming through the dispatches told him everything; it really had been a freak hit, not sloppy air raid precautions. The Kuritan aerospace wings’ toss-bombing strikes could barely hit a city reliably; it’d been pure bad luck that guided a three-thousand-kilo armour-piercing bomb right onto the bunker where the Hussars’ command staff had been holding a planning session. Not that they’re any less dead because of it; and at least Colonel Rennie — no, she’s Major-General Rennie now, if I have anything to say about it! — had possessed the good sense and moral courage to pull back to Mallory's World and keep the Tenth intact, rather than fight it out to the death. Which, glorious, quick and easy, would have been a choice too many AFFS commanders, including a younger Erik Sandoval-Groell, would have made, and it would have been the wrong one. It was bitter to think, but a minor world lost that could be liberated later was a fair trade for an experienced LCT's survival right now. Especially since Rennie had managed to bring Countess Justine Sandoval and most of her family along with the Tenth, a good starting point for a liberation campaign.
“Right.” Erik took a moment to centre himself, looking around the Operations Room. It was far quieter than it had been earlier in the year, with most of the High Command dispersed across the long arc of the Capellan March as SUNSHOWER’s preparations shifted into high gear; the only ones staying, once he and Caleb left some time in the next week, would be the triad of Field Marshals responsible for New Avalon’s defence. The map told him enough, though; the rash of green-marked Liao incursions from New Hessen to Victoria, starting to form worrying patterns. And the Dragon’s bites into the Draconis March; only shallow, for now — if one didn’t count the lost Reach — but they would grow, aimed straight for Robinson and New Avalon herself.
At least the Taurians are quiet, some irreverent corner of his mind pointed out.
Decision crystallized. He wasn’t needed here, and someone needed to provide the authority to weld the defences of the Draconis March into a coherent whole. For a moment, Erik cursed Harrison Davion; the distrust he’d managed to sow between the March Lords and New Avalon was poisoning everything, making orders from the March Commands mere suggestions to anyone not part of their own brigades. Thankfully, nobody yet was at the nadir point of the First Succession War's command relations, referring any orders they simply didn't like all the way up whatever they imagined their personal chain of command was,but the warning signs were there, if you knew what to look for.
And I do. Erik shivered internally at the thought; one of the problems with being a serious student of history was that it undermined certain comfortable assumptions about how people behaved. If we get to that point, we'll end up with a hundred different armies in a trenchcoat, and we won't be able to stop the Dracs or Liaos this side of June.
“Wait here, and consider yourself seconded to my staff,” Erik told Kennedy, before making his way down to the lowest tier of the Operations Room.
Caleb was there, reviewing a video file on one of the tactical display consoles. Erik had expected a deployment status report, or one of MIIO’s tactical digests from the front. What he hadn't expected was the Sea Fox reports about these 'Arcadians', the new power that had appeared, somehow, out of a hole in space-time in the backend of Lyran space, and, pretty naturally, taken offence at Clan Jade Falcon's behaviour. If it'd come from anyone else, Erik would have been inclined to make some harsh comments about their sense of humor, but the Sea Foxes didn't — couldn't afford — to think like that.
"Champion," Caleb said quietly, turning to face Erik, "what do you think? Is this the truth, or some kind of elaborate deception?"
"I think it's the truth, Highness." Erik settled on. "Or, at least, as much of the truth as the Foxes want us to know." At Caleb's questioning look, he went on. "Credibility is the biggest resource information brokers have; I dealt with plenty of them when I was working for my cousin. They won't be lying. Shading the truth, maybe, but not outright lying, because when we caught them in a lie, we'd never trust them again. As well," and he silently blessed his staff for making sure to keep him up to date on everything, "they've provided samples to NAIS; Arcadian ferrofibrous armor plating and endo-steel. I don't claim to understand the technical details," a self-deprecatory smile, playing to his image as the bluff soldier with that small lie, "but their conclusion is clear enough; the forging and bonding process that produced both is alien to us. It works — might even be a little more efficient than our methods in some ways — but nobody we know of has ever done it that way. Not even the Clans."
“I see,” Caleb frowned. “Mason did say that was the most likely possibility, but I’m not sure. This anomaly, for instance.” he indicated the rippling blue-white energy field that occupied one screen.
“Doctor Banzai was kind enough to brief me on that, as well,” Erik said, smiling still. “I wasn’t able to follow her explanations in detail,” and this time, that was the truth, whole and unvarnished. Erik considered himself a reasonably well-educated man, as conversant with the sciences as any man or woman of good family was expected to be; but talk about “multilayered hyperspatial entanglement” left him as lost as an honest man at the Celestial Court. "The summary would be that something like this Anomaly has been theorised for a while, given the space-time distortions associated with the Kearny-Fuchida effect, but the mass-energy equations have so many currently undefined factors in them that she's established a high degree of confidence that the Arcadian story is true. They generated it by accident."
“And that doesn’t bother you, Champion?” Caleb asked, frowning still. “That there could be a Liao or Kuritan force ready to descend on New Avalon any moment, and we’d have no warning?”
And now I see the reason for his focus on this. “As I understood Doctor Banzai’s explanation, Highness,” Erik said, keeping his voice level, “that isn’t something we need to be concerned about. It’s quantum physics that, as I said, I don’t fully understand, but a portal like that would have to be created from somewhere within one jump of New Avalon; and it couldn't be done in this universe. Something about the minimum possible displacement in space and time makes it unviable. I can have my staff send over a summary of the Doctor’s analysis if you need it, Highness?”
“No. Not now anyway, and I do know where to ask if it turns out I do need it,” Caleb managed a smile. “Thank you for the clarifications, Erik. Although I suspect that isn’t what you came to speak with me about.”
"No, it wasn't, Highness. The fact of it is," Erik took a deep, steadying breath; best to rip this plaster off quickly. "You don't need me, here or for executing SUNSHOWER, and the situation in the Draconis March is bad and getting worse. I feel I can best be of use to you there, stabilizing matters."
"You have a plan, then?" Caleb's eyes tracked across the situation map, recognising what Erik meant.
"A tentative one Highness, yes," Erik drew everything he'd been thinking out together. "My current thinking is to strike at the Dracs' supply lines through the Draconis Reach, though I'll need to refine it once I'm there and have a clearer picture of what things are like on the ground. I will need to pull some of the reserve units for SUNSHOWER for what I have in mind; the Forty-Second Avalon and Fifth Ceti Hussars, and the Third Davion Guards." He'd honestly have preferred the Second Guards, their heavy aerospace echelon more in line with his plans; but they were already most of the way to the mustering point at Orbisonia. And the Third has a better set of Colonels, that'll count for more with what I think we'll have to do.
"I'm not sure about the Guards," Caleb temporized, rubbing his chin in thought as he looked at the unit markers. "Maybe the Royal Cavaliers instead?"
That … might actually work, Erik thought, working through the jump timings in his head. Justin Sortek ran them these days, and even if he's my cousin's man, we worked together well enough when we were both with the Swordsworn. But no, too far away. It’d take too long even to get word to the Cavaliers as they moved along the border, never mind get them here.
“Highness, there’s no time,” Erik finally replied, working to keep his voice calm. “No matter what we do, Highness, the border’s going to take the worst beating it has since the Jihad. We need to act now to restore the situation. Those units know me, Highness, I know them. And they're here, now, ready to deploy."
“You’re right, of course.” Caleb didn’t seem happy about that, but he rarely seemed happy about anything very often. “We’ll get the orders cut now, and I’ll make sure Petersen understands that you’re in charge.” Erik’s mind blanked for a moment at who that was before it clicked; Marshal Garrett Petersen, commander of the Third Guards, and who by strict rank was Erik’s superior. Not that it should matter, but the Prince’s Champion wasn’t in the regular chain of command; which was damn useful when it kept you outside of regular Army bunfights over areas of command, but less so when you had to make officers who theoretically outranked you do what they were told. At least with a direct command from the Prince that’ll be less of an issue. Caleb paused again, seeming to closely study Erik’s expression. “There’s something else you want to say, isn’t there, Champion?”
“A worry, yes.” Erik paused, putting his thoughts in order. Trying to convince himself he was just being overly cautious. It didn’t work. “I’ve been looking at the Liao raids, Highness, I don’t think they’re random.” He gestured, indicating the map. “They’re starting to look like what we’d do in the run-up to a major attack; rapid strikes to figure out enemy dispositions, check response times, get enemy defensive units deployed and locked in place. I might be wrong, but then again …”
“Maybe not,” Caleb agreed, frowning as he looked at the icons for Liao raids, the same patterns Erik had seen playing out in his mind. “But if they are planning a major offensive, you don’t think the Capellans might be worried about the federal guard having time and warning to mobilize and concentrate? Daoshen may be insane, but he isn’t that kind of insane, and Isabelle Fisk isn’t insane at all.”
"Highness, I have a nasty suspicion that if they're planning a major offensive, the Liaos want as much of the federal guard as possible in big concentrations where they can get at them." Erik replied. “I don’t even know if they are,” he admitted, “My best source couldn’t tell me anything but that a lot of the CCAF isn’t where they’re officially deployed.” And that, in itself, is telling; South Wind was embedded within the CCAF’s logistics command, and the lack of information suggested serious compartmentalisation. Unless she’s been turned, triple agent rather than double. Another headshake. The Maskirovka didn’t think like that; if they’d known that he’d turned South Wind, they’d have eliminated her with the thoroughness you’d expect from an organization that favoured dropping anvils on individual ants.
“What do you want me to do, Champion?” Caleb said softly. He looked older, somehow, drained. “I know that you aren’t terribly enthusiastic about SUNSHOWER, but at this point; I couldn’t call it off even if I wanted to.” Erik conceded a nod to that; even with Black Box communications, it wouldn't be possible to get a stop command to everyone in time.
“I’d just advise caution, Highness.” Erik said, unhappy but without anything else to offer.
"I don’t think caution is an option left to us, Champion, but I take your point." Caleb replied. “I’ll make sure our commanders know to be watchful.” He smiled, suddenly, clapping Erik on the shoulder affectionately. “Cheer up, Erik. If all goes well, this time next year we’ll be toasting victory on Sian.”
“God willing, Highness.” Erik smiled in turn, though he could read the false note in Caleb’s affected bonhomie. The Prince didn’t believe that boast anymore than he did.
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===Preparation for Deployment===
Excalibur-class DropShip, FSS Phoenix
Camelot Military Spaceport
New Avalon, Federated Suns
Six hours later
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Erik was in the middle of running a tactical simulation on the main holotable when his chosen unit commanders arrived. The tiny representations of BattleMechs, tanks and battlesuited infantry froze as he turned to greet them.
Garrett Petersen stood out immediately, the Guards Marshal looking exactly like a military noble of the Federated Suns was supposed to in the stories and very few did in practice.Tall and powerfully built, regular bronzed features and dark blue-gray eyes, red-blonde hair kept short to fit under a neurohelmet and a close-trimmed beard of the same shade. Uniform of high quality materials, much better than issue, elegantly understated. Even the scar fitted in perfectly; a shallow cut from the bridge of Petersen’s nose to just under his left eye, courtesy of a pirate Axman three decades ago, along the Periphery border.
What had happened to the pirate afterwards had made Erik wince, even in the dry, antiseptic language of an official report.
The other two were more in the normal run of things; Major-General Park Jung-hwa was shorter than Petersen but nearly as broad, wearing plain khaki field dress, and had very obviously been to the wars. A savage corona of plasma burn scars twisted one side of her face, a dull red cybernetic eye set into it drawing the attention, with grey shot liberally through her remaining black hair. Vice-Admiral Collette Rhysson was the youngest of the three; in her thirties, pale and dark-haired, with long features and the stringy muscularity common to most aerospace pilots Erik knew, and her hands, one a cybernetic prosthesis, moving as she described dogfighting tactics to Park.
“Marshal, ladies. At ease.” Erik took a moment to study all three, noting their expressions. It was severe annoyance, mainly, which was about what he’d expected. “You all seem to be throttling considerable heads of steam.”
They exchanged quick looks before Petersen stepped forward, silently elected as spokesman. “Champion, with all due respect, what’s going on? Our units are scheduled to deploy for SUNSHOWER within the week, and even with most of the preparation done, there’s still a lot of work. Nobody’s indispensable, but we’ll be missed.”
“You’ll be back with your units shortly,” Erik said. “But there have been changes in your deployment orders. Now, I assume you have all your personnel on-base and ready to lift, and your units’ transport flotillas charged?” You’d better went unsaid, but he wasn’t surprised at the nods; veteran units with good commanders would be ready to go. “Good. Then I want your commands fully loaded up and boosting for their JumpShips by,” he made a show of checking his watch, “this time on the fourteenth. Destination is Markesan, moving into the Draconis March. You’ll be receiving full briefings en route. Questions, imperative supply needs?"
"I'm going to need to requisition a fighter carrier DropShip from the Navy." Rhysson said, checking the noteputer strapped to her forearm. "One of my LCT’s carriers is in dock for a full-scale overhaul of her engines; no way to get them reassembled and operational in three days. A week'd be pushing it."
"Expedition on supply orders is all I need." Park, her living eye closed as she called up information of her own.
"Authorized; I'll get the orders cut now." And invoke the Prince’s authority if anyone gets difficult. "Anything else?"
There wasn't, and after the needed pleasantries the three flag officers left; back to their units, and to get things moving. Erik picked up his noteputer, starting to write out orders. After a few minutes of getting nowhere, he sighed and stepped back over to the holotable.
“Reset simulation,” Erik said. The voice-command interface wasn’t used for tactical ops, it was too imprecise, but for this, it helped him think and focus. “Robinson Battle Academy Training Cadre and Twentieth Avalon Hussars defending against Kismet and Giri Battalions, Seventh Sword of Light. Auxiliaries in proportion; mapset is the RSBW complex at Tiberias. Execute.”
The system wasn’t as capable as those he’d used at NAIS, or seen in the Republic’s sim facilities under Geneva. But there was a comfort to it, the act of doing something, even simulated.
And, if I can win this, Erik reflected as he began shuffling lances like a card-sharp’s deck, if I can win this, maybe I can win where it counts.
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