FSML-3 Chpt 7

=Chapter 7=
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==Frederick Steiner and the Man Who Knew Too LittleBook 3==
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===Assessments and new Orders===
Duhr Prime, Zosma
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
May 2nd, 3024
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After losing Zosma to the Lyran Commonwealth in the Second Succession War, the Iron Guard had spent thirty-two years in exile from their homeworld. Marik support in retaking it was probably why they were so fanatical in their support of the Captain-General.
Frederick Steiner had heard that their Colonel Bradford Holmes had proclaimed he would die rather than dishonor the regiment by retreating again. If so he’d probably lived up to it.
“Colonel Hansen,” he greeted the mercenary commander as the last of his subordinate commanders arrived. “How are your men doing?”
“We’ve had worse butcher’s bills, but not since Matheran.” the commander of Hansen’s Roughriders reported. “You should see the other guy though.”
“I believe I did.” Frederick admitted. “Running away, tails between their legs? Is that the one?”
They both laughed, but Frederick knew that Colonel Hansen hungered for more. Smithson’s Chinese Bandits had fought for Janos Marik during the Marik Civil War, a decade before. Hansen’s Roughriders were made up for the most part of members of the Twelfth Atrean Dragoons, who had fought for Anton Marik and fled the Free Worlds League after his death. Matheran was where the two units had fought during that war, and the grudge was alive and burning.
The Roughriders had baited Frederick’s trap - the Bandits had seen a chance to catch their old enemies and destroy them, a cause Colonel Holmes had been all too happy to commit the Protectorate Guards to. The three regiments had sallied from Duhr Prime’s defenses and found themselves encircled by not only the Roughriders, but all of Frederick’s ‘mech forces.
It should have been a battle of annihilation, crushing three-quarters of the Marik forces on Zosma as they ran the gauntlet to get back to Duhr Prime. That wasn’t quite how it had worked out though, and a part of Frederick wished - as Hansen did - that they'd accomplished more.
The five Lyran commanders of them were meeting in the planetary governor’s office. That worthy had decided to depart the planet with its defenders rather than face the people he ruled without the Iron Guard and Steel Guard being there to support him.
Gerhardt Hansen sat between Sarah Joss of the Thirty-Second Lyran Guards and Ed Smith of the Eleventh Lyran Regulars on the couch, leaving the armchairs to Frederick and to Stephanie Stirling of the Fourth Commonwealth Jaegers. The Third Jaegers’ commander wasn’t present - Duhr Prime wasn’t quite secure enough to risk every senior officer being in the same room. If they got bombed, Lieutenant Colonel Jonny Wurtz would inherit the burden of holding the task force together until a new command group could be formed.
“It’s looking increasingly unlikely that the Mariks were faking their withdrawal offworld,” Frederick began. “But it’s not assured yet, so what are your statuses?”
“Jonny and I are both running at about seventy percent effective.” Stirling reported. “Not so much casualties as equipment that needs repairs. Given two weeks, everything that wasn’t a total loss should be fit for use again.”
“Price of lighter gear.” Joss noted. “We’re closer to eighty percent, projecting ten days to get about half our losses restored.”
Frederick gave the Guards commander a repressing look. She wasn’t wrong, but the mobility of the Jaegers had let them push through the rough terrain of the right flank and link up with the Guards, who’d had much better terrain to work with. “Ed?” he asked, rather than poking at Joss though - her father commanded Wyatt theater, so he’d need more justification than this to slap her down. And she was a fighter, he’d give her that.
“We were mostly engaging at longer ranges so we’re in the best shape, I think. Most of our ‘mechs took no more than armor damage but those that took the brunt will take about as long as the Jaegers to be fit. Call it eight-five percent operational right now.”
Hansen made a face. “I can put a battalion in the field right now, and most of them would still need some repairs.” he admitted.
“You took their attack right in the teeth.” Frederick admitted. “Your men fought with great courage.” Using mercs as bait was a tricky thing, no sensible commander wanted a reputation for treating them as expendable.
“Give me a month and I’ll have two battalions really fit for battle.” the colonel continued. “I probably shouldn’t have closed in on the Steel Guard.” he admitted after a moment. “The blood was up, but in hindsight, pulling back would have left them in open ground with a crossfire between us and your Regulars.”
“With the Iron Guard shattered, I can see the temptation to try repeating the feat against the Steel Guard. Unfortunately their heavier ‘mechs could take the pounding.” Frederick admitted. “They might have reached the heights behind you and broken out that way.”
Hansen shrugged. Something told Frederick that the other man would be refighting the battle in his head for some time to come.
“Our best estimate is that the Bandits and the Steel Guard were operating at about fifty to sixty percent of their paper strength by the time they reached Duhr.” he continued. “If the Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia hadn’t broken our encirclement, we might have finished them off but with the Iron Guard functionally destroyed. That still left them outnumbered almost two to one so their decision to cede Zosma was a smart one.” Ochombo’s sally had been unexpected - they still weren’t sure how much of the Twenty-Fifth had even been in the area - but with Hansen getting mauled and the Jaegers on the edge of a combat loss grouping, Frederick hadn’t been prepared to risk the tables turning and allowed the enemy to leave, satisfying himself with picking off those troops who couldn’t keep up with the retreat.
“You have the first pick of the salvage.” he told the Roughriders’ commander. “There are more than enough salvageable ‘mechs out there to replace all of our losses and Kommandant Alexander will make sure you have the parts to get your troops up to strength. With that said, time is going to be in shorter supply than I’d like.”
Everyone was already looking at him but now they were giving him their full attention. Joss didn’t even argue over Hansen getting the pick of the recovered ‘mechs, which was one reason he’d timed the information in this way.
“Good news first.” He leant back, forcing himself to look relaxed. “Senior Colonel Ridzik reports that Pollux has been secured, with little left of the First Sirian Lancers. That means that both we and our allies have secured all our objectives for this offensive.”
The first wave of attacks had left the Free Worlds League without a single inhabited world in reach of Terra. The shortest route they had to reach their allies in the Draconis Combine would require three jumps across Lyran space, not exactly safe for routine traffic. If they were pushed much further back, ComStar might need to route HPG transmissions from the League via Capellan or Lyran stations.
“I’m not sure how that leaves us short of time, Sir.” Stirling asked. “Are we expecting a counter-attack?”
Frederick shook his head. “No. Unfortunately someone has a case of victory-disease and we’ve been ordered to move on. Castor has been added as our next objective, and Colonel Ridzik’s forces will move on Devil’s Rock.”
“Do we have the supplies for that?” asked Joss. “I’d have thought Tamar would be top of the list for everything.”
“There was an attempted coup on Luthien last month. The Combine tried keeping it quiet, but they haven’t quite managed that. The official analysis is that the pressure on Tamar will be greatly reduced as they deal with that.” It was hard for him to avoid sounding less convinced. A non-specific accusation of ‘victory-disease’ was already further than he should have gone.
From Max’s messages, while cryptic enough to make it hard for ComStar to figure them out even if they had cracked the codes, suggested that someone in Katrina’s inner circle had been compromised. He didn’t want to even consider the disaster if it was the Archon herself, but the amount of data from all across the Commonwealth was too vast for any one person to handle - Katrina required a small army of trusted staff members to process the data, make decisions that didn’t need her attention and to break the critical matters down for her so she had time for them. A single malicious actor in her senior staff could just as easily explain some of her recent decisions.
“Yorioshi went for the throne?” asked Smith thoughtfully. “He’d have needed a Kurita for legitimacy, but he could have married a distant cousin.”
“Wrong Warlord,” Frederick corrected him. “It was Elias Kurita who made the attempt. Apparently he’d inherited some support from his brother Marcus and thought he could play Taragi.” Theodore Kurita’s great-great grandfather had overthrown his uncle and cousin to take the throne of the Combine. “He was wrong.”
“How widespread was it beyond Luthien?” Joss’s eyes were narrowed. “Pesht is a rear-area, but it’s still a full military district.”
“That is unclear.” he admitted. “If there was significant support then it’s possible the conclusion is correct, but if it fizzled then Theodore might press the invasion further to distract attention within the Combine from the matter. Given that Elias didn’t manage to take Luthien, I’m personally leaning towards the latter but obviously someone at Mount Asgard disagrees.”
Hansen looked pained. “Even with your generosity, general, my Roughriders can’t move on Castor right now.”
Frederick made a dismissive gesture. “I wouldn’t expect you to. I want the Regulars and the Guards ready to embark in two weeks, repairs can be completed on the way to Castor. Your Roughriders are going to be needed in a garrison role - unless the FWLM can pull together a counterattack, that should give you time to recover and if they manage that then I’ll pull back from Castor to support you immediately.”
“And the Jaegers, sir?” asked Stirling. “We’re in the best shape.”
“Diversionary raids,” Frederick told her. “Stay with me after the meeting and we’ll discuss the details.”
The rest of the meeting was focused on administrative matters and it was more than an hour before Smith, Joss and Hansen left, satisfied that they understood what Frederick wanted from them. Stirling remained in her armchair and looked at Frederick. “Where are we going to hit, Sir? Both borders are still lit up to keep Marik from pulling forces away from them, so it sounds like a deep raid.”
“Wait until Wurtz is here.” Frederick told her. He’d arranged for the other Leutnant-Colonel to be sent over once the meeting was over, so he could get the same briefing. As a result there was barely time to refresh their coffee mugs before the other Jaeger battalion commander arrived and Frederick could fill him in.
“Connaught,” the man suggested. “It’s in reach, and it’s got a ‘mech factory. Or Irian - Janos Marik can’t ignore an attack there.”
Frederick shook his head. “You’re not wrong about the thinking, but you’re going in the wrong direction. The logical expectation for Janos is that we’ll be digging in and shifting resources to face the Combine. If he’s taking raids deeper inside the League then he’ll know that we’re not done.”
Stirling shrugged. “By the time we reach much further, he’ll know you’re on Castor, Sir.”
“Perhaps. But I want to present what he expects - units visibly pulled away from fighting him.” Frederick pulled up a map of the Terran region. “I’m ordering you to cross Skye and raid worlds on the Combine border. I don’t think we can convince anyone we’re going to widen the Dieron pocket, but it’ll at least make it harder for Kurita to shift reserves away from that region.”
“Do you have the authority to send us out of the Theater, sir?” Wurtz inquired cautiously. “I mean, we’re operating under Wyatt Theater, aren’t we?”
“I have expeditionary authority to operate against the Free Worlds League and the boilerplate on that covers ‘allied and subordinate forces’.”
The Jaeger officers exchanged looks. “Doesn’t that mean mercenaries and provincial forces?” Wurtz was obviously trying not to sound like he was challenging Frederick’s authority.
“That might be how it was intended,” he agreed cheerfully. “But I can only be held to account for the letter of my orders and the Combine is allied with the League, so I’m clear to wage war on them as well. If my cousin disagrees then I’m sure she’ll correct me. What’s the worst that can happen? The Combine decides to retaliate for your raids by invading the Commonwealth?”
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===Dragon taking Councel from his Warlords===
Dali, Tamar
Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth
May 14th, 3024
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Samsonov’s headquarters were in what was probably the heart of some Lyran noble’s estate. The mansion stood in what had probably been rather nice gardens before scores of military vehicles set up there, Theodore Kurita thought as the VTOL carrying him swept down to land on a lawn that had been kept clear for the purpose. His father was a poet… had been a poet… but his mother took a broader view of the arts and while she primarily preferred the traditional Japanese arts. She had encouraged him to at least recognise other traditions… and gardening was an art.
Stooping slightly in an instinctive reaction to the blades still turning above the helicopter, Theodore crossed to the entrance of the mansion surrounded by a squad of the Otomo. While the soldiers were wearing full combat gear, the Coordinator wore a DCMS officer’s uniform, bereft of rank markings, and a sleeveless mantle of subdued dark red with the black dragon of the Combine woven into the heavy silk. He paused, kicking a few bits of dirt from his boots before entering, letting one of the guards adjust the fall of the mantle slightly for maximum effect. The Otomo’s service required many skills beyond the obvious.
Inside, pre-warned guards discreetly pointed Theodore to one of the reception rooms. Furniture had been pushed aside or removed entirely, making room for display screens (less fragile and easier to move than holodisplays) and tables. One of the largest displays was prominently displaying all of Tamar, with units marked out in red and blue. Theodore hoped they didn’t usually display that sort of overview so obviously and it was just for his own ease - usually he found larger monitors more practical for tactical displays, leaving the broad strokes of strategy to a secondary display if he needed a reminder.
Everyone stopped and bowed deeply to him as he entered. Theodore took in the array of personnel - techs at their stations, Samsonov flanked by two regimental commanders while two Tai-sa waited on the far side of the room. Out of favor? It was possible.
“Carry on.” he instructed them. “The war waits for no man, not even the Coordinator.”
“My congratulations on your victories over Sevren and Laurent,” Samsonov offered as Theodore joined him before the largest table. “I had hoped that I could offer you Tamar upon your arrival, but progress has not been everything I had desired.”
Theodore glanced at the monitor and then smiled. “You have high expectations of your troops, Warlord.” More than half of Tamar was in the hands of the Combine already, despite the markings of several Lyran troop formations that should in theory have given them a numerical advantage over Samsonov’s invasions. “I don’t disapprove, but I would have been satisfied if you had merely secured a stable foothold. If those maps are up to date, your progress is in line with what the plans called for.”
The Warlord scowled. “If the Rasalhague Regulars had broken past Steiner’s mercenaries then we would at the least be besieging the planetary capital by now.”
Neither of the officers with him flinched, which confirmed Theodore’s memory that they were the commanders of the Second Drakons and the First Proserpina Hussars. The first had been stacked by officers Samsonov chose - a concession made to him when he was Warlord of Galedon, letting Theodore have a free hand with the other regiments of the newly formed brigade. The other was among the most elite of the DCMS’ regiments outside of the Sword of Light.
“You’re disappointed in their performance?” he asked, keeping his voice down.
“Cherenkof let the rot get deep there,” Samsonov grumbled. “They lack drive and purging their officers would have set us back even further.”
The ISF historically maintained a very high level surveillance of the Rasalhague Regulars, fearing that they would side with insurgents if the district attempted a serious revolt. It wouldn’t surprise Theodore if that had led to a lack of initiative among the regiments, but Samsonov was their warlord. His disdain for them must be wreaking havoc on what was left of their morale.
It was a disappointment - Samsonov had maintained a high level of support within the Galedon Regulars. The young Coordinator had hoped he might have a similar effect here, but instead it seemed he was focusing on building up ties with the new Drakons and the more established elites.
“Despite their losses, the Twelfth Star Guards remain four regiments - twice as many as have been committed to hold them in place,” Theodore said out loud. Technically true, even if their losses made it a much more even match. “And while we mostly use mercenaries in garrison and supporting roles, the Steiners’ military weakness has had them use such troops as offensive spearheads - as on Dieron. Holding the Twelfth Star Guards in place was a critical part of our strategy and in doing so, the Rasalhague Regulars have done everything we have asked of them.”
The two Tai-Sa at the far end of the command centre straightened slightly at the words.
“Perhaps I have allowed my frustrations to outweigh my decorum, Tono.” Samsonov managed a somewhat graceful retreat. “The Lyran Guards have fought well, and their commander is not known for suffering fools so if she relies on mercenaries for the northern flank then I must assume she has faith in them.”
“In addition to the Seventh Sword of Light and the First Drakons, I have brought officers and warriors from Galedon who volunteered to serve under you, Warlord.” Theodore told him. “We have sufficient salvage from our battles so far that I am establishing a new regiment of the Rasalhague Regulars.” That would be help cover the interior of the district with so many units moved forwards. “If you wish to transfer or promote officers from the Ninth and Twentieth regiments to this new regiment, then you may of course replace them with your choices from these new arrivals.”
If Samsonov was wise he’d make most of the assignments promotions, giving him a regiment of the Regulars that would be loyal to him. If not… well, Theodore’s supply of suitable officers to lead a military district was finite but he hadn't reached the bottom of that bucket just yet.
“Thank you, Lord.”
“Will you be leading us to victory over Nondi Steiner?” the commander of the Proserpina Hussars enquired politely.
Theodore wasn’t sure if it was sycophancy on the part of the woman, but a moment later Samsonov hopped onto the comment with such alacrity that he suspected it may have been staged. “The Coordinator is at the hub of all things, General Langley. His concerns are larger than one world.”
“Walk with me, Warlord,” Theodore ordered, gesturing towards the door. “I would have your thoughts on the campaign so far and we should not distract your officers from their labors.”
Put like that, Samsonov had no choice but to join Theodore and they exited the room back into the corridors. “Would you like to use my office, Tono?”
The younger man flicked his hand dismissively. “We can walk outside, if your perimeter is sufficiently secure. I have spent too much time behind a desk or crammed inside a transport, I wish to stretch my legs.”
“No one besides the DCMS is within two kilometers and there are no vantage points overlooking us.” The warlord was surely thinking of how one of Theodore’s more distant ancestors had been shot by a sniper when he dismounted from his ‘mech on a world that had not been pacified.
The reprisals had signally failed to produce the desired pacification. Indeed, the actions had so damaged morale that a previously wildly successful campaign had collapsed. The regiments who boasted of Kentares on their battle honors were, in Theodore’s view, completely missing the lesson of that occasion. Still, he didn’t want a bullet through his head any more than his ancestor presumably had.
Outside, Theodore didn’t look directly at the warlord. “The Lyran Guards fight well?”
“They do. Tamar’s planetary militia were poorly led at first, but General Steiner has drafted the best to replace losses in her regular regiments and purged the commanders of the other units.”
“Hmm. And you mentioned the Twelfth Star Guards were holding off the Ninth and Twentieth.”
“They have four regiments on paper,” Samsonov allowed. “But they are little more than half that in reality. The Twentieth Rasalhague Regulars in particular have failed to take sufficient advantage.”
Theodore nodded. “An inexperienced regiment. Those who have risen to the occasion here will be valued, those who do not can be reassigned.”
“Thank you, sir. I assume that the other unattached warriors may be used to replace casualties.”
“Of course. General Bergen and I have assigned a few to the regiments of our task force but the rest are yours to assign as you will.” The coordinator saw what was left of an ornamental maze after a pair of air defense vehicles had parked on it and tsked. That would have annoyed even his father. There was sufficient space to park next to it and the bushes would have added a tiny bit of cover.
Samsonov cleared his throat. “The situation on Pesht…”
“You have your sources, I assume.”
“My attention has primarily been focused upon my own district.” the warlord lied, rather transparently. “Though I understand that your treacherous cousin has been captured.”
“That is so.” Theodore agreed. Having failed to capture Luthien when the First Sword of Light proved not to have yielded to his blandishments, Elija Kurita had unimaginatively fallen back on Pesht and called for the Regular regiments scattered around the fringes of his district to reinforce him. Seeing the writing on the wall, none had done so and the Second Sword of Light had raced across the Combine via a command circuit to join their brother regiment in bringing the rogue warlord to justice.
They’d also captured evidence that his cousin had been foolish enough to accept support from sources they now knew to have been compromised by the LIC. In short, the coup had been nothing less than a distraction by the Lyrans, an attempt to slow the attack on Tamar without committing more forces directly.
He looked at Samsonov. “I will hear your advice, Grieg.”
The use of Samsonov’s personal name hopefully reminded him of how Theodore had done the same before removing Cherenkoff, months ago. He certainly hesitated before speaking. “One man alone cannot create such a conspiracy, sir. And while your warlords can command on the border, only you can bring order to the heart of the realm.”
In other words, Theodore thought ‘go away and stop taking all the glory’. Predictable. “Ivan Sorenson said much the same when I appointed him as the new Warlord of Pesht. I have been displeased by the Pesht Regulars’ low standards and he has done well in bringing the Dieron Regulars back up to my expectations.”
If that sounded like a slight on Samsonov’s issues with the Rasalhague Regulars, then it would only prove that the warlord had a mote or two of awareness.
“A reliable choice,” the older man agreed. “May I ask who will be taking over Dieron?”
“You may be aware of Kester Hsuin Chi?”
The warlord had to think a moment. “I have some recollection of your father promoting an officer by that name after Cherenkoff had demoted him. Before the latter’s rise to be a Warlord but it was clear that the Coordinator found merit in both of them. He kept them apart, of course.”
Theodore hid a smile at the effort to cast Chi in the likeness of the former Warlord of Rasalhague. “I have some hopes for him. In any case, I will accompany Sorenson to install him at Pesht before returning to Luthien. I am sure that you will be able to complete our plans for Tamar.”
“Of course, sir. With two additional regiments and the LCAF unable to easily reinforce General Steiner, I expect victory to follow before the year ends.”
“Good. Although it is possible that further reinforcements will be forthcoming for Nondi Steiner. Her cousin Frederick has not been notably slowed down by the Mariks, so it would be sensible for the Archon to send him to rectify matters here.”
“It would be the first sign of an intelligent response I have seen from Tharkad,” Samsonov agreed. “If that happens though, we may be able to destroy two of House Steiner’s best generals with a single stroke. Depending, of course, on what forces he can field.” The qualfication of his initial statement was obviously an afterthought.
Theodore smiled. “It would be a happy day.” It would also give Samsonov enough standing that he’d rival Yorioshi once more, restoring the balance of power between the two men that had let his father dominate the high command. Or if it failed, Theodore could bring in another of his own choices for the position.
Taking Tamar would be an excellent first victory for his reign, but the Coordinator always had to remember that the biggest threat to him was within the Combine not outside of it. The Lyrans and the Suns could push the border back occasionally but neither had the strength to seriously threaten the Combine’s existence.
Even together, they couldn’t accomplish that, Theodore thought. Not yet, at any rate. I have Mariks’ technical data and the alliance between Steiner and Davion is crumbling. Things are going almost too well.
The temptation to change his mind and take over the campaign dangled before him but a voice that sounded like his father’s reminded him that he could claim as much credit for the victory on Luthien. If a disaster was looming, to balance the karma of the current good fortune, better he was not here to carry the blame.
Besides, Tomoe had alerted him that Anastasi was aware of their affair. That was not a situation he could afford to leave unattended. His wife had little hard power, but she was still the product of a political dynasty and… what was the old chinese saying about two women under one roof? Or was that apocryphal?
He shook his head. Perhaps the western toast said it best: ‘here’s to our wives and the women we love: may they never meet!’
“I have been indulging myself here,” he admitted. “You are correct, my duty lies on Luthien.”
“I would not say an indulgence, tono.” Samsonov dipped his head politely. “It is important the Combine know that their Coordinator is a warrior, with victories to his name. But now you have won those duties, there are other matters of state that only you can tend to.”
“As you have advised me, I must also counsel you.” Theodore told him. “While I am pleased with the Drakons, the Rasalhague Regulars are the backbone of your forces. If a rift is forming there then I will be concerned.”
“I will heed your wisdom.” the warlord promised with about as much sincerity as Theodore expected.
Does he realize how isolated he is out here? The coordinator shook his head slightly. Moving Samsonov from Galedon may have wrecked him. On the other hand, it cut his empire-building there short. Who knows how things might have gone if I’d left him in place…?
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===Cutting Communications===
Curitiba, Summer
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
May 25th, 3024
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“I should really stay at the Castle in case there are any last minute security issues.” Clovis complained from the passenger seat of the groundcar they’d rented.
Max had indulged and picked a rather sporty little number. He wasn’t a huge fan of driving generally, but if something went wrong then the option to run away would at least make him feel better. Even if he’d probably be up against aircraft that no reasonable groundcar would escape from. And he could afford it, which still felt bizarre - particularly when he was back on Summer where all his memories were of poverty.
“If things go wrong then we’re probably just going to skip to the shooting people phase a bit sooner than expected.” he pointed out, driving fairly sedately through the city streets and paying careful attention to the speed limit. Getting pulled over probably wouldn’t be disastrous, but it really wouldn’t help. “Also your mother wanted me to keep you clear of that part.”
The teenager jerked his chin. “I’m not useless.”
“I’m aware. Unless, of course, you’re not confident that you’ve spoofed the security sensors around the castle correctly?”
“Of course I got it right!” the eighteen year old asserted. “They won’t pick up the infantry until they get to the castle itself. The security cameras are working on looped data and I’ve set them up to match any weather changes, so no one will notice anything until the ‘Mechs arrive.”
“I suppose hiding a couple of heavy ‘mechs would be too much to ask.”
Clovis gave him a disparaging look. “I think that if they can feel the ground shaking, the security will realize that something is out there whatever the cameras are reporting.”
“Sounds to me as if you’ve got everything under control with that, so there’s no reason not to help me with this side of the operation.”
The boy turned and looked out the window.
“Or are you worried you messed up this part of the preparations?” Max added lightly.
“Oh I got it right. Why do you think I don’t want to be anywhere near this. One mistake, or even just the wind changing and this will get really ugly.”
“Well, I can’t do anything about the weather,” he admitted, “But at least you can keep me from making any mistakes. I can be a bit fumble-fingered at times.” Pulling a street map out of the glove pocket, he passed it to Clovis. “Do me a favor and navigate, would you? I haven’t been here in about fifty years and I didn’t have a car at the time.”
The teenager looked at the map and then squinted around. “I don’t have the slightest idea where we are,” he admitted. “I grew up aboard Bifrost. I can make astronomical sightings, but I’ve never tried getting a groundcar through a city before.”
“I’m sure the principles are basically the same.” said Max, who wouldn’t have had the slightest idea how to navigate a dropship and for whom interstellar navigation might as well be black magic.
It ended up taking them forty-five minutes to find their destination, which had been about three blocks from where they were when Max handed Clovis the map.
“This never happened,” Clovis warned him, handing the map back. “If you tell anyone…”
“Tell them what?” Max asked, checking his watch. They were still ahead of schedule, he’d allowed a full hour to get here. “We’ve been parked here thirty minutes while I took a nap.”
“Exactly!” The teenager went around to the back of the car and opened the trunk. Two bags held a number of poles and cables, each with screws and bolts threaded just enough that they’d stay in place. Besides them a small crate was wrapped in plastic.
Max joined him and the pair began assembling the poles. By mutual consent, neither of them touched the crate. Clovis winced the one time Max knocked it lightly with the end of a pole as he got it out of the trunk.
“Be careful.”
“Sorry,” the older man apologized. He had no firsthand knowledge of the contents but he was the one that had asked Clovis to prepare it. If the teenager felt that seriously about the consequences of an accident then he was prepared to accept Clovis’ assessment.
They’d found a place on a side-street that mostly provided service access to offices in the area. The chances were pretty good that no one would be looking at them and the chances of passersby at this time of day were minimal. Still, if anyone did investigate then the explanation for why they were building a miniature trebuchet would have to be quite creative. (The ancient roman trebuchet, that was. Not the ‘mech that shared the name). Max was personally leaning towards just using a taser in place of any explanation, assuming they were far enough along to finish before anyone followed up on that.
Clovis did most of the assembly, while Max simply held poles in place and let the dwarf work the screws and make sure everything was angled correctly. The teenager worked carefully but quickly, not making a single mistake that Max could spot. Less than five minutes after they started, the assembly was complete and Clovis reached for the winding mechanism.
“I’ll do that,” Max offered. “You get the canister ready.”
“You think I want to even touch it?”
“Butterfingers. Max reminded him, holding his hands up.
The boy sighed. “I swear, you’re a MechWarrior. If I find out you’re actually an amateur juggler or something in your spare time, my revenge will be epic.” But he let Max take over the crank and opened the crate with a delicacy and care that exceeded that he’d shown with the trebuchet.
Max didn’t want to say but the other reason he was doing this was that with his longer limbs he was winding the catapult up faster than Clovis could. He wasn’t kidding about not wanting to be the one holding their ammunition though. By the time the handle clicked and refused to turn further, confirming it had reached maximum tension and locked, Clovis was opening the fifth successively smaller layer of packaging around the contents of the crate.
“Let me get this aimed right before you load it.” Max offered.
“No rush.” Clovis was actually sweating.
There was actually a bit of a schedule - it was theoretically possible that a warning could reach their target as soon as the attack on Lestrade Castle began. But it was a soft limit not a hard one, and the last thing Max wanted was to cause a careless mistake.
There were markings on the trebuchet frame so that he could confirm the direction was right and the range wasn’t really a variable - it was set to fling its ammunition a distance prepared based on them firing from here. Fortunately the target wasn’t that small - a few meters here or there weren’t all that serious a problem.
“Ready?” asked Clovis.
Max backed up. “Go ahead.”
Cradling a canister of plastic about the size of a soft-drink bottle in both hands, Clovis took short, slow steps towards the trebuchet and delicately placed it in the clamp at the far end of the sling. Or rather, he tried to. It didn’t fit.
They exchanged panicked looks and then Max took a deep breath. “Okay, we have it upside down.”
Clovis slumped slightly in relief and turned the canister over. This time it fit perfectly.
They both backed up and looked it over.
“Ready?” Clovis asked seriously.
Max licked his finger and held it up to the wind. Yeah, the wind was blowing in the desired direction, which was the prevailing direction for this time of year. “Not getting any readier. Can you think of anything we’ve missed?”
“No.” 
“Do you want to fire it?”
“Are you nuts?” Clovis asked. “I loaded it, I’m not going anywhere near it. You do it.”
“Fair.” Max admitted. He walked over, careful not to knock the apparatus, and reached for the trigger cord, then moved back and away until there was no more slack in it. He looked back and couldn’t see Clovis. Then the passenger door of the car closed and he realized the teenager had taken shelter.
The man shrugged and tugged the cord lightly, hoping that was enough.
It was.
The central hub of the trebuchet spun repeatedly, the canister whirling at the end of the sling until, after what seemed like eternity but was probably only a second or two, the sling released and the canister arced off into the distance. Max followed it with his eyes until it dropped behind the wall of the HPG station.
“Are you going to just stand there forever?” Clovis called from the car.
Breaking out of what had almost been a trance, Max ran to the car and hopped in. “Okay, good work.” he declared and started the car. They left the trebuchet behind - it wasn’t going to be needed any more and disassembling it would take time.
Before they reached the first corner, Max could hear a klaxon sounding in the distance. He focused on driving. Most likely a lot of people would be on the road shortly and they’d be lost in the crowd but it would be much better to be ahead of the rush.
“Can you see the HPG station?” he asked, seeing Clovis was adjusting the wing mirror on his side to get a view behind them.
“Yeah…” The teenager squinted. “People are trying to get out. I think… Okay, first sign of a gas mask. They must keep them close at hand.”
“I can imagine a lot of possible reasons they might want masks.” Max muttered.
“They’re going to need mops too,” Clovis told him, a little triumphantly. “It’s vomit city back there.”
“Okay, just let me drive. We don’t want to get caught.”
“Do you think the authorities will trace the catapult to us?” the teenager asked.
“I hope not. I don’t think anyone in Curitiba today will be enthusiastic about protecting us from the lynch mob.” They’d just flung a small quantity of Thioacetone into the HPG compound, and the walls wouldn’t do a thing to contain the legendarily horrific odor. Anyone within a few kilometers downwind of the place for would be having a really bad day and if the wind changed that would just spread the unhappiness around.
Max decided that the speed limit was more of a suggestion and edged the car up to just above it as he headed for the main junction onto the highway leading up to Lestrade Castle.
“Was this really necessary?” asked Clovis.
“Aldo Lestrade is unfortunately not a fool. Assuming we’re remotely on target about what the others will find in his home, the moment he learns he’s been raided he’ll respond. That could be running for his life, but he’s well connected enough that it could be anything up to a full scale insurrection against the Commonwealth. Taking out the HPG is our best bet for slowing the news until we can get to Skye ahead of it.”
“Nothing we’ve done will stop the HPG working,” the teenager protested. “I mean, the staff would need chemical warfare gear until they can get it cleared - which will be weeks - but it’ll still function.”
“In theory, yes. But ComStar isn’t exactly tolerant of attacks on HPG stations. Even if it’s chemical warfare on the scale of a college prank. They can’t let this pass - it’s one of their core policies, so the first thing the local Precentor will do after he’s done throwing up is report in and then shut the entire place down. Summer will be interdicted until they think they’ve made their point.”
The boy frowned. “That’s going to hurt a lot of people’s livelihoods.”
Max nodded, signaling before he started overtaking a truck. “It is. And if we’re wrong then we’ve done it for nothing. But if we’re right then it might turn out to be the price of saving the entire Commonwealth. We’re just going to have to take the chance.”
“I hope you’re right then.”
The driver grunted. “I kind of hope I’m wrong. Otherwise he’s had Katrina Steiner in a dungeon for months.”
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Book 3 - 7, Chapter