CS3056-64

=Chapter 64Endings and Beginnings, Part 2=
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…the worlds of the former Clan Occupation Zones are estimated to require between a decade and fifteen years to recover to a pre-invasion level on an economic basis. But there are other factors not to be underestimated. Some 30% of families in the former occupation zones we spoke to have at least one or more family members missing due to their being “allocated to work in Clan space.” With the current reported chaos in the Clan Homeworlds, it is expected that many of these missing will not be seen again. Add in a rife epidemic of PTSD due to conditions in the occupation zones, especially during the active phases of Clover Spear, and we fear there is a risk of a “lost generation” in a good chunk of the Tamar March.There is also a presence of a new syndrome known as “Occupation Disorder.” The disorder manifests as an extreme inability to exercise any form of personal initiative and a refusal to acknowledge any form of personal surname, and in some cases, only acknowledging any decision that is settled by combat. Furthermore, there has been a rash of revenge killings in the former occupation zones. This is in addition to having issues integrating former Clan citizens into the fabric of the Tamar March. All of these cannot be settled solely by the military and are a matter for law enforcement and social services to handle. However, the local arms of these organizations on many of these worlds were co-opted by the Clan authorities. We will have to bring in resources from other parts of the Federated Commonwealth to rebuild these organizations.
All in all, your Highness, we have a lot of work to do.- “Excerpt from the forward of the “Raeder Report” a blue-ribbon panel of experts convened by Victor Steiner-Davion in 3059 to address ongoing issues in the former Jade Falcon and Steel Viper occupation zones.”
“Am I glad the Clans are gone? Yes. For all our problems now? I see it in the kids. The ones that grew up during the occupation are, well, damaged. All the work we and the school counselors do? They’re more Clan-like than not. The children of the families from Clan space, they’re just alien. I don’t know how to reach those kids. And this “Occupation Disorder” and the PTSD? It really hits the little ones hard. We’re trying to save a generation; I just fear we might be too late. But the ones who were under six when the Clans were here? We have a shot with those kids. And the Clans not being here, it helps a lot.”- “ Interview of Sarah Dennison, a primary school teacher on Bone-Norman', by Donegal Broadcasting Channel (DBC). Air Date was 7/7/3058.
“I lost everything to the Steel Vipers, my home, my job, my family. So, the fact I had to live next to a family of the bastards every day for six years kinda set me off. You’re damn right I killed them and their spawn. Their kind cost me my family. So, I removed some of them from God’s universe. Damn Clanners are freaks anyhow. And yes, I have no regrets, so do what you have to do. I can sleep at night.”- - Excerpt of confession of Martin Pflager for the charge of Capital Murder, Waldorff City Police Interview DS-11893058, Dated 9/18/3058, Mr. Pflager murdered an entire family of former Steel Viper laborers over the fact that he had lost everything during the occupation. The Vipers had confiscated his successful medical supply company, kidnapped his wife and children to the Clan Homeworlds, and made him a common laborer. Mr. Pflager was convicted of six counts and sentenced to death, his sentence was carried out Great X on December 9th, 3059.
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===Unpleasant Homecoming===
The Port
Roadside, Federated Commonwealth
January 5th, 3059, 0950 hours
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Staff Sergeant Rick Lemoine jauntily waved to the dropship crew as he walked down the boarding ramp, his AFFC issue duffle bag balanced on one shoulder and a smile on his face. He was wearing his blue-grey issue “combats” as the troops referred to them, though without any of the issue load-bearing gear. He also had a black beret that had been privately purchased by members of the 26th Lyran Guards to unofficially mark veterans of Clover Spear. The beret had the new “unofficial” patch on it of a boot smear across the Jade Falcon insignia and it framed his gaunt face and brown haggard eyes. His coal-black hair was cut short in a buzz cut. 
I’d always thought the traditional Lyran ‘Mechwarrior hairstyle was kinda silly. Lemoine’s mind mused.
Try as he might, he couldn’t get his smile to reach his eyes anymore. Seen too damn much, I guess. Jeanette commented on that as she was dumping me. Ah well, we were both headed home, and Kestrel is way across the Inner Sphere. It was fun, but run its course, I guess. 
He nestled tighter into his issue field jacket as the winter air slapped him in the face. Lemoine’s boots were crunching in the frozen bits of snow mixed with mud that turned everything into a slushy mess. 
“The Port” was the DropPort on Roadside. Even during the worst of the occupation, the Falcons hadn’t changed much about it, except for the fact that trade had supposedly dropped by 60%. Or at least that’s what the dropship crew had told him on the way in. Now? It seemed everyone was making up for lost time.
An open-air mall had grown up right outside the rough open-air area of the port, it was noisy with the sounds of merchants hawking their wares in crude open-air stalls. You could buy everything from food to “legitimate” Jade Falcon uniforms and other souvenirs. I don’t need any damn souvenirs. I got enough in my head to last a lifetime. All I want is to get back to my homestead and see my parents, then shed this uniform and work our farm. But first, I gotta find a ride.
He walked around till he found a food stall selling grilled sausages. They looked tasty, and Lemoine hadn’t had a thing to eat since yesterday and it was spacer puree. Yuck. 
“Hey, Mister, can I order a pair to go? And where can a veteran get ride to Tara’s Creek?”
The vendor, a short elderly man with dusky skin whose smile had a few gaps smiled wide at Lemoine. “Always good to see one of our liberators! For you, young man? On the house. I assume you’re from Roadside?”
“Yes sir, my family has a homestead at Tara’s Creek.” 
The vendor blanched. “Young man, I don’t think you want to go out there.”
“Why?”
“Bad things happened out there during the occupation…and after. You seem like a smart man. My advice, go rent a room in town and find your family from here.”
“Sir, I really think-“
The vendor smiled sadly at Lemoine. “Young man, I was a veteran of the LCAF. Saw a lot of things in the Fourth War. Trust me when I say this. Don’t go out there. You don’t want answers to those kinds of questions. Pray you find your family, but just don’t go there.” He looked down at his grill “Ah, your sausages are ready. Here you go.” He handed the sausages to Lemoine, who immediately took a bite.
“These are good, what’s in ‘em.”
“Surat. Best use for the pesky bastards. It’s safe to eat, but it pisses of the Clanners something fierce when we eat ‘em. Puts a smile on my face though. Lost my boy in the resistance.”
Lemoine choked on the sausage. “Sorry sir, for your loss.”
The old man shook his head. “Thank you, thank you for what you and your fellows did for us and welcome home.” The old man extended his empty hand to shake Lemoine’s. Lemoine smiled and took it, shaking it firmly. “Oh, and sir, the bus into town is leaving over there in about 5 minutes, so I suggest you get moving. It’s free for returning veterans. The new provisional government has a good locator service, or you can hire a private one to find your family. Good luck to you.”
“Thanks, sir, um? What can I call you?”
“Call me Fast Freddie, says so on the sign.“ he pointed out his sign above his stall. “FAST FREDDIE’S SURAT SAUSAGES – BEST ON ROADSIDE”
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===Road to Claremont and Unpleasant News===
15 Minutes Later
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The bus ride into Claremont was a bumpy one. The roads had several shell holes, ruts from tracked vehicles and BattleMechs, not to mention a few wrecks blocking parts of the road. Traffic jams were frequent, and the cold of a Roadside winter. Not like the heater is working all that well, or that half the windows close properly. That hasn’t changed since I left for Buena. 
The bus was filled with a variety of people, suited business people headed to Claremont to negotiate a deal or contract, yeoman farmers headed back from The Port to complete agricultural agreements at the Agricultural Co-Op downtown, farmhands on errands for their bosses, and ordinary folks headed into town for some excitement. What struck Lemoine was the number of armed and uniformed militiamen on the bus. He walked up to one of them, a private with his head in a holonovel. 
“Hey private, what gives with you all, don’t you have your own transport?”
The private looked up, his light features screwed up in a snarl, till he noticed Lemoine’s rank. “Shit, sorry Sarge thought it was some jerk hassling me. No, we’re headed back from a patrol around Murphison. They have us accompany buses as much as we can. There’s a minor Falcon guerilla problem on world. More like bandits really. So, we’re here to discourage them.”
Lemoine laughed “Does it work?”
The private smiled “Yep it does, haven’t been hit yet.”
Ah, the impetuosity of youth. Could be you dumb shit because the Falcons aren’t strong enough to hit anything this close to the capital. Then again that’s a good thing, I suppose. Beats what’s going on in the Confederation. Well, I am not going to be anyone’s NCO anymore. Let this kid figure it out himself.
Lemoine sat down and contemplated the scenes as they began to enter downtown Claremont. There were the usual street scenes one found in a medium-sized city, with busy streets, people walking to and from work, or shopping. But there were scenes that were unique to the new reality of the Tamar March. One was some men and women in orange overalls with a large white “POW” on the backs painting white paint over a series of Falcon propaganda posters, and more being marched by with a pair of bored AFFC guards escorting them on either side. 
Another was a long line in front of a government office with a wooden temporary sign that read “Central Locator Office. Please have documentation ready.” There were quite a few guards in evidence, with a pair of AFFC infantrymen walking the perimeter of the line, and 4 more out front. Geez, home’s become an armed camp. 
The bus soon came to a stop with the driver announcing “Downtown! Everyone off, you can catch municipal transport from here.”
Everyone piled off and the bus soon pulled away, heading back for another run to the port. Lemoine looked around and saw a harried-looking cop as the only authority figure around. Hope he knows where I can get some information around here.
“Hello Officer, I was wondering? -“
“Geez, another lost AFFC replacement? You did report through your office at The Port, right?” he answered, his uniform and dusky features covered in a layer of fine dust kicked up by the recently departed bus. 
“Um, nope, recently discharged. I’ve come home. I’m from Tara’s Creek. Name’s Lemoine.”
“Sorry pal, not much interested in your name. But Tara’s Creek. Hate to tell you, but if you had people there. Well, they aren’t there no more.”
“What do you mean by that, Officer?”
“I mean the damn Clanners killed everyone there. Or at least everyone that didn’t have the good sense to flee. AFFC has the place cordoned off. War Crimes investigation.”
“Why the hell did the Falcons do that? I mean my family just had a homestead up there?”
“Bub, it was war to the knife, and the knife to the hilt. Look, I am sorry to tell you that way, soldier, but it’s better you hear it this way, then have some mook at the Central Locator Office give you false hope that someone made it.”
“Was really that bad here?”
“At times, at other times, not as much so long as we stayed out of the warriors way. That got harder when the guerillas got more aid. But I do like not having to report to some Falcon warrior who hasn’t a clue about police work and thinks the best way to get a suspect to talk is to kick the living crap out of him. Meanwhile, I book one of the high and mighty bastards for driving a hovercar drunk, and he gets out of it by beating up his direct superior. Crazy genetic freaks if you ask me.”
The cop exhaled and then spoke again.
“Look, I’m sorry, just about to finish an 18-hour shift, and about to call it a day? It’s been a rough day. I can take you to one of the best watering holes in town. The girl who runs the place is from that neck of the woods, she might know for sure if your relations made it?”
Lemoine nodded. Not the worst idea I’ve heard today.
The cop offered his hand “Name’s Haggerty. Don Haggerty, and yes, I am the stereotypical Irish cop. Like my coffee black and my whiskey neat, and often at the same time. How about you?”
“Rick Lemoine, late of the 26th Lyran Guards. I was a ‘Mechjock with the regimental Lightning company.”
“Well, Mr. Lemoine? I think we’re going to be fast friends. Let’s go to the Lucky Wagon. Best bar left standing in Claremont.”
“Left standing?”
“Yeah, a company’s worth of their Elementals made a stand closer to the city center…it didn’t end well for them. Or for the local real estate. Somehow, that bar survives with some cracked windows, and the front door blown off the hinges. Must be fate?” Haggerty shrugged. 
“With a recommendation, and luck like that, who the hell are we to argue then? Lead the way, sir?”
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===Encounter with Familiar Face===
20 minutes later
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Traffic had been a mess, even with Haggerty using the siren for purposes that the Claremont PD would have frowned upon. But as Haggerty said, “What the hell, it’s quitting time and I’d like at least one drink before I head home.”
The Lucky Wagon was on the outside, a boarded-up mess with a temporary “door” made up of some heavy sheeting. On the inside, it was a boisterous and bawdy drinking establishment, with voices of happy patrons making up for the lack of any music and one overworked bartender who looked familiar to Lemoine…” No way…is that? -”Haggerty smiled “So you do know her?”
“Yeah, I do. First familiar face since I got in. You mind?”
“Not at all soldier, go say hi. I see some friends I gotta say hi to. Come look for me in the back when you’re done.”
Lemoine sauntered up to the bar and smiled. The bartender was shorter than Lemoine, about 150cm or so with blonde hair and green eyes, but the rest of her was very, very pleasing to his eyes. She was also quite strong from the looks of it as she was slinging huge steins of Timbuqi Dark, and a wheat beer of local make called Fett’s. Lemoine remembered it well from when he was younger. He cleared his throat when the bartender came close “So what does a returning soldier have to do to get a drink around here?”
The bartender turned “That’s the fifth time tonight I’ve- “ She looked at Lemoine in shock. “Jesus Christ, You’re alive?!” She squealed in delight, nearly dropping her steins, then put them down hurriedly on the bar, leaning over the bar and hugging Lemoine for dear life. She then stepped back and smiled. “Remember me, ‘Tagalong Tara?’”
“Yeah, I remember, you’re not the skinny little beanpole who always ratted us out to our parents anymore…you filled out.” Lemoine said, jauntily pushing up his beret’s brim.
“You did too. I am so damn glad you’re alive. I wasn’t in Tara’s Creek when it all happened. Moved to the city eight years ago. Wanted to make my living as an Ag broker…would you believe I wound up part owner of a bar? It’s a long-sorted story.”
“We got time. I just got out of the AFFC.”
Tara laughed then cupped her hands to yell “Hey everyone, one of our own is home. An old friend, Rick Lemoine, just back from kicking Clan ass with the 26th Lyran Guards! Next round for everyone is on the house!” 
“Jimmy, take over for a spell. I need a few minutes.”, she told another bartender
A younger male bartender hopped up from behind the mop he was pushing and got right behind the bar. He barely looked a day over 14.
“Um is he old enough to tend bar?” Lemoine asked, hooking his thumb at the young man for emphasis.
“Not like anyone’s going to check too hard. AFFC has better things to do. One advantage of martial law. They don’t sweat the small shit. Though, the curfew’s been bad for business. But they cut us some slack as long as nobody tries to drive home drunk. I take it you heard about the Creek?”
Lemoine nodded, “I can’t believe it, my old man, mixed up in resistance activity? He wasn’t the type. He was pissed I went to Buena.”
“Didn’t matter, one of their ammo dumps got hit. They took it out on the nearest collection of farmsteads and that was the Creek.”
“You know anyone who got out?”, he asked
“I know of a few folks. I’m the one who helped reunite them with their surviving family. I moonlight as a locator. It’s good money, and as long as you can get licensed as a PI, it’s rewarding work. And we’re better than the govie locators. Those guys have year-long caseloads and don’t give a shit. I do. And I have been thinking about taking on a second to help. There’s tons of work.”
“A locator, huh? Why the hell not, it’s a job, and I need one.”
“Best job you’ll ever have.” Tara smiled a smile that could have powered Tharkad.
“They told me that when I reported to Buena.” Lemoine shrugged.
“Difference is. I ain’t got enough money to lie.” Tara replied.
Lemoine held out his hand “Let’s do it. It will be nice to see a face I know.”
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“And that’s how Lemoine and Lemoine got started. We’re now the premier Inner Sphere locator service spanning three of the five great houses, and most of the periphery, as well as Clan Wolf and Ghost Bear Space. It took twenty years, and a lot of work, but it was all worth it! And as for the Lucky Wagon? We still own it. Hey, our guys need somewhere to unwind.”- Richard Lemoine, Co-Owner of Lemoine and Lemoine Locator Service, Interview with ComStar News Network, air date 2/2/3078
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Category:Works by Jason Weiser