FSML-3 Chpt 8

=Chapter 8=
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==Frederick Steiner and the Man Who Knew Too LittleBook 3==
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===Raiding the Castle===
Lestrade Castle, Summer
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
May 2tth, 3024
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Three flashes from a flashlight were visible in the distance and Ardan looked at Morgan, signaling with one arm of the Orion that it was time to go. He saw the Archer making the same gesture and then the two heavy ‘mechs stepped off, heading up the switchback road leading to Lestrade Castle’s main entrance.
The only reason they could even get this close without raising alarms was that there was a major highway near the castle so heavy good haulers like the flatbeds they’d hired to get the two BattleMechs near were nothing out of the ordinary. But once they crossed the property line, sentries would be sounding alarms and it would take several minutes to scale the slope.
It was the evening and Lestrade Castle was already lit up, but the electronic sensors of Max’s Orion could pick up increased activity already. Ardan had offered to carry out the mission in Curitiba and leave this part to Max, but the balding man had insisted they needed the best MechWarriors for this. The Orion was lighter than his usual Victor and he reminded himself again not to try jumping - it lacked the Jump Jets he was used to. It wasn’t lacking in armor though, which might help.
Ardan was in the lead as they ascended. Ahead of them, the Kell Hounds infantry would be entering the palace, following the plans provided by Danica Holstein and updated after Clovis’ electronic intrusions. He watched the turrets that should have turned the road into a killing ground but none of them moved.
<<“They must have taken out the power relays.”>> Morgan told him.
In response, Ardan broke into a run. The roadway wasn’t ideal traction for ‘mechs but if he wasn’t going to have to worry about avoiding incoming fire then he could afford to pick up the pace. Behind him the Archer stayed perfectly placed, no more than thirty meters behind his borrowed ‘mech.
Speed was now the essence. As the duke of Summer, Aldo Lestrade was also titular commander of the planetary militia, and for all his electronic wizardry, he was shrewd enough not to place all his faith in computers. No unmanned defenses would hold indefinitely, not even the incredible Space Defense Systems around Terra under the Star League had been completely without human involvement.
Clovis had confirmed that a lance of BattleMechs was stationed in the castle and with their firepower turned on the infantry part of their attack, the Kell Hounds would be in severe danger. There was no doubt that Lestrade would be far more forgiving of broken walls and furniture than he would of his secrets coming out.
Two more switchbacks… one more…
Ardan reached the final turn and saw a Whitworth BattleMech soar over the curtain wall that secured the castle to land neatly on the plateau outside the gates. Outmassed as it was, the ‘mech squared off to face them - hoping to buy time by keeping them on the narrow road until the rest of the lance could scramble?
Opening up with autocannon and lasers, Ardan’s shots passed return fire from the defender’s lasers and SRMs. Most Whitworths were fire support ‘mechs similar in general role to Morgan’s Archer. This one must be a rare survivor of the older production runs, or it might have been refitted to the same specifications for use here.
The autocannon did the most damage of either’s fire, but even the relatively thin armor of the Whitworth could take a single salvo from it. Ardan wished for a moment he had the mighty Pontiac 100 mounted on his Victor - that would have torn deep into the Whitworth from any angle.
A salvo of LRMs from Morgan soared over Ardan’s head. The Kell Hounds commander was technically within the arming range of his missiles, but he’d bent his Archer back and fired at a higher angle than he had to, arching the missiles up and extending their flight time just enough that the Whitworth almost disappeared beneath for a moment under the explosions of dozens of the small warheads, sending it staggering on the smooth road-surface.
Ardan took advantage of the pilot’s per-occupation and charged forwards. His borrowed Orion was more than half again as heavy as the defender so the collision was brutally effective and sent the Whitworth sprawling onto the ground outside the gate.
There was no time for offers of clemency. Ardan knelt and wedged both blunt arms of the Orion under the fallen ‘mech and flipped it down the slope.
The sheer side of the mountain worked against the militia MechWarrior and the Whitworth bounced several times as it tumbled like a child’s toy, sprays of shattered armor and internal systems marking every impact. When it landed, the Whitworth lay still.
Behind Ardan, Morgan began kicking the gate. Every impact of his Archer’s foot cratered the thick metal panels inwards and he was playing his arm mounted lasers over the center-line, weakening the interlocking plates there.
Ardan joined his own lasers to the last effort and in less than a minute they were through. Undamaged and the larger of the pair, Morgan rammed his Archer through the hole they’d made first, widening it.
Beyond the portal a Vulcan backpedaled, spraying the Archer ineffectually with fire from its machine guns and autocannon. The flamer belching plasma at Morgan was probably more dangerous, but the Kell Hound wasn’t running hot anyway - the close confines of the castle yards were too tight for LRMs to be much good.
Ardan followed, leaving Morgan to engage the Vulcan as he saw a Griffin extend its PPC from inside a hangar door to draw a bead on the Kell Hound. “Oh no you don’t!” he shouted and fired his autocannon at the limb. The shells ripped into the armor plating, driving the arm off-line and the PPC shot went wild.
Barrelling into the hangar, Ardan and the Summer militiaman brawled at point blank range - smashing their arms against each other’s, preventing them from using the weapons in them. The Griffin’s missile pod vomited LRMs at the larger ‘mech, hoping perhaps that the blunt impacts of unarmed warheads would do enough damage to shake Ardan’s focus.
If so, he was disappointed. The Orion’s autocannon was mounted just above one hip and it was almost brushing the Griffin’s chest as Ardan fired over and over again with it. He used up almost a ton of ammunition before the smaller ‘mech collapsed, ‘bleeding’ coolant fluids from a torso that he could almost see out the back of.
The scarecrow-like shape of a fourth ‘mech was still in one of the hangar-bays. Another Vulcan. Breathing heavily, Ardan looked around for any sign of the mechwarrior but no one was moving and the ‘mech’s cockpit was open. Better to be safe than sorry, he thought and fired two shots from his laser through the open hatch. No one would be using that ‘mech again without rebuilding the cockpit first.
Might be easier to salvage from Morgan’s opponent, he thought reflexively and then remembered that they weren’t going to be salvaging any equipment from this raid.
“Mycroft, this is Watson,” he declared on the radio. “Hangar clear. Two mechs down here.”
<<“One down here, which makes four with your first partner.”>> Morgan Kell replied. <<“Is there any sign of more than four ‘mechs?”>>
Ardan looked around the small hangar. “There’s only room for a single lance here,” he reported. “I think we’re clear.”
<<“Baker Street,”>> Morgan continued. <<“This is Mycroft. What’s your situation?”>>
Richard O’Cieran, the barrel-chested infantry commander of the Kell Hounds, sounded short of breath. ((“Still rooting the staff out of the corners, Mycroft. One of the lads found the cryo-capsule in a store room but it’s empty.”))
Ardan grimaced. If the Archon had been done away with, buried in a grave somewhere, she might never be found. That would have been the smart play if Lestrade wanted to keep his hands clean… smart, but not catering to his towering ego.
“Have you found the dungeons?” he asked.
((“Nothing, Watson.”))
No surprise there. Ardan moved his borrowed Orion over to the gantry and powered it down. He had a flak vest and a laser rifle stashed behind his seat, pulling the first on before he exited and slung the rifle. Slamming the hatch closed, he trotted towards where he remembered the castle’s library was on the plans. His neurohelmet left him with an uncomfortably narrow field of view, but if not all the staff were accounted for then he might need the head protection.
He obviously wasn’t the first to think of this, for as he entered the book-lined room, Morgan Kell was already there and being verbally abused by a gray-haired woman who Ardan guessed was the librarian.
“- hunted down like animals for this, Colonel! Attacking the home of the rightful Duke of Skye shows that the Kells are mad dogs, not the faithful hounds that the Steiner’s claim.”
“You can believe that if you want,” the colonel said with forced calm, “But I’ll have what I came here for and we’ll see what does for your master’s claims on Skye.”
“Trouble?” asked Ardan.
Morgan indicated the floor and now that he looked down, what was left of a familiar set of circuit boards was scattered on the floor. Chips and wires had been torn away. “The lady here hit me with a chair,” the dark-haired mercenary admitted. “I’m fine but she hit the codebreaker.”
Ardan nodded and produced his own from the flak vest’s side-pocket. “Fortunately we have a spare then.” Clovis Holstein had built three of the devices actually, O’Cieran had the last.
The librarian tried to block Ardan from reaching the library’s computer console but Morgan pulled her aside, trying not to be rougher than he had to be.
Slotting the device in where Clovis had told him to, Ardan watched the screen light up and cycle through the boot-up sequence several times. Then it opened up with a set of prompts and options. “Let’s see what dun-sec-cam gives us.” he murmured and selected it.
The screen split into six windows, each displaying the interior of a different cell. Bare stone, bench seats and a drain in the corner of each. They made his own imprisonment under the Triad look humane by comparison.
Five of them were empty, but one of them had a single occupant. Long blonde hair over a haggard face, only a hospital smock and a thin blanket. Even sleep didn’t take the lines of pain and fear from the woman they were here for.
“It’s her.” Ardan said flatly.
“Good.” And then Morgan let his anger out for a moment. “Now find a way down there or I’ll raze the castle level by level until we’ve unearthed her!”
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===Fighting in Tamar City===
Tamar City, Tamar
Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth
June 1st, 3024
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Tai-i Jerry Akuma hid a scowl as the Second Drakons who had been leading the advance during the night pulled aside to let his company through.
He’d been pleased when he was assigned to the Seventh Sword of Light as a replacement officer. Getting transferred out of the Second Sword of Light and into the Galedon Regulars had been a slap to the face, even if it had come with promotion to command a lance. No doubt Tetsuhara had pulled strings to get rid of him. But the Seventh was a very different regiment and he was beginning to think he might have been better off if he’d entered the Drakons. The new regiments had the favor of the Coordinator and seemed more practical in their approach.
Twice he’d had to watch Lyran armor scuttle away from his company as Yodetobo insisted that his regiment focus entirely on the Lyran Guards, disdaining to pursue and destroy what would have been easy kills. Granted, inflicting heavy losses on the Tenth Lyran Guards would have been more glorious and probably advanced the campaign further, but the Teak Dragon hadn’t inflicted those heavy losses. The Tenth Guards had been forced to give ground time and again but they weren’t using the same clumsy tactics Akuma remembered Lyran units had employed the last time he fought them.
The Drakons weren’t behaving the same way. Both the First and Second regiments were reporting significant kill counts when it came to Lyran conventional regiments, and it was clear that Warlord Samsonov approved of their aggression.
Perhaps today would be different, he thought and signaled the Drakons company commander that he was rotating to replace. “Are there any changes overnight?”
The Rasalhague officer’s name was Horn - his family name, anyway. Akuma didn’t care what his personal name was. “We haven’t seen any new units, but several dropships arrived overnight. That could mean reinforcements.”
Akuma looked ahead at Tamar City. “Or they could be getting ready to evacuate the leadership from the city. But you may be right.” Why hadn’t that been in the intelligence report earlier?
His company pulled forward in a loose line, Akuma keeping his Grand Dragon slightly ahead. He had to show himself to be taking the lead, which was one more bit of nonsense the Seventh insisted on. He was the commander, he should be behind a recon lance so that he can respond to a developing situation, not be the first one under fire. But the one time he’d tried that, the Chu-sa had taken him aside and had a quiet word. That word hadn’t been ‘cowardice’ but it had been the substance of the warning.
With nothing currently in sight, Akuma opened the regimental net. “The Drakons report dropships arrived in the city overnight,” he passed on. “There is a possibility of enemy reinforcements.”
To his surprise, it was General Yodetobo who responded. <<“There has been no new traffic at the Jump Points, Tai-i. You are correct to relay the report, but at most the Lyrans are moving supplies or preparing to retreat. Our aerowing is holding ready to intercept if the latter is true. Continue the advance.”>>
I haven’t stopped, you overbred idiot. But he said, “Hai,” and shut down his microphone.
The edge of Tamar City was dotted by warehouses and small factories - the sort of terrain that would break up lines of sight more than small suburban homes that ‘mechs towered over. “Stay in lances,” he ordered his company. “Just because a Lyran claims to be offering an honorable duel, doesn’t mean he’ll keep his word.” He knew there was no point expecting these honor-bound idiots to decline such an order, but at least he could try to keep them from scattering in response to provocations.
Honestly, it was like the entire regiment except him was of the Tetsuhara-mold. He amused himself for the next half-hour by tagging each and every one of his company with nicknames of that ilk.
<{“Target, Valkyrie!”}> a shout went up from the Chu-i of his recon lance. Tetsu-topknot according to Akuma’s little mental list, given the slavish imitation of the general’s interpretation of a ‘traditional samurai hairstyle’.
Looking aside, Akuma saw the Chu-i’s Spider bouncing forwards and satisfied himself that the rest of the lance was following their leader - the Jenner and two Wasps bouncing after it like ducks after their mother. “Where there is one there will be more.” he warned and cycled through his sensors to try to pick out ambushers.
His diligence was rewarded by the sight of a Hetzer trying to hide inside a small workshop. “Drop that building,” he ordered sharply and fired the PPC mounted in his Grand Dragon’s right arm.
The two Dragons and the Lancelot behind him followed suit, although the autocannon of the Dragons didn’t do much. Fortunately the Lancelot’s lasers were much more effective and the entire roof collapsed in on top of the armored vehicle. Akuma gave himself a little pat on the back for securing one of the new Grand Dragons. Losing the firepower he was used to from his previous ride, a Panther, would have been a problem.
((“Tai-i, there is an armored vehicle in the wreckage.”)) ‘Tetsu-mustache’ proclaimed. (It was a wretched thing, like a caterpillar crawling over the man’s upper lip.)
“I know that.” You idiot. “Why do you think I ordered you to demolish the building?” Akuma marched his Grand Dragon over and kicked the Hetzer until the side split out and spilled what was left of one of the crew.
The samurai appeared disappointed. ((“An entire lance to destroy a full tank?”))
“It was not an honorable foe.” Akuma spat back. “He was lurking in ambush. Would you rather I left him to shoot you in the back?” The Hetzer had one redeeming feature: the massive autocannon that would severely hurt even a battlemech in close quarters like this.
With that distraction taken care of, he returned his attention to his recon lance. “Chu-i T… Tamati, what is your situation?” Fortunately the man’s name began with about the right syllable so he was able to correct his near-slip. Calling another officer by a nickname would probably lead to an honor duel or a complaint to the Chu-sa of their battalion.
<<“Sir! We are engaging the enemy!”>>
“What enemy and where?!” Akuma tried working out the location from Tetsu-topknot’s radio signal.
<<“A light lance.”>> The young officer seemed to have determined nothing more useful. <<“There is a plaza.”>>
That was useful at least. Akuma checked his map and directed his fire support lance to work around and flank the retreat route the Lyrans would likely use. “If the Lyrans retreat they are either cowards who deserve to be cut down, or have defeated your comrades and proved themselves worthy foes.” he directed, hoping this would prevent any complaints. “In either case, destroy them.”
<<“Hai!”>>
At last, some enthusiasm. Akuma drove his Grand Dragon forward, constrained only by the slow speed of the Lancelot. The ‘mech was slow and poorly armored, but at least its energy weapons mean that it wasn’t going to run out of ammunition.
“Now, if I was using a light lance to bait out the advance, where would I put my fire support?”, he mused to himself. There had been a lance of Sturmfeur Heavy Tanks harassing his company the day before with their LRMs. It wouldn’t surprise him if they were lying in wait now to engage Tetsu-topknot if he was pulled into a pursuit.
A double line of warehouses that screened wide loading bays seemed ideal for tanks to lie in wait and Akuma closed in on them. “Go through the warehouses.” he ordered, indicating one door tall enough for ‘mechs to enter. “It is a likely hiding place for the cowardly Lyrans.”
The outer door of the warehouse crumpled under the fist of one of his Dragons and the mechwarrior bowed to indicate Akuma should take the lead. Cursing Tetsu-cow (the only woman in his company), he took the hint and raced his Grand Dragon through the shadowy lane between the warehouse’s crates that led to the loading bay door at the far end.
Sixty tons of ‘mech hitting the rolling door’s thin metal slats had a predictable effect and he was out in the sunshine again instantly.
The Tai-i was vaguely aware of his lance following him, but his eyes were widening in alarm as he saw what awaited them.
He had found the Sturmfeurs, but they were not alone. A full company of Battlemechs were standing in the sun, buttoned up and ready to fight.
How did our air cover miss them? Akuma raged privately, spinning his Grand Dragon and looking for a way out. No one had fired yet but it was only a matter of mutual surprise.
…the aerowing was watching for dropships taking off. He didn’t have air cover, he remembered suddenly.
((“Kell Hounds,”)) he heard Tetsu-cow declare in excitement and her Dragon twisted to open fire on a Centurion, which sidestepped the autocannon but not the laser aimed, before turning to return fire.
A Thunderbolt stepped forwards, closing the way to the loading bay’s entrance route. It was in gray and black urban camouflage, not the proud red and black of the famous mercenaries, but now that he looked for it, Akuma saw the angular dog’s face that was their badge.
His finger stabbed down on a command channel. “Chu-sa, we are engaged by the Kell Hounds at my current location!”
((“Excellent, we will advance and -”)) The signal cut off in a squeal of jamming so fierce that it made Akuma’s head ring. He cut the channel.
All of his lance were engaged in fighting now, each having picked out a single Kell Hound to fight. Mysteriously, the mercenaries were otherwise holding back from firing.
<<“Thank you, Tai-i.”>> The voice was a man’s and it boomed from the speakers of the Thunderbolt facing him. <<“We appreciate you baiting the rest of your battalion in.”>>
“...what?”
And then the world seemed to fall on Jerry Akuma as the Thunderbolt opened up on him with everything it had. Missiles, lasers, even the machineguns mounted in the slightly larger ‘mech’s arm ripped into the right shoulder of his Grand Dragon.
Not everything hit there, but the mechwarrior was shaken like a rag doll by the impacts, barely keeping his ‘mech upright. He tried to jerk up the PPC to return fire but to his horror, the arm was limp - the armor had been pierced already and something critical must have been damaged.
Then he realized that the thunder of guns wasn’t just from the Thunderbolt. The rest of the Kell Hounds had also opened up, catching his lance from every angle. One of the Dragons simply exploded, the mechwarrior ejecting at the last minute.
The Lancelot fell, legs swept out from under it as a Sturmfeur rammed into its ankles. The angular ‘mech hit the ground and a second tank literally drove over it and started swiveling back and forth on its tracks.
Akuma closed in on the Thunderbolt, swinging the left fist of his Grand Dragon at its cockpit. If he could knock it aside then he might be able to get clear and -
The Thunderbolt’s right hand caught hold of his ‘mech’s and pinned it in place. The three lasers mounted in the Kell Hound ‘mech’s chest fired, shaving armor away from his own frontal armor.
“None of that,” the enemy said chidingly and drove his own right fist right into the domed cockpit around Akuma.
The armor held, somehow, but consoles sprayed sparks as wires were jerked free from them by the impact.
“No!” Akuma cried and reached for the ejection handle as he saw the Thunderbolt pull its fist back for another punch.
The rocket under his seat worked correctly, hurling him upwards with great alacrity.
The explosive bolts that should have opened the cockpit roof for him, however, were not so compliant after the blow to his cockpit and only two of them functioned as intended.
The last thing to go through Tai-i Jerry Akuma’s head was the roof of his own cockpit.
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===A Meetings Between Enemies on top of a Tower===
Alfagemini, Castor
Free Worlds League
June 1st, 3024
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“I hate this.” Alexander Zander said for the third time.
Ochombo had got the message on that the first time the commander of the Third Sirian Lancers said it, but he could understand the desire to give voice to frustration. “The decision was made and now we have to live with it.” he said instead, folding himself onto the padded bench-seat of what had once been a restaurant booth.
Technically it was still a restaurant booth, it was just that no one had used the penthouse level of the skyscraper that housed the restaurant since the Second Succession War. The liftshafts had been shattered in fighting over Castor close to two hundred years ago and the parts needed for repair hadn’t been made since the 2770s. Human ingenuity could have overcome that… but the owners of the building didn’t really have the funds and with only the revenue for renting out the lower floors that was unlikely to change.
Other than security, and techs scavenging replacement fittings over the years, probably no one had been up here ever since. Still, it was structurally sound and the original damage had at least been rendered weatherproof so for an isolated meeting place, it worked.
“Steiner is taking more of a risk than we are.” Colonel James Stroud was senior among the three of them - the commander of the Steel Guards and, by default, of the entire Protectorate Guards brigade. “He’s coming onto our turf.”
“Isn’t there still a warrant out on him over Helm?” Zander asked Ochombo.
The (still technically acting) commander of the Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia winced at the recollection of those hearings. “It’s in abeyance while the matter is debated by a Parliamentary committee,” he told them. “If Steiner is lucky, he’ll live long enough for it to get out of that limbo.”
“If we’re lucky, he won’t.”
He stretched. “You haven’t fought the man.” he asked Zander. “Why so personal?”
“He’s working with the Capellans. And he’s a Steiner.”
“I suppose that’s fair.”
Stroud straightened and walked over to the window. “He’s on this way.”
Sure enough, a helicopter came into view a moment later, the whomp-whomp of its rotors clearly audible as it settled in to land on the reinforced pad set amid the small rooftop garden. The man who emerged was tall and broad shouldered, wearing plain fatigues and carrying only a sidearm.
“One shot,” Zander grumbled, “And the Lyrans are leaderless.” But his hand was nowhere near his sidearm.
“One bomb,” Stroud said, “And so are we.”
It wasn’t ideal, Ochombo thought, to have all three regimental commanders here. But they represented the federal government and two different provinces, none of which were happy to be hands-off.
The door swung open and he recognised the face of the man who entered, from countless images. Neither of the provincial officers stirred and thus Ochombo stepped forwards and saluted on their behalf. “General Steiner. We have never met, but I am -”
“Colonel Azi Ochombo.” Frederick returned the salute with parade ground precision. “Given we’ve crossed swords so often, it’s almost strange that this is our first time meeting in person.”
He shrugged. “I’d always assumed it would be over one of our dead bodies if we did, but…”
Steiner nodded sharply. “I don’t ascribe to the idea of ‘worthy adversaries’, but you are an honorable foe. It’s our good fortune that we can meet without that.”
The evident respect was disarming. Ochombo covered himself by half-turning to his companions. “Permit me to introduce Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Zander, representing the Sirian Lancers, and Colonel James Stroud, commanding our forces here.”
Both men saluted and the Lyran general responded crisply, before being invited to sit on the side of the booth away from the trio. The bench was barely long enough for all three, but none of them were going to sit next to the Lyran. It left Ochombo all too conscious that he was perched precariously at the end, while Zander was halfway into the curve of the booth.
“You requested the meeting, General Steiner,” Stroud began. “And we’ve accepted a ceasefire for its duration. What is it you want?”
“Right to business then.” Steiner leant forwards. “I’m proposing a truce. Both of us could fight now, but the numbers are a little too neatly balanced between our available forces - it’s likely to be inconclusive and bloody. I don’t see that as being necessary.”
“You’re the one who invaded us!” Zander snapped. “And you have the gall to ask for a truce? Why shouldn’t we push you off Castor right now?”
“If you’re confident that you can, no reason at all.” The big Lyran paused to let them consider that.
He was right about the numbers, Ochombo thought. The Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia had about eighty ‘mechs left, but the Third Sirian Lancers had been understrength before they had to fight to get what was left of the First and Second Sirian Lancers off Procyon. And even after absorbing the few remains of the Iron Guard, Stroud had barely two battalions to his command.
Their best read of the Lyran invasion force was that both the Thirty-Second Lyran Guards and the Eleventh Lyran Regulars were at almost full strength - so just short of two hundred ‘mechs on both sides. The balance in supporting forces was similar.
Taking their silence for an admission that they weren’t confident, Steiner nodded slightly. “I imagine you’re hoping for reinforcements from the Silver Hawks Coalition? I’m afraid they’ve invoked the Home Defense Act and are declining to send either of their regiments, so you’ll need to wait for the Captain-General to find someone further away he can spare. Buying yourselves a few months - until the New Year, shall we say? - gives you a chance at them arriving.”
“What’s in it for you?” asked Zander suspiciously.
He got a shrug in reply. “I might be able to beat your commands without reinforcements of my own, but then again… I might not. It’s a little too close to call; and I don’t see the need to kill good soldiers on such a proposition.”
Stroud frowned. “And if we accept and then shift our forces to Devil’s Rock to deal with Colonel Ridzik and his invasion there, would you still hold back?”
“No.” Frederick Steiner didn’t hesitate. “The deal includes the Capellans - and your comrades on Devil’s Rock. Colonel Ridzik has agreed to cede me the right to negotiate on his behalf.”
Ochombo pursed his lips. “I believe you would keep your word, General, but are you sure you can keep the Capellans from breaking such a truce? The Chancellor is not renowned for his sincerity and Colonel Ridzik is his creature.”
He saw the point hit home and the man across the table exhaled slowly. “I won’t pretend I expect you to keep this in confidence, but the Capellan’s advance has outpaced their supply lines. In the short term, they are depending on supplies from the Lyran Commonwealth to keep fighting. That’ll change in time, but right now I can restrain them.”
Stroud looked thoughtful. “We’ll need a moment to confer, General.”
“Of course.” Frederick sat back in the booth, obviously not planning to move.
Ochombo recognised the power play, but got out of the booth anyway. “I’m afraid the restaurant is closed so we can’t offer you any coffee while you wait.”
“War is hell, isn’t it?” Steiner shot back.
Stroud led the three of them across to the far side of the restaurant - not out of sight, but far enough away they couldn’t easily be overheard. “Your thoughts?” he asked quietly.
“I hate to say it but we need the time,” Zander replied bitterly. “The Capellans aren’t the only ones short on supplies. I could get another company running if I could get the parts out of the federal forces.” He paused. “Not a slight on you, Azi. I appreciate you forwarding my requests to the Quartermaster-General.”
Ochombo nodded in understanding. “For what it’s worth, I think his word is good. Steiner knows he might have to make deals in the future - a reputation for honest deals matters and we’re just not important enough for him to tarnish his name over us.”
“Perhaps, but if we look weak then he could be replaced - the Chancellor is on Skye, meeting his Archon.” Stroud mused. “They both seem keen on pushing this invasion and with the limited response the Captain-General has made, they must be thinking they can go further.”
“He’s the Archon’s cousin, and one of her best generals.” Ochombo muttered.
“And Anton was Janos’ brother.”
“That’s what I mean, Alex. Until Katrina overthrew their uncle, he was a strong contender for the throne. If Katrina Steiner replaces him, she might be creating a potential usurper in her own family. I don’t think the Archon would overrule him lightly.”
“Point,” the Sirian admitted. “It’s not just the machines either. Months for our wounded to recover and be fit for service too.”
Stroud nodded. “He’s right. The time is something we want if we can get it. But if we show weakness now, that may invite him to press harder.”
Ochombo considered what Frederick had said so far. “I don’t think he cares about Castor.” he said slowly. “He talked about beating our commands, not about taking the planet. And when you talked about pushing him off Castor he wasn’t bothered. The Archon and the Chancellor might want this campaign… but I don’t think he does. Not any more, at any rate. He still has the Commonwealth Jaegers in reserve - if he brought them forwards he’d have a good chance of beating us, but he left them behind with the Roughriders.”
“For someone who doesn’t want to fight us, he’s battered us on three too many worlds.”
“Yes, but maybe it’s not his idea, Colonel.” Ochombo inhaled sharply. “He doesn’t actually have much of Castor yet, save for his dropzones. Let’s see what he makes of a counter-offer.”
Stroud nodded slowly. “I think I see where you’re going. Alright, make your offer.”
The three of them filed back into the booth and Frederick nodded politely. “Your decision, gentlemen?”
“I’m willing to offer you a twelve month truce, from midnight tonight, applicable to your own forces and the Capellans,” Ochombo declared. “But there is a condition.”
The Lyran looked intrigued. “I’m listening.”
His throat was dry. Ochombo licked his lips nervously. “We require that you withdraw from Castor and Devil’s Rock. Having your forces here in proximity to our own is too likely to have hotheads break the truce.”
The Steiner stared at him, gray eyes focused on him with unsettling intensity. And then he smirked slightly. “Done.” He extended his hand across the table.
Feeling numb, Ochombo took the hand and shook. Stroud did the same and then Zander.
Steiner sat back. “It’ll take me a day or two to get everything loaded, but I’ll give the orders as soon as I reach my camp. Colonel Ridzik will follow suit as soon he has my message by HPG - I assume that you can inform Smithson’s Chinese Bandits and the rest of the Sirian Lancers of our terms.”
Stroud nodded. “That’s acceptable. If we send an urgent HPG message then they will be aware within a twenty four hours.”
“Then shall we say a seventy-two hour deadline for my own forces and Colonel Ridzik’s to be offworld and heading to our jumpships?”
“Yes.”
Steiner nodded and climbed to his feet. “Let’s be about it then, gentlemen.”
They exchanged salutes again and Steiner exited onto the patio. He’d been there less than twenty minutes.
“Did we just lose the war?” asked Zander plaintively. “I can’t tell.”
Twelve months, Ochombo thought. Anything could happen in that time. “We survived it.” he said decisively. “Anything else is for the politicians to worry about.”
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Book 3 - 8, Chapter