EMCOTS-2 13

=Emergence (Concertverse) Book 2 - Chapter 13=
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==Nothing But A Battle Lost…==
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===SitRep and Rumors===
Tharkad City Municipal Railyards
Tharkad City, Bremen Continent
Tharkad, Donegal Province
Lyran Commonwealth
24th June, 3143
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Talia Yuen winced as she sat down rather heavier than she’d planned. According to the medtechs, the ribs down her left side weren’t broken, but they were badly bruised, and she really shouldn’t be jarring them anymore than necessary.
That had happened during the second Wolf attack, when she'd been trying to get another company organised to back up Julian Davion. Someone on the Crusader side had gotten themselves rallied and reorganized faster than Talia had expected; and if not for young acting-leutnant Covington getting a pair of fresh battalions from the Buena Guards to reinforce the railyards, things could've gone very badly. As it was, they’d been more than bad enough.
Her entire command now totaled, operational - if you were really generous - a short lance of BattleMechs, a company and a half of tanks and mobile artillery, and enough infantry, battlesuits and shirtsleeves both, to maybe fend off attack by a determined troop of Girl Scouts. The raw numbers didn't convey the feel of it, though; not the way the holes in her command group did. Kirklin was dead; so were Stanson and Captain Rosenthal, the former killed in the brawl through the yards when his Manticore was swarmed by Wolf battle Armor, and the latter in the second Wolf attack. Saving my life, just to make it bloody worse. Berry was over at the Triad, and Hauptmann Jacoby still in surgery. Kezia Wolf was post-op and stable, thank God, but she'd be laid up for months regenerating her legs from just below the knee.
That left her with Virgil, Covington, Tom Rogers, and Point Commander Tiphaine. At that, probably all of them should be in the hospital; Virgil was most obvious, one leg propped up on a stack of crates and cased in fiberglass and supporting gel cushions from hip to just below his knee. A broken femur was no joke, even with modern medicine, and even if it was a clean break the medtechs had started work on fusing already. Tiphaine, a dark-skinned redhead of typical Elemental scale - product of a Fetladral-Osis cross, if her memory worked - was essentially one giant bruise from where a Crusader Sun Cobra, unhappy with what she was doing to its hip with her battlesuit’s laser, had backhanded her through a couple of buildings; and Covington was wearing his uniform jacket over one shoulder, features pale under his dark hair as another medtech finished taping up his own badly battered ribs and ensured the dressing across a gashed forearm was secure. Rogers was mostly drawn and pale, from exertions he evidently wasn’t used to at his time of life.
Part of it, as well, might be shock, at the Royal Guards infantry pointedly extending their salutes to include him; even the few Elementals still on their feet were acknowledging Rogers with quiet respect. Killing an armored Elemental in your shirtsleeves had that effect.
“Okay, that’s the breakage.” Talia finally said. “Do we have any good news?” That provoked a quick exchange of looks.
“Well, Covington, elected spokesperson by default, spoke up, “We’re not dead, and we’ve held the yards. I think that’s on the credit side of things.” He paused for a moment, checking one of the noteputers piled on the Tribune’s map table. “And our support echelon came through pretty much intact. Given time, everything that hasn’t been completely wrecked we can restore to running status; and it turns out Arcadian parts mate with ours pretty easily.”
“Personnel is .. not so good,” Rogers put in. “I’m afraid most of our injured aren’t going to be out of the hospital for weeks, at best. And several on their feet,” he shot a pointed look at Virgil and Tiphaine, “shouldn’t be.”
“Hey, I am off my feet.” Virgil protested, indicating his leg cast. It wasn’t funny, but everyone laughed anyway.
"Well, we're on reprieve for now at least," Talia said. "Tac recon reports are the Crusaders have fallen all the way back out of Tharkad City, and they're linking up with the formations that were besieging the Nagelring on the way back to their LZs."
"And what word from the Triad?" Tiphaine asked, an edge of something close to worry in her voice. Of course; she’s probably got friends, maybe sibkin, with [Khan]] Fetladral’s bodyguard.
“More or less that we’ve won. Seth Ward’s dead, that’s been confirmed. It looks like the surviving Wolves from the Triad have retreated as far as Alistairberg.” She frowned, thinking for a moment. “There hasn’t been a casualty list posted yet, but I’ll keep everyone informed as soon as I get one. The palace and the Estates General are supposed to be making a formal statement in a few hours, I think.”
"There's a rumor going around the Archon was killed." Covington said in a withdrawn, sad voice.
"We only know she's been taken into medical care, at least right now, but I imagine Lady Trillian or the Estates General will make Archon Melissa's condition public soon. As public as they can with the Wolves still on world. Right now we need to focus on getting the unit ready for any further action, if needed, and get our wounded cared for." A telling look was leveled towards Virgil. "Only other thing you can do is pass the word on. I'm proud of everyone. We held the line. For the first time in a while, we stopped the Wolves, and I'll see to it everyone is recognized for that."
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===Seeking Opportunity===
Guest Quarters
The Triad, Tharkad City
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"Duke Vedet, sir? General Kirk is here to see you."
Vedet Brewer frowned, sliding his bookmark into place as he stood. That, he definitely had not been expecting this morning; in truth, he hadn’t expected to be alive. Alaric Wolf was a creature of utter spite, and doubtless he remembered, wanted revenge for, the Hesperus Guards standing between him and what remained of the Silver Hawk Irregulars on Helm. One of the only decisions I've made in the last decade I'm proud of.
"Then by all means, lad, show him in."
Clad in a battle-scarred and smoke-stained cooling suit, Tom Kirk looked out of place amid the understated opulence of the guest quarters. But the sincerity of his greetings were welcome anywhere, and one of the few openly friendly gestures Vedet had received for some time.
"I'm sorry I left things this long, Your Grace," Kirk said as he sat down beside Vedet. "But, well …"
"It's just Vedet to you, Tom. And you've been rather occupied elsewhere, I know." Vedet smiled softly. "How have the Hesperus Guards fared?"
"Better than we were worried about, worse than we hoped." Kirk replied. "We're at about three-quarters' book strength; maybe more once I've had a chance to check up with our repair and medical people." He nodded at the books stacked neatly on the table; mostly history books and military-political strategy treatises. "You've been making good use of your time, I see."
"Reading is one of the few pleasures available to me right now, Tom. I don't know if you'd noticed," Vedet chuckled darkly, "but my social calendar has become somewhat empty of late. And a man should take every opportunity he can to better himself." Even if a piss-poor job of that I've been doing up to now.
Kirk frowned as he picked up one of the books. “Forging The Round Table: The Lives of Alexander and Paul Davion,” he read off the cover. “Misha Auburn’s work?”
“Not popular among the academic set, I know, but I’ve found her quite insightful. Now,” Vedet let a serious edge enter his voice. “I know you didn’t come here for a literary review, so what is it, Tom?”
Kirk paused for a moment, then produced a metal box about the size of a cigar case, hitting an activation stud as he placed it down on the table. Vedet recognized what it was almost immediately from the ear-popping sensation and the faint whine at the very edge of his hearing; a white noise generator, making any audio bugs useless. This was serious.
"The Evening Star's drive is fully charged," Kirk said quietly. "With how confused everything is, say the word and the Guards' spec ops teams can have you out of here and aboard her before anyone realizes what's happening."
Ah. He should, Vedet supposed, really have expected something like this; he had chosen the Guards for loyalty as well as competence, after all, and it was tempting to get out of here while the getting was good. But …
"No, Tom. Not now, at least. I do appreciate the offer," Vedet smiled, "but I'm not going to give Melissa, or Trillian, an excuse to set LOKI on my heels." He very carefully did not look at the hidden access passage to the Triad's hangar levels. It hadn't been blocked or even locked down from his access codes, and Vedet strongly suspected that was deliberate; Melissa hoping he'd give her an excuse. And I might have, if I hadn't stopped panicking and started thinking.
"You're gonna have to walk me through this one, Your Grace," Kirk replied, skepticism plain on his craggy features.
"Melissa was seen to have me arrested. I know," Vedet raised a hand to forestall Kirk's protest, "she hasn't admitted that specifically, but the entire court knows that's what actually happened. Sooner or later, she's going to have to produce me, alive, and either lay formal charges against me before the Estates General or let me go. If the rumours are true, and Trillian’s to be Archon pro tem until Melissa recovers, that goes double. Trillian’s always been a diplomat. After all," Vedet noted, “very much one for doing things as aboveboard as she can with the damage to the Steiners’ legitimacy of late.”
“Seems pretty thin.” Kirk frowned. “If I was in her shoes, I’d probably just do it and try blaming the Wolves.”
“Well, I’m glad to know you’re maintaining a nastily suspicious mindset, but it wouldn’t work out, we both know that.” Vedet shook his head. “Alaric isn’t the type; if he was going to assassinate me, he’d admit to it publicly. And we both know that Caroline wouldn’t buy it for a minute; much as we’ve never got on, she’d retaliate on principle.” That much, he knew; cousin Caroline had been confirmed as interim CEO of Defiance, and as much as she’d never liked him, her attitude had always been, ‘Me against my cousin; my cousin and me against the world’. “Speaking of which, I don’t want any unofficial actions taking against Hiram.”
“I wasn’t planning on it, but I’ll tell the lads to be sure,” Kirk agreed. “I am a bit surprised you’re not more annoyed with him, though.”
“True, I wasn’t happy when he chose to side with Melissa,” Vedet allowed, “but he’s dear cousin Caroline’s favorite, so allowances have to be made. And, well,” Vedet’s thoughts took on an almost wistful cast, “he was a wastrel when Caroline first sent him to Hesperus, and to the LCAF. But he’s proven himself; I did teach him that a man has to stand up for his principles, and that anyone who doesn’t isn’t much of a man. It would be a little childish to throw a tantrum about him doing what I’d taught him to. At that,” the melancholy thought of Cassandra Mylonasa came unbidden, “Hiram’s done a damnsight better job of it than I managed at the same age.”
"You’re remarkably more forgiving than I think I’d be in your circumstances, Your Grace."
Vedet smiled quietly at that. "Forgiveness has its advantages; remember, you can only ever kill someone once. And Hiram may still be useful." He glanced towards Kirk. "You should see to your duties, General. Standby."
"Very well, my Lord. I will keep on eye on matters for you, and keep the troops ready." With all appropriate crispness Kirk saluted his true commander, turned on his heel, and departed.
It appears Tharkad has been saved, Vedet thought. But the Commonwealth's survival remains to be seen. And in chaos, there is opportunity.
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===Trying to Cheer Up the troops===
Third Proctor Guards Temporary Bivouac
Weishaupt Mountains, Franz Continent
24th June, 3143
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It was the nature of interstellar warfare that fixed facilities were more a luxury than an expectation. Frederick Wolfe learned the finer art of setting up temporary facilities at the RSMA back on Donegal, his Donegal. The layout of prefab structures brought in on the Trefoil-class cargo DropShips towering nearby allowed for sleeping areas, shower facilities, and everything else a unit needed to live in the field. The DropShips, with their vaguely triple-wedge form around their engines to give them their names, served to provide the Third Proctor with post exchange services, various sundries needed, and most importantly, food.
The chow hall was fairly active even at the late hour. It was officially a new day as of twenty minutes before, but not everyone was ready to sleep. The post-battle crash inevitably brought the post-post battle crash "rebound" when you didn't get to rest right away, as the Third BattleMech Battalion/Third Guards had endured prolonged skirmishing and fighting well into the evening before the Wolves broke off contact. Now Fred Wolfe, his lancemates, and many other pilots of the Three-Three were getting a meal while MechTechs looked over their battle-scarred machines. They must go mad, Wolfe thought while circling a plastic fork through his lumpy potatoes with mutton and a light meat sauce. You put new armor plate on and take it off again twelve hours later because someone's burnt a hole through it or torn it in half with autocannon shells. Talk about futility. He smirked. Random thoughts. My brain really is exhausted.
"Something funny, Lance Loo?"
The question came from Alex McNaughton. Alex had short-cut hair of sandy brown color, thin eyebrows, a round face, and a faint Arcadian burr to their voice. The chill of the Tharkadian air that still seeped into the climate-controlled prefab chow hall kept any of them from shedding their winter BDU jackets now covering the cooling suit FDUs they wore just in case the Wolves came back. A steaming bowl of goulash remained mostly unfinished given Alex's attention to the creamed potatoes beside it.
"I'm so tired my brain's popping all over the place, Naughts." he answered. He glanced at the others, Paora Munihera, all hundred and eighty centimeters of hulking Indo-Maori from Clinton's Chelsea Range, was working on his own goulash bowl, while Amira bint Khalid of Dar-es-Salaam brought her eyes up from the half-finished falafel she'd snatched from the halal/kosher section of the chow line. Her thin face of darkened bronze was framed by the blue AFRF-issue hijab she wore. "Combat crash always follows a surge when you can't get some rest, but the surge doesn't drive all the fog away. The instructors try to teach that to you with those late exercises but it doesn't do justice to the real thing. Getting shot at for real's far different from exercises in sim pods or late marches on the range. Don't be afraid to show it, though. This isn't a competition to see who can look the least-exhausted. You've seen the fight. Felt it." He nodded again to Amira, knowing that underneath her uniform the tape was still wound around her torso to cushion a broken rib. His own shoulder ached from when a Clanner battle armor trooper's handiwork brought his 'Mech falling over. "You've got nothing more to prove."
"Thank you, Lieutenant." Paora said. "We came out alive thanks to you."
A part of Wolfe warmed at hearing those words. I did right by you, Miller. I did right.
"Whole company's lucky," Alex said. "We didn't lose anyone. Not like Alpha and Bravo."
Wolfe joined the others in nodding. Charlie Company's twelve pilots were still walking and their machines were intact (more or less). The rest of the battalion hadn't been so lucky. "Do we have a final count?" Amira asked.
Wolfe nodded. "Got it from Captain McGruder an hour ago. Alpha lost three pilots KIA and four wounded with one MIA. Bravo's scout lance got jumped by the Wolves over along the Nordweiss River, all MIA, and the other lances have two KIA and one wounded." Just like New Wessex. He noted the lowered heads. Battalions of armor and infantry were larger by nature compared to 'Mech battalions, with only fifty pilots at max if you had the full reserve of ten functioning with the battalion staff element. They were more like an aerospace wing socially. You were closest with your lancemates, typically knew every name in your company, and would at least be familiar with over half of the other companies' MechWarriors. Five of them would be going into a war grave or a transport back home for burial by family, the others might be joining them if the wounds were bad enough, and for those five missing…
Wolfe glanced towards Amira and remembered a different, rounder face framed by a hijab. Yasmin al-Garoub hadn't been from Dar-es-Salaam, but she'd been as observant, and a fellow Cobra pilot besides. He'd last seen that face in the drop before New Wessex, and last heard her voice calling for help before a Drac missile impacted on her head module. Until the final moment of transmission the remote sensors insisted she was alive, but the Dracs hadn't returned her in the prisoner exchange five months later and didn't list her as one of the deceased. So the AFRF's status hadn't changed on her: Missing in Action.
The fury briefly spiked. We're fighting here and not on New Wessex. Not on Vega. For all we know that bastard Ballymont kept her and others, didn't return them just out of spite. We should go back, we should make sure! We left them behind! I left them behind!
"Thinking of your old lance, Lieutenant?"
Paora's query forced Wolfe to breathe out. "Yeah," he said. "Had an instructor at RaqMil, Colonel Guinness." He knew they'd understand he meant Raquel Steiner Military Academy, the Donegal-based AFRF officer's academy Wolfe graduated from just half a decade before. "Military History and Tactics. None of you went, right?"
He was answered with shaking heads. Right. Alex was Ayrshire, Amira was Tamarind, and Paora's a mustang. "Colonel Guinness was in the Second Donegal Guards during the War. He rose from lance command to battalion command and spent most of the war seeing to companies. Told us all that he ended up with a loss rate of two hundred percent." Wolfe remembered the older man's quiet pain and grief at recalling his lost MechWarriors. "Commanded twelve MechWarriors at a time, lost twenty-four through eight years of Hell. You could see it in his eyes every time he had to share what happened. And he told us all we'd be the same. 'You might forget a name, you never forget the faces'. I haven't forgotten either right now, and I damn well know I won't forget the faces. Neither will you."
"We won, you'd think that'd feel good, I mean, it's better than…" Alex caught themself and stopped. "Sorry, Lance Loo."
Wolfe smiled painfully. "Guinness shared a quote from us, from old Terra. Before industrialized warfare. Says it was an ancestor of sorts, or had an ancestor who fought with him… Anyway, it's something said by the Duke of Wellington."
Amira spoke up. "The man who beat Hitler?" She blinked. "No, not Hitler."
"Napoleon," Wolfe corrected. "Waterloo, 1815. A century before that mustached sassenach invented industrial mass murder. Anyway, Wellington won at Waterloo, beat Napoleon for good, became a great hero, but in the end, all he had to say was that 'nothing but a battle lost is half so melancholy as a battle won'. And that's what you're feeling right now. We're all still here, Charlie's still here, but the Three-Three Proctor, well, we've lost people. Comrades. Winning just makes it feel a tad bit better is all." Wolfe glanced down at his cooling food. "Just a tad," he repeated, as if trying to convince them of it.
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===Negotiations===
Alpha Galaxy Headquarters
Alistairberg, Bremen Continent
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Alaric stood once more in the heart of Seth Ward's operations center, a center that was now his, at least for the moment. Indeed, Alpha Galaxy Headquarters was effectively functioning for his own Beta Galaxy as well. Most of those in attendance were technicians serving as commtechs, with Chance Vickers and the adjutants overseeing their work.
While Alaric stood in what had been Seth Ward's place, his old place was now held by Loremaster Liam Ward, who did nothing to hide his displeasure at the position. He is certain to challenge me, Alaric thought of the older warrior. But without Seth as his backing, he will take time to work up the nerve. Unless I appear weak.
That was the tricky part. Withdrawal, no matter how wise, would be an admission of weakness so long as the Wolf Clan's warriors were still capable of fighting. Delta, Kappa, and Gamma Galaxies were still in decent positions with gains in territory or captured isorla, and Alpha and Beta Galaxies were combat capable despite their damages and lost warriors. Only Zeta Galaxy were the clear losers of their battles. Yet this is temporary. The Arcadians' reinforcements are closer every day to the final jumps. We must fall back to prepare our defenses. I must get hegira!
"This is not our way." Liam folded his arms while looking over imagery from Delta Galaxy. Dozens of captured Arcadian warriors were being openly lined up and moved into a DropShip. "You parade our isorla like a prize, as if it will make up for your retreat from the Triad."
"If you wish to question my orders, Loremaster, feel free to challenge me to a Trial of Grievance," Alaric replied. "Otherwise leave me to planning our next move."
"You only hold command because the saKhan remains on Gienah. Do not think you will not answer to him for your failure, Alaric."
"I will let the record of the battle speak for itself." He glanced at the time. Star Commodore Fahad confirmed overflights by reconnaissance, they have to have seen. Are they arguing the matter? Perhaps the Lyrans do not care to recover their captured warriors… but they are the weaker here, and leaderless, so the Arcadians will certainly have their way.
"Galaxy Commander." A commtech lifted his head. "We are receiving an open transmission from the Lyran GHQ. They wish to speak to the commander of Wolf forces."
Alaric allowed a brief smile to curl his lips before willing his mouth straight. "I will hear them."
Moments later a new image projected on the main holotank. Alaric recognized his distant cousins Roderick Steiner and Julian Davion immediately. Between them, in a red uniform coat with a platinum hawk-crested tiara on his head, was Nathaniel Proctor. Two prey who so narrowly slid from my claws, Alaric thought in frustration. Aloud he kept his voice neutral. "I recognize my foes. Do you call to ask for hegira?"
<<"No. Nor to offer it.">> It was the outsider king who spoke, his accent vaguely similar to Alaric's Star League English but with a distinct, if faint, burr. <<"What I will offer is a prisoner exchange, planet-wide, as we took many survivors from your best units in the fighting.">>
Alaric allowed his nostrils to flare. "Are you insulting us, then, insinuating our finest warriors are unworthy of you? Perhaps we should descend upon the Triad again and remind you of our strength?"
He'd sought to unsettle the younger man, but Nathaniel only showed a momentary confusion before speaking on. <<"It is not our way to adopt warriors as you do. Our custom is to exchange captives. I offer you the same.">>
"You seek an exchange of isorla, though yours is of lesser quantity to mine? I am certain I can make fine warriors of the bondsmen I claimed from your ranks, and I have other Clan warriors to replace those I lost," Alaric replied. From the corner of his eye he noted Liam Ward staring in bewilderment at him. "I have little interest in this arrangement you propose. Would you offer more? The machinery of the Lockheed factories Gamma Galaxy captured, maybe? Or we can have a truce as you gave the Falcons at Timkovichi. A chance for your Lyran allies to recover their strength and for your people to prepare their defenses against your enemies." Alaric grinned. "I am well aware of the vulnerability of your people."
There was silence from the other side. They are not fools, they know what I wish and know I cannot ask it. Yet they hesitate. Their reinforcements must be near indeed.
Just as Roderick Steiner's lips started to move, Nathaniel spoke aloud. <<"I can offer you more than a truce, Galaxy Commander Alaric. Hear and accept my terms, and you and your Clan will gain those worlds you call the Pentagon and the Kerensky Cluster.">>
Roderick and Julian stared blankly at the younger man. Alaric's control slipped for a moment, though he kept his jaw from coming all the way open. His eyes briefly glanced to where Liam Ward was staring in confusion. "Those are not your worlds to give, freebirth." Alaric finally said, choking back a hint of fury that this little lordling would dare to presume to offer the birthworlds of the Clans to them like they were his prize to grant. "Nor is anything known of their condition, there has been no contact in over half a century." As he said those words Alaric realized just what Nathaniel was meaning. "But you refer to your side of the anomaly, quiaff?"
<<"I do.">> the Arcadian ruler replied. <<"On our side of the Glass, the Pentagon and Kerensky Cluster worlds are uninhabited. Aside from some deep space expeditions no human being has set foot on them, nor are they known to be settled. You and your Clan could depart from your stolen worlds, traverse the Glass, and settle them for yourselves. My Federation can provide the supporting vessels and supplies you would need for the journey and settlement. It would be a new start for your Wolf Clan.">>
"It would mean abandoning the conquests we have won through honor and skill." Alaric retorted.
<<"It would, but it would mean life for your Clan.">> The younger man's expression hardened. <<"Because we are not going to let you keep your worlds. I meant my vow in my reply to your Khan's batchall. You can give those worlds up peacefully and rebuild your society on our side of the Glass or we will reclaim your conquests by force until nothing of your Wolves remains. If you wish, consider this an offer of hegira to the whole Wolf Clan to leave the Inner Sphere behind.">>
Alaric's jaw clenched. His instinctive reaction was the snarl of defiance that showed on his face. His lips nearly parted to roar that defiance back, but thought came to hold his tongue in check for the moment. Our chance of winning this war is not great. We have made too many enemies in the League, the Lyrans, and the Republic, now these Arcadians. We will have to win every battle to survive. They can overwhelm us. Will overwhelm us. He swallowed. If we took this, the Clan would be spared that outcome.. We would regain what was lost. We would have a certain future.
His lips thinned. A certain future of what? Fighting and trialing amongst ourselves? A curiosity? If we stay, if we fight and win and outlast our foes with our skill, we could still become ilClan. The Arcadian King has enemies in his home Inner Sphere who might yet act. The League has distractions, the Lyrans' wounds will diminish them for decades. We need only hold and win for a few years, let the Republic grind itself down against the Combine and Capellans, and Terra might still be ours! We could become ilClan! I would become ilKhan!
Ambition versus survival. The offer would ensure the latter but sacrifice the former. But without ambition, without the goal, what did survival even mean? To be exiles to a different universe, with no other Clans to guide or trial against save former Wolves selected to form the hollow shells of new Clans? Even if he became Khan to such a Clan… that luster and honor was a mote against being the ilKhan who created the ilClan.
But only if we win… and we will. We are the Wolves. We can prevail against any foe.
"No," Alaric said, putting force into his voice. "We will not abandon the Empire we won by our claws and fangs, nor forsake our destiny to become the ilClan. You would pen us."
Nathaniel drew in a breath. <<"You condemn yourselves, then? We will defeat you.">>
"Only if you are stronger than us, and the Wolf Clan is the mightiest of all Kerensky's children," Alaric replied, investing his voice with the full haughtiness he could muster. "Do not presume to judge the future by the outcome of a single battle. But for a few seconds, two of you would be slain warriors listed upon my codex, and if you try to seize our empire from us, you will be on a codex before long. Now, if you have nothing else to propose, consider all your suggestions rejected. Your warriors will serve the Clan well." Alaric made sure to smile with those final words.
For several seconds nothing was said. Alaric watched his enemies closely. Julian and his Davion arrogance, Roderick's face a stone mask, and obvious disappointment on Nathaniel's face. He is no warrior, Alaric decided. Not at heart. How amusing Seth Ward would fall to such a man. I will not.
<<"Very well,">> Nathaniel finally said. <<"This is my final offer. If you agree to a prisoner exchange, and to take no bondsmen or material from those territories you've seized, then we, as the victors of the battle for the Triad, will offer the Wolf Clan hegira from Tharkad.">>
And there it is. Alaric pressed his hands together behind his back. "I will accept on the condition that the equipment we seized on the field of battle remain as our isorla for those victories."
"You can't." Liam Ward hissed. Alaric glared at him but said nothing.
There was evident discussion among his foes, and not just those on the screen. Alaric couldn't understand what was said as the voices were faint, but he recognized the matter was being considered. Finally the three men on the screen nodded. <<"Fine. That condition is acceptable.">>
"Then I will discuss your offer with my fellow warriors. Expect our reply shortly." Alaric turned and nodded to the comm tech who promptly ended the call.
"You would give up our isorla so easily?!" the Loremaster thundered.
"I would extricate the Wolf Clan's finest warriors from a strategic trap at a bargain price." Alaric retorted. "We have other prizes from our conquests besides, and have claimed many enemy machines as salvage from the battlefield. This would also see the return of trained and proven Clan warriors we would otherwise have to replace, making us stronger for the upcoming battles compared to the bondsmen we could claim from the enemy captives we have. And above all, we withdraw with our pride. Our enemy allows hegira."
Liam's eyes narrowed. "You goaded them into it," he accused. "That was your purpose from the start. You could not ask for hegira, so you manipulated your foe into it, like a chalcas Sea Fox."
"Call me that again, Liam Ward, and you will face my challenge," Alaric growled. "And we both know it will mean your death."
"Perhaps worthwhile if I took you with me." Liam spat. Yet despite his snarl he said nothing more. He calls me chalcas yet he schemes as readily, Alaric thought.
After a short pause Alaric turned back to the comm tech. "Assemble the other Galaxy Commanders," he instructed. "Our enemies' offer of hegira must be decided upon."
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Alaric's image disappeared. The others all kept their eyes on Nathaniel, who knew he wasn't doing well in hiding his deep disappointment. "Well, it is done." he finally said.
"You'd really offer to let them plant themselves on your side of the Glass?" Martin asked. "They'd be a problem in the future."
"Maybe or maybe not. It would be centuries for them to grow to the power of the Clans at their height, and the different circumstances could have changed them in other ways," Nathaniel said. "As a path it has more hope than the war we now face."
"True," Trillian Steiner-Davion agreed. "The question now is if he talks the other commanders into accepting our offer."
"For those who won big in the south, it lets them parade trophies," Jasek said. "And the others may just be happy to get away with whatever bits they could grab from the battlefield and the chance to withdraw intact. Zeta in particular is hurting."
"I have a question." The low rumble of Khan Patrik drew everyone's attention. He met Nathaniel, eye-to-eye. "This offer of populating the Homeworlds on your side of the Glass. Were you considering it for my Wolves as well?"
After a moment Nathaniel nodded once. "For a time, yes, back on my side of the Glass. But the more I was told of your people by Lady Trillian and Sir DeMarcus and Colonel Kell, the more I understood you would never accept, no matter how rich the support I offered to you. I came to fear I would impugn your honor if I pursued the idea, so I said nothing of it."
Patrik nodded with evident satisfaction. "Wise. We would never break the rede that Khan Phelan Kell and his warriors made with the people of Arc-Royal and the Lyran Commonwealth."
Nothing was said for the moment. Eyes turned to noteputers and digital pads displaying information, with each having duties to fulfill as they awaited a reply. Nathaniel took the time to check the finalized casualty list of the Lifeguards and noted somberly the costs of their victory. Six MechWarriors were dead, as were over sixty other tank crew, aerospace pilots, and infantry, and the wounded list was over twice as long. The Lifeguards' material losses were firmly at the one quarter level and projected to require at least two weeks just to get the lightly injured combat ready and the equipment all repaired and rearmed. A month before they believe the unit will be ready for combat, with replacements recruited from the best of other units. His own personal lance would need a replacement for Rutgers who would need over a year of recovery and therapy. All of these dead. And more to come if Alaric's behavior today is any indication. Liberating the Wolves' conquests will be bitterly hard work to be certain.
"Transmission from the Wolves incoming." one of the comm techs said.
Jasek gave the nod. Alaric reappeared on the holo-image. Nathaniel met eyes with the man and felt something familiar. If I did not know better I would think he was a Steiner, he thought. <<"The Wolf Clan accepts your offer of hegira. We will propose the points where the prisoner exchanges may be made while our warriors prepare to depart.">> A faint grin crossed Alaric's face. <<"Bargained well and done, King Nathaniel. I suppose I shall be receiving a batchall from you in the near future. I look forward to our next battle. Perhaps you will make an excellent bondsman upon your defeat, assuming you survive.">> He made a gesture and the image cut out.
From his spot on the opposite end of the main holotank, Matthew Proctor-Steiner-Davion chuckled humorlessly. "Scipio O'Reilly couldn't match that man's arrogance, I swear."
Thinking of his long dead and familially distant cousin, Nathaniel shook his head. "Pride does go before a fall." As it might for me too, if I am not careful.
"I'll get things rolling on the prisoner exchanges," Jasek said. "I doubt there'll be more problems, but best that we keep everyone ready if something goes wrong."
"I don't intend to relax until the Wolves are jumping out, General." said Bridger. "Nor will my brother and our troops."
"If you have no further need of me, I would like to resume visiting the wounded." said Nathaniel.
"We'll call if something comes up, Majesty." Matthew assured him.
With a final nod, Nathaniel departed the war room.
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*Chapter Note: Scenes of Dark Age characters interacting with each other, the only exception being Alaric and Liam Ward have written by Templar87. 
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