TEP Chpt 5

=The Eagle's Perch=
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==Chapter 5 - The son==
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===Dealing when the chips are down===
Kyeinnisan, Duchy of Oriente
2730 AD
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Adisa Selaj
My name is Adisa Selaj. No relation to the Free Worlds League's Selaj. I've had way too many guys and gals give me shit for the name, but I ain't changing it. The name is mine. But why is a guy like me doing in a place like the Free Worlds League, when my name isn't welcome anywhere here? That's simple, Boris, Klemens, and Elijah are my friends. Friends give each other shit, they don't shit on them. When Boris' dad started his Jihad against the Mad Marik, I had to join.
 
Just wish I was with them, instead of here, with this joker.
 
"One more, come on, son." a gravely voice called out.
 
The joker being a baron from the Oriente, and a veteran MechWarrior, Johnson Johanson Halas Junior. Or JJ, as I liked to call him.
 
"You're on, old man." As if I'd turn down a fight.
 
Our mechs went to their starting positions. We were garrisoned at Kyeinnisan waiting for a counterattack that was supposed to come a week ago, training in the meantime.
 
All told, it wasn't bad. Kyeinnisan was a gambler's world, and for all the reputation of gambler's dens, the local Oligarchy kept everything clean. Don't want anyone to scare off the customers, after all. They're so damn keen on it, that their local beat sticks have BattleMechs of their own. They're well-trained, and eager to fight, too. Plenty of entertainment, clean streets, and people to fight. Other than the heat and jungles, what's not to love?
 
JJ's Battlemaster stood some three hundred meters away. He had fifteen tons over my Warhammer. But, I had two PPCs to his one. The long range band was my stomping ground, but BattleMechs aren't worshiped as the Gods of planetary warfare for nothing. 540 m can be eaten up and danced around in the blink of an eye.
 
"All sensors off?" He asked.
 
"Off. Mark ones only," I replied. The training we BattleMech pilots were going through was created sometime after the Mackie's explosive introduction in the 2440s. Knowing how to fight 'blind' was the standard for MechWarriors ever since.
 
"Whenever you're ready, son," JJ broadcasted. Cocky bastard.
 
We stood in an open field, at the base of seven hills. Overlooking us were a few lances of mechs and their warriors. They were here to learn. Pick up new knowledge, or polish off existing ones. Knowledge, an invaluable resource for mercenaries like me. They all had their turn learning from the old man. Now, it was mine.
 
To our right, was the faint neon glow of Luck City. The city that never sleeps. To our left, Kyeinnisan's dim M-type sun hung low in the sky. Its pale setting light cast long shadows about us.
 
We stared at each other for a second longer, before I led the dance by snapping off two bolts as I stepped backwards. One missed, one hit, the simulated attack "gouged' out his chest armor. In response, he charged forward, took aim at the middle point and blasted it with smoke rounds from his SRM-6.
 
For a brief second, we were both blind to each other. So I took the opportunity to fire off again to where I last saw him, before I turned my mech right and walked around the wall of smoke. His own lighting bolt lashed just before where I would have been, correctly predicting my actions.
 
Rather than shoot, I waited. All energy weapons have this nasty habit of revealing the shooter's position. Rather than give the game away, I left him to guess where I really was. Like anyone born and raised in the Free Worlds League, JJ wasn't afraid to gamble. Hiding in the smoke with no sensors other than his biological eyeballs and instincts to guide his shots was a gamble. Bet wrong, and emerge at the wrong place, at the wrong time, and I could be shooting into his weak back armor.
 
Of course, he didn't though. But, I wasn't going to let him know that.
 
Maintaining speed, I orbited the middle point of the stage. I intended to angle for a side-shot, a back-shot if I was lucky. Just as I hit the 90° mark, the light of the sun forced my cockpit's ferro-glass to polarize. The world was darker. The shadows became indistinct.
 
That was fine. I could still see. More importantly, the shadow of my mech was cast across the Eastern hills, away from the arena. Meanwhile, our positions meant that his shadow would be cast towards me. I'd see signs of him long before he would see me.
The smoke swirled as the hidden Battlemaster moved within. Another barrage of smoke rounds exploded. The previous smoke, already slowly dispersing, was pushed further out. The dense white cloud had spread further out and climbed up into the sky.
 
Details were incredibly important for a MechWarrior. It was especially so for contract MechWarriors like me. Little things like a single clause in a contract could mean the difference between walking tall as one of Humanity's best, to being beggared naked on the street. And, in the League, contracts were sacrosanct. Breaking them was a universally recognized quick way to die.
 
So what details stuck out to me while I watched the artificial clouds expand and rise?
 
That he negated my advantage in careful positioning within a half-second. The weak light of the sun caught on the man-made clouds and cast longer shadows than his Battlemaster could. The polarization of my ferro-glass meant I had greater difficulty noticing changes in those same shadows and clouds. All the while, the shining sun would glint off my glass and armor, giving me away more clearly.
 
Unfortunately, I had not loaded smoke rounds myself. I took the standard war load I would for any battle. Something I would have to correct for in the future. Additionally, the heat-seekers I had would be of no use. Firing them now would result in them chasing the sun. Thankfully, ECM were allowed, and combined with the near similar ambient heat around me, his heat-seekers would ineffectually hit the dirt.
 
I continued circling the center.
 
As I neared the 100° mark, another lighting bolt flashed out. This time it tagged me in the center torso. I did another quick snap of twin PPC shots into the lightning's origin, before I broke into a run. He spotted me, aimed at me, and shot me. I didn't see him. He had the advantage. I needed the sun out of my cockpit and a clear shot. He only had to shoot me two more times in the center before he started digging into my insides, I couldn't stay still.
 
Six missiles lashed out, followed by an explosion from the white clouds. JJ had come out charging at me, the low 0.86 surface gravity aiding him. I ignored the missiles, they wouldn't do anything. JJ's rapidly closing, however, couldn't be ignored. Reducing my speed to a walk, I fired as soon as a PPC cycled. I only fired one of the two, careful to watch the heat.
 
That was a mistake on my part. Taking the hit to his left arm, JJ remained undeterred. The gulf we had suddenly disappeared. Within reach of his lasers, he unleashed his Battlemasters full 5 cm broadside. Six lasers exploded through the air. Only two of them hit my legs, on account of his running and my moving.
 
It spooked me bad, and I reacted by quick-firing my SRM-6, 5 of the 6 missiles missing entirely. That one dummy missile just barely clipped the lower left love handle of his Battlemaster. 
 
What followed was a thorough beating as he had entered his preferred range of combat. In comparison to my Warhammer, his 85 ton Battlemaster had options for days in these types of mid-to-close range assaults. The extra tonnage also gave him a 40% armor advantage over me. Although, the fight would have ended if I succeeded in stripping him down to ten tons. Alas.
 
An excellent spar.
 
I gained some knowledge, and lost nothing. Nothing except the tattered ends of my pride. JJ had a better tactical mind and a decade of experience over me, but the loss still stung.
 
"You know what you did wrong, son?" JJ asked. I huffed in mild indignation. The sun was almost out and the spar ended, we were headed back to base.
 
"Yeah, sure. I didn't open the distance when I had double the PPCs," I answered. Three or four hits with the PPCs was all I needed to win. That's why I stayed, I got too greedy.
 
"Nope."
 
Incredulous. I just stared at my comm, as we slowly cruised through the ferrocrete roads home. Okay. I'll bite. "What did I do wrong then, old man."
 
"You blinked." The rocks he was gargling made some sort of laughing-huffing sound.
 
"I… blinked?" My credulity remained absent.
 
"Yep," He said, popping the 'P'. I couldn't help but sigh at that. Fucking old MechWarriors, and their insatiable need to be cryptic, smug fucks.
 
He only huff-laughed harder when he heard my sigh. Looking right to distract myself, I stared at Luck City again. The light and naturally high humidity of the planet gave it a mirage-like air, seeming to waver like fire. Behind and around, the city's bright neon lights overpowered the night and its twinkling stars. But, the deep Black wasn't entirely empty. Just above the city, a handful of lights still shone. Man-made stars hung like the jewels of a crown above the brow Luck City. It was the grav-port, Naypyidaw. It was an old thing from the Age of War, rebuilt and refurbished in the Age of the Star League, to service and repair any and all ships that sail the Black.
 
Suddenly, alarms started blaring across the world. My comm suite received a flash message, and the air waves were filled by a local shouting in warning. Her accent was thick, but it was clear. The enemy has arrived, they have naval parity.
 
My channel to JJ went dead as he began throwing around orders to the rest of the other companies.
 
If there was a God out there, just, fuck you.
 
Interstellar civilizations meant stellar sized distances. That bought us some time, as the zenith and nadir jump points were about two days away at 1G from Kyeinnisan. The loyalist fleet won't be an issue, like ours, they have so many systems to cover they won't stay to support the ground pounders. We have to hold out until reinforcements arrive or 6 days pass. The 7th or 8th days are for retreating off the world, and hope the heavy fighting we've given was enough to disorganize and slow the enemy down.
 
Here's hoping the navy just wins.
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===Clash of the Titans===
Kyeinnisan, Duchy of Oriente
2729
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The loyalist Admiral Smith
War is a team game. There is no game more punishing for forgetting that than war. Equally, there is no service more punished for forgetting that, than the navy.
 
One hundred and fifty-four years ago, the Free Worlds League Navy had seventy-five warships. Then the Reunification War happened. For the dream of a unified humanity, the League sacrificed its sons and daughters onto the altar of war.
 
The nation paid the war's price. The army paid the war's price. The Navy paid the war's price. "It would be worth it." We prayed—for twenty-two long years we prayed.
 
The blood-prayers of those years would bless the Star League with over one-hundred years of peace and prosperity.
Now, there are forty-two warships. Twenty-four of those ships were the Atreus-class battleship. Twelve were League-class destroyers. And, six were the Aegis-class cruisers.
Our Navy is old.
Our Navy is battered.
 
Near two hundred years on, the Navy has not seen any funding increase to make up for our losses. Not in ships, and especially, not in personnel. The turmoil, infighting, disunity of the Free Worlds League, and the overall general peace of the Star League has seen what was once the pride and joy of the League reduced to a pale shadow.
 
Above all other woes, the navy has been nearly forgotten.
The extra funding from Parliament would have stemmed the bleeding. But, nothing could fix the drought of talent the navy once depended on. Sailing the Black is an inherently demanding endeavor. The void-faring warship is the pinnacle of human technical expertise, equally, it demands close to the pinnacle of human physicality and intelligence to operate. Assuming, the talents were not bred, born, and raised to live, work, and die in the deep Black.
 
That talent pool has shrunk into a drop. To work on the ships was to regularly subject yourself to strenuous, alien conditions that the human body and mind was not meant to handle. The degradation of muscle and bone are the most well known consequences. Less said, are the vision problems, heart problems, increased proclivity to cancer, orthostatic intolerance, and above all, the psychological impact of long-term confinement in a metal coffin, hurtling its way through the most hostile environment known to humankind.
 
That's before the shooting starts.
 
That's before competition is considered.
 
With the civilian industries sucking up any and all talents, it's no wonder that the navy is lagging behind the army. Even in the private military academia, the most favored military academies are the ones that lead to a career in the army. The Lloyd Marik-Stanley Aerospace School on New Olympia hasn't seen an expansion of their classes since the Reunification War.
 
So what do these young talents hope to become when they enter the academies and join the services? They want to pilot BattleMechs. They want to become MechWarriors. They want to become the new face of war, and cover themselves in glory. To ascend into the ranks of the MechWarriors is to ascend beyond that of a commoner and stand side-by-side to the worthies of the neo-feudal nobility.
 
Guess who didn't see budget cuts and stagnation throughout those hundred years of peace?
 
There exists a slight sense of bitterness within the service.
 
So when the Captain-General sounds the war horns after one hundred years of peace and neglect, what does the Navy do?
 
Of course, we answer.
 
War is a team game. And, the Navy by its very nature cannot forget that lesson. There is a plethora of armies and militias of the Free Worlds League in loyal service to a man, a woman, a province, and the navy is almost the exact opposite. There are, at most, four proper squadrons with warships that serve the petty provinces. At six fleets, the message is quite clear. The few that choose to serve as sailors and pilots almost universally prefer the Free Worlds League Navy. That's because we serve only one thing, the Free Worlds League.
 
And in service to the League, I am going to founder those sons of bitches that broke their oaths.
 
"Admiral, the wand is yours."
 
"Sailors and pilots, this is your Admiral speaking," I'd make this quick. Just like me, they're raring for blood as it is. No need to keep them waiting. "We of the Fifth Fleet have served with distinction since the Age of War and the Reunification War. We will do so again, here, as we lead the charge against the traitors and contract breakers. We will strike a blow so hard it will shake the foundations of their rebellion. And underneath the dual onslaught of their hubris and our righteousness, we will, as our forebearers once did, stand glorious and triumphant."
"As the attacking fleet, we had the luxury of choosing what, when, and where to attack. The spies and scout ships that had cased the system and returned nineteen days ago. We jumped in eight days later, Zenith Anti-Spinward, timed with civilian traffic, and just when the Kyeinnisan and rebel outer system patrols produced a blind spot behind the third-farthest gas giant, Burma. With eleven planets in-system and a dearth of ships, Kyeinnisan had a blind spot big enough to hide a fleet, supporting combat DropShips, and two invasion regiments."
 
"Let us cease throttling the engines, full power to all ships. And, set fleet acceleration to one gee. We begin the operation. Now."
 
"Aye-aye, Admiral," replied the good major, as he relayed the orders to the Communications Officer. "Admiral, we have just crossed the Kyeetaal's horizon. We'll be visible to their sensors now."
 
"Thank you, Major Japrit. As planned, all divisions begin slingshot. We have a reunion to get to," I replied. All seven warships dove into the gravity well of Kyeinnisan's last and farthest gas giant. The escorts in a loose vertical wall to the Battleship Division's right. Carefully, we used the extra acceleration combined with our fusion engines to have the whole fleet maneuver at speed in unison. We'll all be accelerating to two gees soon.
 
The weight of gravity pushed into me as two-and-a-half gees worth of force pressed down. The special naval suits worn were rated to mitigate these forces, but only enough for work to get done. It would be worth it.
 
Soon it was over. With the slingshot complete, our next step was to Nadir Spinward, and to slide between the fourth and sixth planets. The rebels would have reformed just in time to give their response. We'll force them to fight one way or another.
 
With the stage set, I retired for the day.
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Kyeinnisan, Duchy of Oriente
2729
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The 'rebel' Admiral, Minerva
"The 2nd Fleet is reformed, Admiral Minerva."
 
"Thank you, Major Schmidt." Closing my eyes, I sighed deeply. Tuning out the bustling of the CIC, I took a moment to recollect my thoughts. The loyalist fleet appeared behind Kyeetaal. The massive gas giant hid the enemy fleet, somehow, without anyone picking up their emergence signatures.
 
Whatever dark magic they conjured from the pit of hell, they called 'Dormuth' to do that, I had no time to figure out. Right now, I had to angle the fleet to present a credible defense without accidentally committing to a decisive fleet engagement. The 'rebel' fleet only had two of the Federal Navy's fleets defect to the proper Captain-General and his Parliament-in-Exile. The rest of the naval forces were from the frankly lesser provincial forces. Of them, only Oriente's two fleets and Andurien's one, had anything resembling unit cohesion.
 
No. As it stood, we were a greater problem existing as a fleet-in-being, and taking targets of opportunity across the Marik-Oriente border. As that was the obvious and logical answer, no doubt the enemy Admiral was intent on forcing a decisive battle.
 
"No changes to their bearings or headings, ma'am. They have just passed Sayy-Ngaal-Sai," said Major Schmidt. "I recommend we mark the halfway point between us and Burma as our limit. Whatever the 'loyalists' are planning hinges on that planet. If we maintain twenty light seconds from Kyeinnisan, we'll have ample time to respond to anything given the distances," my Chief of Staff recommended.
 
"Very well. Do so," I commanded. "Additionally, we should have Captain Syke's Escort Division to orbit Mandalay. I suspect trickery on the enemy's part, and having someone to rapidly react from Kyeinnisan's moon would greatly assuage my worries." He acknowledged, and turned away to signify he was in conversation with Communications. I returned to looking at the holotank, staring at the plots as they updated in real time. Thus far, the Sensors Officer had not reported anything unusual beyond the surprise enemy fleet.
 
I watched the holograms of our two elements draw into each other. The senior Captain had elected for a short interplanetary interception. The division paced at a moderate speed of a half gee to catch-up but not overshoot the enemy. More importantly, the division could perform an Emergency Combat Heading Operation at this acceleration. A near immediate turn of the ship's heading to an almost forty-five-degree angle at any direction. The gee forces would pummel an unprepared man dead. But, death comes just as fast in naval battles, maybe even faster. A bit of queasiness meant nothing to keep the ship sailing.
 
So deep inside the battleship, my staff and I were comfortably cocooned from the surrounding chaos of the ship. Comfortable, aside from being strapped down into jump seats. I saw the enemy and my own Battleship Division intent on the same act. My executive officer confirmed as much after.
 
"We're both holding steady, ma'am. It seems some light combat is ahead of us," he said.
 
"So it seems," I replied.
The Atreus-class battleship is an ancient beast. It was created in twenty-five fifty-two, roughly twenty-seven years after the Terran Hegemony elected to share some of its technological marvels after the Marik-Cameron peace treaty. Armed with new knowledge and technology, the shipwrights of the League built the Atreus to fully exploit the modern Heavy Naval PPCs and Naval Autocannons.
 
Ten HN-PPCs, four NAC/20s, two NAC-25s, and four NAC/35s, made up her front Capital Weapons. Her broadsides counted six HN-PPCs, four NAC/25s, two NAC/20s, and four NAC/35s. Her aft was light but no less deadly, with four NAC/25s and two NAC/20s. Numerous standard scale weapons dotted along the craft to dissuade fighters and destroyer missiles.
 
She was built to charge the enemy and run them down. Her fore was enough to obliterate an entire destroyer in a single salvo. Whatever unlucky fool survived that, would have holes punched through their entire ship from the broadsides, especially with the sheer weight of the thirty-five's shells.
 
"Batteries released, Starboard Heavy Naval PPCs, train onto track A zero zero one…" I overheard the Gunnery Officer.
 
The two Battleship Divisions matched broadsides, and the little holograms began flashing. The first skirmish had begun, the HN-PPCs firing at the extreme end of their capabilities. At almost ten light seconds away, we both missed. The lighting bolts harmlessly sailed past.
 
If they were here to drag my fleet into a decisive battle, why do they not act the part of the aggressor. Why aren't they charging in towards Kyeinnisan? Why aren't they pushing at least one gee? Why are they burning a straight line for a line battle—an open invitation to fight.
 
As a single vertical wall, the Battleship Division closed with the enemy, their Battleships arranged similarly. It would not be long before we entered NAC range.
 
Assuming I entertained a decisive battle, my fleet would follow theirs and potentially pin them down against the gas giant's gravity well. With the planet on one side and my fleet on the other, there would be no escape. Can't even jump because they're stuck inside the gravity well. We could knock out their entire fleet in half a day.
 
The Evaluator, Lieutenant Charmichael, interrupted my thinking. "The enemy is changing their heading. Aster I, bearing nine zero by zero zero, niner light seconds, course three five nine by double oh, heading zed zed by four five. They intend to do a full flip and deceleration." The hologram had automatically updated as he spoke. All the relevant estimates are neatly displayed.
 
Nine light seconds ago, means that the information was at least nine seconds old. An eternity of time to do something extra in naval engagements. Something, like decelerating to drastically increase the accuracy of their guns.
 
Immediately, the Captain ordered the battleships to perform an ECHO. Like a flower in Spring, the fleet bloomed Anti-Spinward in all directions, towards Kyeinnisan.
 
My eyes raked the holotank looking at our status. Fifteen percent of our starboard dorsal armor disappeared in a single volley, and some near misses to our aft armors. We just dodged death by a hair's breadth.
 
That could have been their trap. Had we aggressively pursued them, we would have changed our course from a short elliptic orbiting Kyeinnisan to a much longer one closer to Burma. It would be impossible to ECHO and change course in time. We would have to either stand and fight, or accelerate to Burma to possibly shake them off—switching our original positions.
 
It seems our caution was warranted.
 
"Major, remind me to fast track Captain Juniper for promotion to Commodore, later on."
 
"Of course, ma'am."
 
I watched as the fleet's holographic plots slowly reformed and began heading back to Mandalay. It wasn't until we were halfway there that the second surprise was sprung on us. An emergency message from Kyeinnisan's spaceport communications annex, by Commodore Zarya.
================================================================================
NFBA 
DE NKSC
RB1
T
Y
2172359Z
FM NKSC
TO FNSV
GC 5
BR
ASTER EJ LG2 RQ RE
BR
K
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The surprise throughout the CIC was palpable. Dead silence through the air. My XO looked at me, and stated what was on my mind. "They aren't going to leave, are they, ma'am."
 
No. They weren't. The enemy was very obviously committed to getting a real naval battle out of my fleet. The jump into the L2 Lagrange point could only have been done if their KF-Drives were charged. That means they were here for at least seven days, maybe even more. The baiting maneuvers, the flips, the decel burns, everything done to goad us in. Now this.
 
"Ma'am, I advise you to attack. The Captain-General's personal friend is down there, and leaving without a fight would be disastrous to both you and the rebellion," Schmidt whispered. Not that it would do any good. It was so quiet, he might as well have been shouting. "If we gave battle beforehand, leaving might have been on the table. As is, the political optics just aren't there."
 
"No."
 
"No? Ma'am?" He gave me a funny look, for such a serious situation.
 
"No. I will take responsibility. Our orders were to delay the enemy to our utmost and as best as possible avoid a decisive engagement. I agreed. I attempted to carry those orders out, and I failed. And, now, with barely a fight, I shall lose a valuable port and consign one of the Captain-General's personal confidants to death." This year was just awful all around. I took the time to look around the CIC and give proper weight to my words as I stared into their souls. "I will bear the blame in full," I stated with finality. "Major, tell the Divisions to regroup and head for the jump point. We retreat."
 
"Yes, ma'am," he murmured.
 
With any luck, I will die by firing squad.
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===Mounting Frustation===
Kyeinnisan, Duchy of Oriente2729
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Adisa Selaj
The enemy went from fighting three planetary orbits away, to hanging inside our L2 Lagrange point. They had completely bypassed our navy without a fight. Now they have seized the grav docks and are dropping atop Kyeinnisan.
 
We can't retreat now. The enemy has warships in orbit, preventing anyone from leaving. JJ has called for a retreat into the cities. The navy has sent back that their orders are not to be decisively engaged. And, that they'll 'return'. Fuck them.
 
Those fucking cowards are retreating. They're leaving us.
 
Boris. I know I'm an atheist, but you aren't. So. Pray for me.
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