Warrior: En Garde (The Warrior Trilogy, Book One): BattleTech Legends, #57, Page 2

  The Primus pointed toward the purple area representing House Marik’s Free Worlds League. “Janos Marik has recovered control of his realm. Let us not forget that his son Thomas is in our service.” Tiepolo shifted his attention toward the red area above the Federated Suns and to the right of the Lyran Commonwealth on the map. “Even more important is your own Draconis Combine. With its dreaded Sword of Light regiments—and now the Wolf’s Dragoons, too—it should be more than enough to hold Davion in check.”

  Myndo shook her head slowly. “This is possible, and we shall soon have the proof of it when Davion begins his Galtor campaign. I fear, though, that not one of the other Houses could stand alone against the combined might of the Federated Suns and the Lyran Commonwealth.”

  “That is more true than you know, Precentor, which is why I have ordered you back to Dieron. You will coordinate the meetings between Takashi Kurita, Janos Marik, and Maximilian Liao. The other Houses will not stand alone, Myndo. They will stand together….” Primus Tiepolo raised a hand to forestall further comment. “You should know that Maximilian Liao is attempting to repeat his success at pitting Anton Marik against Janos in the civil war. He is playing on Michael Hasek-Davion’s desire to rule the Federated Suns in place of his brother-in-law, and has already provided Duke Michael with reasons to refuse Hanse the use of his Capellan March troops in the Galtor campaign.”

  Myndo smiled unconsciously. “And you will exploit Frederick Steiner’s desire to supplant his cousin Katrina….”

  The Primus nodded. “The current political situation in the Successor States depends on maintaining a balance. If any Successor Lord believes he or she is powerful enough to conquer a neighbor, humanity will once again be plunged into the maelstrom of war. We must also remember that ComStar is the balance point. If it ever does begin to seem that the union of Houses Steiner and Davion is a threat to us, have no fear that we will move to crush them both and to establish a new balance.”

  “I see, Primus,” Myndo said, head cocked to one side in thought. “The forces do balance. The elements needed to control Davion and Steiner are in place. If those two realms were not headed up by such dynamic leaders, the threat they pose would be minimized. But how can we trigger the necessary internal and external forces? What could set them in motion?”

  Tiepolo allowed himself a mirthless smile. “Each and every Successor Lord—Takashi Kurita, Janos Marik, Maximilian Liao, Katrina Steiner, and Hanse Davion—dreams of being the one to establish and reign over a new Star League. Each has an equal claim to that throne, but the marriage of Hanse Davion to Melissa Steiner will change that standoff of forces. Suddenly, one House will have a stronger claim to the old throne of the Star League. Until the wedding, we will guard the knowledge of that most secret clause of this treaty, but we will not hesitate to use it in laying our own secret plans….”

  PART ONE

  Chapter 1

  KITTERY

  CAPELLAN MARCH

  FEDERATED SUNS

  27 NOVEMBER 3026

  The loud knock on the plasteel door of Major Justin Allard’s office shattered the quiet tranquility he’d been savoring. The slender, dark-haired MechWarrior drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. As he rose from behind his teakwood desk, he straightened his jacket and tried to compose himself.

  I hate this part of battalion command. Do well in combat, get a medal pinned to your chest, and they give you a job spending most of your time with discipline or supply problems. Justin shook his head and frowned at the three piles of paper on his desk. They need an accountant to handle all this nonsense. Then again, he thought, this particular problem probably does require a MechWarrior’s touch.

  “Enter,” he said finally.

  A faceless MP opened the door, and Private Robert Craon stepped into the room. The MP waited expectantly at the door because the tall, thickly built Craon towered over Allard. The smaller officer narrowed his almond-shaped eyes and gave a short shake of his head to dismiss the MP. The guard shrugged and closed the door.

  “Private Robert Craon reporting for disciplinary action, sir.” The younger man’s voice, though shot through with nervousness, rang loud and strong. As his gaze flicked around the office, he seemed to recoil in disgust at the sight of the Capellan rice-paper paintings that formed the backdrop for Major Allard’s desk.

  Justin nodded formally. “At ease, Private.” He kept his voice calm, trying to filter out as much anger as possible. When Craon went from standing at attention to a careless slouch, Allard could not help but snap, “I said at ease, Private, not fall apart!”

  Craon swallowed and straightened up crisply. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  Justin snorted and seated himself. “I doubt that, Robert.” He quickly typed something on the keyboard at his desk, and bars of light drifted up over his features as information scrolled onto the screen. Justin shook his head once, then looked up. “I want you to understand a couple of things, Robert, and they’re matters I expect to go no further than this office. Is that understood?”

  Craon nodded solemnly, and the look of sincerity on his face caught Justin by surprise. Perhaps I can trust him after all…

  Justin glanced at the screen, then stopped the information flow with an almost casual movement of one long finger. “I want you to know that you’re subject to this disciplinary action because of your insubordination, not because of your particular actions at the time of the incident.” Looking up at Craon, he added, “I don’t care that you called me a… Ah, how did you put it?”

  A smirk twisted the corners of Craon’s mouth, and Justin felt his own anger leap up like a solar flare. “I believe I called you the halfwit whelp of a Capellan whore forced on a Davion noble to prevent a war.”

  Justin studied the computer screen again and nodded. “Almost word for word. You must have practiced.” Since your early years, no doubt. Let’s hope your racism has not warped your reason.

  Craon beamed triumphantly. “I aim to be accurate.”

  “I did not ask for a comment, Private!” Justin snarled. He rose slowly and deliberately. As the two men stared at one another in that instant, both knew that physical size meant nothing in the battle between them. “I don’t care that you hate me because my father’s first wife was a Capellan whom he met while serving in the Federated Suns embassy on Sian. What you regard as an error in judgment belongs to my father, not me. Your bigoted opinion of me is not the reason you will be disciplined.”

  Justin angrily twisted the screen on his computer to where Craon could see it. “The report indicates that you disobeyed Leftenant Redburn’s direct order to return to your watchpost. The report does not mention the altercation that erupted after that, but I assume Leftenant Redburn had his own reasons for not including it.”

  Craon swallowed again and looked down. He shifted his jaw from side to side and winced as it popped. “Yes, sir.”

  Justin’s stiff posture relaxed slightly. “Believe me, Robert, when I say that I understand your resentment of my dismissing Sergeant Philip Capet. I know he was assigned to your training company after he guided you all through boot camp. I know he’s a legend here in the Capellan March. And I know how you all looked up to him.”

  Craon’s head came up fast, color flooding his cheeks. He hesitated a second, then his blond eyebrows narrowed in anger. “He was the goddamn best, Major, and you kicked him out for disagreeing with your policies toward the indigs. He offered to go man-to-man with you, to fight it out, but you just gave him his walking papers. Damn! He won the Gold Sunburst for his actions on Uravan. He wasted bunches of Liao ’Mechs and gave his boys time to get themselves and their wounded comrades out of that ambush. He was a hero, and you spit him out of the corps without a second thought!”

  Having spent his long-pent fury, Craon now seemed at a loss for words. His hands, clenched tightly into fists, rose as though to strike, but he made no move toward Justin.

  Give him time to recover his wits, Justin thought. He can be salvaged.
He waited silently for the emotion to drain from Craon’s body, then he spoke slowly and evenly, measuring his words. “I know what Capet was to you men and of the dreams you all shared. You were to become his new unit to avenge the other boys lost in battle. With you, he would win new awards and would once again become a symbol, a hero, for the Capellan March. With you to lift him up, he would once again dine at Duke Michael Hasek-Davion’s right hand.”

  Justin seated himself again and typed out a new request for information on the keyboard. The computer searched for a moment, then spilled reams of data over the screen. “What you don’t know, Robert, is that Capet’s men, the ones he saved on Uravan, should never have been in danger in the first place.”

  Craon opened his mouth to protest, but Justin raised a hand to silence him.

  “Yes, Robert, a Capellan company did ambush them, but they were ambushed because Sergeant Capet led them into an area where he had no authorization to be. Capet’s family lived and, regrettably, died in the village he tried to rescue. His family might still have died in that Liao raid, but if Capet had kept his head, a half-dozen MechWarriors would not have perished with them.”

  Justin drew in a deep breath and again forced himself to calmness. He looked up at Craon guilelessly. “All I’ve just told you is part of a classified report prepared for Hanse Davion to determine if Capet would get his Gold Sunburst. He had become the darling of a holodrama, and so the High Command hoped that he would also accept an early retirement at the time of the award. When he refused to step down, they gave him a training cadre.” Justin lowered his voice and shook his head. “When intelligence sources learned of his plan to hijack a JumpShip to go back and get his revenge on Liao, I refused to let him kill you in such an idiotic scheme.”

  The color had drained from Craon’s face, and his hands had returned to their place at the small of his back. “I appreciate your trust in sharing this information with me, sir. I stand ready to receive whatever punishment you name.”

  Justin nodded solemnly. “You realize that I could have you dismissed from this training cadre for what you have done?” Craon winced. “Yes, I thought you knew that,” he added, looking hard at the soldier standing before him. He saw no fear in Craon’s blue eyes, only self-loathing at his own stupidity.

  You’re learning to admit that you can make a mistake. Good. That’s the first step toward avoiding them, and the only way to survive as a MechWarrior.

  Justin smiled carefully. “You have, in the past, evidenced some leadership ability. As your punishment now, I have decided to let you hone that ability. Until further notice, you will act as shepherd for all of your cadre’s exercises. You’ll eat everyone else’s dust, Robert, and you’ll keep them all in line—or it will be your career.” Justin watched a faint smile come over Craon’s lips. “And, you’ll help the techs keep your ’Mech in perfect working order after each exercise.”

  Craon snapped to attention and saluted smartly. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Justin stood and returned the salute. “Dismissed.”

  Craon turned and left the room, but left the door open. Justin smiled at his retreating back, then sat down again to attack some of the paperwork piled on his desk. He initialed a stack of reports and tossed them into a basket for filing. The sooner the whole of Kittery is tied into the computer system, the easier this job will be.

  He shook his head. You’re not being paid for easy duty, Justin. If you were, they’d not have put you in charge of a local training battalion, especially not on a planet where your Capellan blood makes you a sworn enemy. Prince Hanse Davion put you here because you’re half-Capellan and can understand the Capellan natives. Dealing with these sons and daughters of Federated Suns carpetbaggers, on the other hand…

  Justin glanced at the holograph of Hanse Davion and himself that had been taken at the ceremony awarding him the Diamond Sunburst. The tall leader of the Federated Suns towered over the then-Captain Allard. As Justin twisted the holograph to examine it closer, he saw that Davion’s expression of gratitude and trust was sincere.

  In presenting the award, Hanse Davion had said to Justin, “Once again, I find my realm indebted to your family. I hope the Federated Suns is ever worthy of your courage and sacrifice.” It was Davion’s trust in Justin that had brought this posting to Kittery, for the Prince hoped he could help normalize relations with the newly conquered population. I only wish more of his subjects understood that being able to get along with the Capellan natives is not a prelude to giving the Capellan March to Maximilian Liao and his Capellan Confederation, Justin thought ruefully.

  Just then, a smiling man of average height and build paused in the doorway and tapped lightly on the open door. “Major, we’ve got to get moving.”

  His musing interrupted, Justin righted the holograph, looked at the time on his watch, and then cursed softly. “Come in, Andy. Close the door behind you.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the stack of papers the other man was carrying. “What are those? I can’t deal with anything routine right now. Besides, you know as well as I do that the only reason I can head out with you this afternoon is because the stack of requests you sent through channels is taller than any other mound on this desk.”

  Leftenant Redburn crossed to Justin’s desk and set the papers on top of the computer monitor. Clad in boots, shorts, and a cooling vest that revealed a well-muscled, if somewhat pale, body, the man smiled and ran a hand over his cropped auburn hair. “Forms, filled out in triplicate, for this afternoon’s exercise. I’ve filed an environmental impact statement for every meter of the turf we’re to cover today, and the locals have just issued us a ‘parade permit.’” He sighed loudly. “Sometimes I wonder why the Duke of New Syrtis just doesn’t give this world back to Liao. Michael Hasek-Davion’s let so many of them into the government here that he might as well cede the place to Capella.”

  Justin smiled slyly. “Leftenant Redburn, now you sound like your men when they complain about having a Capellan half-breed as their commanding officer.”

  Redburn’s cheeks immediately flushed red with embarrassment. “Sir, if you think I was saying—”

  Justin held up his hand and quieted the young officer. “Easy, Andrew. I understand what you’re saying.” He unbuttoned his jacket and walked to the dressing chamber annexed to his office. His voice echoed through the open doorway. “The idea of turning in a centimeter-by-centimeter description of our line of march doesn’t thrill me, either, but there’s nothing we can do. This is Michael’s domain, and his word is law.”

  Redburn nodded. “I trust him and his bureaucrats about as far as I can toss Craon.”

  Justin laughed. “Indeed, and just how far is that?”

  “What?”

  Justin stepped from the dressing chamber in boots, shorts, and open cooling vest. Muscles and veins stood out on a body virtually without fat. “Your report said nothing about the battle I heard about between you and Craon.”

  The leftenant shrugged. “Wasn’t really a fight. I cracked him a good one on the jaw, then concentrated on his breadbasket.” Redburn unconsciously rubbed the ribs on his right side. “He got a couple of punches in, but it ended quickly.” He smiled like a child remembering the taste of stolen melon. “Was hardly worth mentioning.”

  Justin chuckled. “I accept you at your word, Leftenant.” He nodded at his subordinate. Thank you for your efforts on my behalf. Redburn returned the nod, and Justin knew he’d been understood. “I’ve assigned Craon to be shepherd for this little outing. How many ’Mechs will we have with us?”

  Redburn thought for a half-second. “Thirty-two, including us. I have four lances of four and three with five. As usual, I did not assign you to any one lance. I’ll be in the Spider and I’ve given you the Valkyrie on loan from the Kittery Borderers. You know, those damned regulars said that they were only handing over the ’Mech because you’re a real MechWarrior. Everyone else gets a Stinger.”

  Justin nodded. The two men left the office and
headed through the tiled corridors to the massive ’Mech bay that loomed over the smaller Base Command Center. The roof, supported by metal beams and a skeletal framework, arched some fifteen meters over the ferrocrete floor. The translucent plastic used to form and seal the roof let in enough of the gold light from Kittery’s F9 sun to illuminate the metal giants housed within the hangar.

  Ringing the room like silent tomb-sentinels, BattleMechs gleamed in the sun’s bright light. Techs and astechs in green jumpsuits swarmed like insects over units in need of repair, and spare parts dangled from powered winches running on beams above the war machines. Five times the height of the men who worked on them, ’Mechs were objects of fascination rather than fear for the men and women who nursed them back to health. At the moment, these broken giants stood docile and in dire need of the steady hands and diagnostic genius of the techs before any would again march into battle.

  Other ’Mechs, armed and operational, stood waiting with their canopies open. Spilling down their chests like comical ties were rope ladders that allowed men and women to mount the huge machines they would pilot into battle. The Stingers, twenty-ton light ’Mechs often used for training MechWarriors, did not look any less deadly than the heavier ’Mechs scattered throughout the bay. The massive medium laser grasped pistol-like in each Stinger’s right hand seemed lethal enough for anyone’s taste.

  As Leftenant Redburn and Major Allard entered the bay, the First Kittery Training Battalion, including a hastily arriving Robert Craon, stood at attention in ranks. When Justin nodded approvingly to Sergeant Walter de Mesnil, the one-eyed MechWarrior turned to face his troops. “At ease,” he rasped.

  Justin cleared his throat. “This afternoon Leftenant Redburn and I will take you through an evaluation exercise. Please bear in mind that your ’Mechs are fully armed and powered. As always, we wish to minimize damage to the surrounding area. Target practice on livestock owned by the natives is discouraged, and will be punished by immediate dismissal from the training program.” Justin emphasized the word “native” so that his troops would note that he was not using the slang “indig,” which most of his trainees preferred. “I know you think I speak of the people here as natives because I am half-Capellan, but you must learn that to accept them is to have them accept you. And that is a major part of our mission on Kittery.” He turned to Redburn. “Leftenant.”