A/N: This was my first attempt at what eventually became State of the Union.

Chapter 1

Galaport, Galatea

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

6 December 3062

I woke sweating, almost falling out of my bunk, struggling against the demons of my nightmares and the woman keeping me from a painful encounter with the floor a metre and a half below the edge of my mattress.

"Whoa, Cat, cool it," she demanded, pinning my arms. "Are you awake?"

I stared at her for a moment, eyes only a few centimetres apart and then recollection sank in. "Flora.""No, I'm Flora. And you're… awake, I guess?"With conscious effort I went limp and let her push me back against pillows and blankets tangled behind me. "I think so."

"Hah." There was very little mirth in that – but not none. "I know this isn't the first time you've had nightmares, but if they're getting worse you should talk to someone."

"Are you volunteering? I didn't know you double-hatted for the chaplains."

Flora's lips curled into a grin. "Hon, I'm a lawyer. I work for the other side." She didn't exactly look like a lawyer – stocky and with tattoos climbing her bare arms, a complex personal heraldry she'd talked me through once, Then again, she worked a very specific sort of law.

I raked one hand back through my hair, getting it somewhat back in order. "Sorry I woke you."

"You didn't wake me. I was working." Behind her, the desk that took up the other side of our small room held a datapad and several notebooks from her shelf, evidence I'd overlooked. A clock on the desk was at an awkward angle but the sun coming through the window blinds was at a steep angle. "Did you jar something loose?"

"In general… maybe." Facts, concrete facts, were bringing my life back to me and banishing dreams of another place and time to the back corners of my mind. But they weren't gone entirely. They were real enough that I was sure I'd not be free of them, ever, but they weren't the past that Flora meant. And if I told her that I was somehow both her room-mate and also a man from the twenty-first century…

Well, there had been a few people already who thought that Caitlyn Morgen belonged on the funny farm. No need to add to that list. "Not about before though."

My roommate – my friend – leant back against the desk. "All slipping away now that you're awake?"

"Not as such," I said and then cursed myself for not letting such an easy explanation settle matters. Now what to say…?

Some part of the truth would be easiest. "Something of a foreboding, perhaps."

"You and half the Inner Sphere," she told me. "Everyone knows that there's trouble coming. Or here already in a few cases – Solaris, Kathil…"

"And this place is a tinderbox," I agreed. Centuries ago, Galaport had been built as an immense military spaceport – enough room for entire divisions of the SLDF to stage through. Maintenance had been uneven since then but occupation hadn't been. Hangers, barracks and proving grounds had been carved up and rented out to the mercenaries ever since Galatea became the hub of the mercenary trade.

It was quieter now, not because mercenaries were out of business but because Outreach had stolen away the better part of the market. The Wolf Dragoons homeworld provided better facilities and a better location – convenient for both Marik and Liao space. The prestige of the Dragoons outweighed the alleged neutrality of an increasingly militant ComStar – the sponsors of Galatea.

That didn't mean that no one came to Galatea, of course. It just made it home to those who were unwelcome on Outreach or who felt that the facilities here were a bargain. The lower edge of the trade in legal and financial terms. It was what had brought us here, an edge of despair that aided recruitment.

"What's a tinderbox? No, never mind, I can guess." Flora held up her hand to cut off an explanation and neither of us spoke while we would have been drowned out by the deep roar of a diesel engine and a rattling of the window. I mentally catagorised it as belonging to a Zhukov heavy tank and waited for it to pass, which it did after a while. "So did your foreboding tell you when we're leaving? We need a contract."

"Everyone in Galaport is waiting for a contract, but no one will be offering until they know who's mobilising," I reminded her. "If my dream does mean anything then…" I sat up and saw the clock, matched the date to memories of books that told the future of the worlds around me. "Arthur Steiner-Davion dies today."

The words hit Flora and she blanched momentarily. It wasn't something to say lightly. In the Inner Sphere royal blood meant something – and spilling it was nothing to joke about. "Hell," she summarised in brief and then: "I can see why it was a nightmare. He's a good-looking kid. Good thing it was just a dream."

"Yeah." It wasn't just a dream. But that didn't make it necessarily accurate, I reminded myself. I shouldn't cut myself off from possibilities. I knew too much to be sure of it all. "I should shower, I guess."

Flora nodded, a grin returning to her face. "I didn't want to say anything," she told me and made to pinch her nose. "But I dread sleeping in here if you don't."

"I wouldn't worry about it. I have tonight's duty shift, remember."

I dug fresh clothes out of the tiny closet and grabbed my shower bag. Opening the door to our room I needed to wait a moment for space to get out into the corridor so I could make my way to the bathroom at the nearer end. The SLDF had intended the building as Bachelor Officer Quarters with single rooms but they'd only intended this cantonment for occupation by a single brigade – perhaps three thousand soldiers and their dependents.

Uses had varied since the SLDF left and Flora and I were lucky, as field-grade officers we only had to share the room with each other. Lowly company officers were crammed in four to a room. It was unavoidable – Hell On Wheels had arrived on Galatea with two combined arms regiments but recruitment had brought us to five full-strength brigades. Even stretching our finances to rent a second brigade cantonment, we were packed in like sardines in a can.

The showers, when I reached them, had neither hot nor cold water. The water heaters weren't broken, just over-burdened and the muggy weather didn't help. Lukewarm water poured over my head and shoulders. If it washed away tears as well, that was something I didn't need to share with anyone else.

Chapter 2

Galaport, Galatea

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

6 December 3062

The cantonment's headquarters building dated back to the Star League so while the furnishings hadn't survived, the basic fittings were intact. Four hundred years of booted feet hadn't noticeably worn down the Cameron star engraved into the floor of the entrance hall.

These days the floor was crossed by the occasional cable, terrible trip hazards. The original wiring hadn't endured quite so well as the marble and while it probably could have been removed and replaced, the current residents had more important things to spend time and money on. Probably those before us had thought the same.

It was also just as over-run with people as the other buildings were. Electronic record-keeping might make storing them easier, but it still required data entry and then someone to dig out the facts. One entire wing was currently host to a winding queue of men and women with military haircuts and hopeful expressions. Hopefully some of them had useful technical skills because god knew, I needed them.

We couldn't spare a meeting room as such, so seven of us crammed into Yang Virtanen's cramped office, occupying the two chairs, a folding stool and four cardboard boxes of technical manuals. In deference to my exalted rank as Hauptmann-Kommandant and therefore second only to Virtanen within the hierarchy of the technical department, I was offered the guest's chair. In deference to my legs which were far too long to want to sit near the desk I declined and perched on the most stable looking of the boxes, back against the data-core in the corner that acted as the chief's personal backup of the department's critical information. It was warm through the back of my jacket and the room was already close and stifling despite one window latched open for whatever breeze we could get.

"I'm glad the Cobras are checking out," the chief noted. He had his own chair of course, jacket slung across it and sleeves rolled up revealing one was metal rather than flesh. "You never know with new technology."

"I think Defiance finally worked the bugs out of the endosteel." Kerr Stirling had accepted the chair when I turned it down. "We'll have to see how the ammunition feeds work in practise but…"

"Test firing is well and good, but actual battlefield conditions are another matter." Yang nodded sagely. He turned his head just a fraction towards me. "Cat, looking at your department, where do we stand?"

I didn't rise, there was no such formality within a section heads meeting. We got stuff done, that was what mattered to the chief and through him to General von Lergen. "I've cancelled the Plainsman modifications for now. Otherwise we're pretty much done with the 67th Brigade's equipment." The brigades weren't sequentially numbered – General von Lergen had selected them for historical significance. Sequentially the 66th, 67th and 68th were newly formed while the 41st and 50th had expanded up from our original two regiments.

"What's the snag?" asked Stirling curiously. "The Condor worked fine, so we know the engines work for hovercraft."

"It's not an engineering problem, it's a matter of cost analysis," I explained.

While some of our equipment was factory fresh, like the CBR-02 Cobra BattleMechs that came fresh from Defiance Industries on Hesperus II, a lot of our vehicles were second or third hand – militia-grade or battlefield salvage that needed to be patched together. I'd made a case two years ago that we'd be better off replacing damaged combustion engines with fuel cells and won my point with what had been a company of twelve Vedette medium tanks pulled from a near-forgotten militia arsenal.

Now my teams were being pushed to convert everything we could get our hands on. Even with severely rationalised choices in what our purchasing agents bought, the complexity was getting out of hand.

"It's a whole battalion we need to find fuel for," Yang noted. "Three battalions, rather, once the 50th and 66th's hover cavalry are considered."

Petrol and diesel cost money. Hydrogen we could obtain ourselves using the many, many fusion reactors any modern military force had access to.

I made a face. "I know and I want to come back to them, but we're not at the point of phasing all our support gear over yet and the Plainsman just doesn't get the same benefits from the change. The engine's too small for us to be able to upgrade armament out of tonnage savings, most of the difference is eaten up with expanding the fuel storage. There's more payoff for the unit if I keep my people working on the tank regiments and the infantry fighting vehicles."

"And the artillery?" Kerr craned his neck around. "Isn't that where this all began from?"

"It is, but we're basically done there. The last four vehicles for the 68th brigade's artillery battalion are being closed up now." I tossed a data chip across the office to land in the empty ashtray on the chief's desk. "Final checks today and then they're ready for service."

"I still can't believe Suggs managed to scrape that many artillery pieces together," Yang noted. "She must be a witch. Stores will be unhappy about the gas situation but it is what it is."

There were some chuckles from around the room.

"Time and resources allowing, you can go back to them, right?"

I nodded to Andrew Trackhart, my counterpart for the unit's aerospace technicians. "We have the planning documented, so yes."

"And your upgrades, Andy?"

The blond aerotech leant back against the bookcase behind him. "We're ready to start work on upgrading the Rievers now that Cat isn't monopolising the entire Poland production line."

I raised my hand and ostensibly inspected the nail on my middle finger, getting some chuckles. The Poland Models A and C were easily the most commonly produced weapons of their kind, even with other firms getting into the production of magnetic weaponry. Focusing on one manufacturer also made replacement components much simpler – it was no fault of mine that Trackhart's teams had also opted for those models.

"Play nicely, children." Yang sighed somewhat theatrically. "We're sinking a hell of a lot of the unit's money into upgrades for vehicles and fighters, enough that Kerr is feeling left out."

Stirling tried to look innocent of that sentiment.

"I'm sure Cat was just flirting, sir." Trackhart gave me a slight smirk as he said that.

The chief knew better than to believe that but he gave me a hard look that cut off any response to the idea. "Mm. Well, keep it out of your work then. And speaking of your work…"

"Ah, we are a little behind schedule on the F92 and V14 upgrades, they're easy enough that I'm rotating assistant technicians through the work to get them the experience. We should have the last fighter wrapped up for testing within forty-eight hours for those two lines."

"Good. We could have a contract at anytime, so the less of this level of repair we take onto the dropships the better."

Everyone winced at the idea. Spreading technical crews across dozens of dropships, very few of them with fully worked up technical bays… We'd either have to break up battalions to get the vehicles being worked on into the most suitable ships, something that would play havoc with the combat loading, or work at a snail's pace, which could downcheck the vehicles when we needed them most.

"We'll have all the interceptor and air superiority fighters done by day after tomorrow," Trackhart promised seriously. "Attack birds may take longer though we're having to tweak the Chippewas before we move ahead with full conversions."

Chapter 3

Galaport, Galatea

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

6 December 3062

"Cat, stay behind a moment, please."

I was halfway to standing when Yang Virtanen asked that of me. The meeting had wrapped up more or less on schedule – we all had too much to do to be sitting around talking. At his words though, I sat down and waited for the other Section Heads to leave the office.

The chief stood up and closed the window as Andrew Trackhart gave me a wave before he shut the door beside himself. "It's been a while since we talked, Cat," Yang said as he maneuvered his bulk back into his chair. He'd always been a big man – more broad than tall – and time spent running the department from the office rather than getting his hands dirty was putting more flesh on him.

"We've both been busy, I guess." Which wasn't a great excuse. I owed Yang a lot – my life probably and my sanity almost certainly. If he hadn't dragged me out of Capellan space ten years ago…

Ten years? Damn. It really was that long – we were a few months past the anniversary, "How are you?"

"Busy," he admitted with a rueful look at his desk. "But not as busy as you seem to be. You gotta take some time for yourself, Cat."

"Eh, I figured once we're on the dropships I'll not be able to do much beyond deal with whatever ship I'm on. I can get my paperwork done and get caught up on my sleep then."

"Not quite what I meant, although shorting yourself on sleep isn't a good habit to get into. You've got to be close to thirty by now and that's going to start hitting before long. I learned that myself the hard way."

I leant back and looked at the lines on his grizzled face. "Okay… not sure where you're going then."

"Take the party tonight." Yang steepled his hands, metal fingers interlaced with the flesh. "I get that spending the night with us old warhorses jawing may not be your idea of a good time, but you had no plans at all that clashed with covering the night shift? Here in Galaport of all places?"

"To be completely honest, crawling the bars and fending off mechwarriors thinking with their joysticks isn't a particularly good time either. Although I'm sure that would crush some of the unit's egos."

He tried not to laugh and failed. I cracked up too and it was like old times again, as if we were back in one of the workshops we'd used back when I was just a lowly astech learning the trade by holding tools for him and poring over grease-stained manuals.

"That are more upmarket entertainments," he pointed out at last. "Some mercs are cultured, or want to pretend they are. Get a few friends together and go get a meal, catch a film or something. You've been splitting your time between work and sleep, that's not enough. Do something for yourself, for Blake's sake! Hell, read a book if that suits you."

He was over-reacting, I thought. I mean I'd… hell, when had I last read a book…?

The memories inside me rose up sharply, outraged at how long it had been. Mind you, who I'd been back then would have considered six hours or so without a book to be cruel and unnatural, so…

It had been a while though.

I recalled something from one of the many books he'd – I'd – read. One from this universe, about it I meant… damn this was confusing.

"Something on your mind?"

"Just…" I tried to explain it. "Someone once said where I could hear it that Victor Steiner-Davion's idea of relaxation was to work on only two projects at once, instead of his usual workload."

Yang laughed again. "I don't know about him, but it sure applies to you. With good healthcare you could have another century to live, but the prince's father worked himself into a grave before he was even seventy! Don't be like that."

"Okay, okay. I'll just get things going for the next round of work -"

"Oh no you don't. That's how it starts."

"What?"

"Procrastination about relaxing! It's a trap. No, you have to be as disciplined about it as you are about anything else." The chief nodded his head confidently. "You are taking tomorrow off."

"But…"

"Uh-huh-huh! I'm still boss of you, Cat Morgen, and whatever you've got scheduled can be handled by your people – or by me if it comes to that. You are taking twenty-four hours straight off starting from the end of tonight's duty shift."

I rubbed my face. "Really? Are you going to send me to my room too, 'dad'?"

"No, I'm kicking you out. Giving you a couple of C-bills for the cinema, figuratively speaking. You're to spend at least eight of those outside the cantonment. It'll do you good."

"Fine!" I held my hands up in surrender. "Whatever you say. No idea what I'll do, but…"

"I'm sure you'll think of something. There are a couple of casinos, perhaps you can find a couple of fools who'll buy that innocent 'yeah, I've seen people play poker before' face of yours."

"I didn't think you liked me gambling."

Yang smirked. "It's not good for morale for you to fleece our own people. What you do to the other unit's idiots isn't a problem. Just don't do it anywhere you're likely to get shot by a bad loser."

Huh. Okay, that made a bit of sense. And I did have the better part of two years pay in my account now that I thought about it – there hadn't been a ton to spend it on while we were trawling the far corners of what used to be the Periphery March looking for pirates. "I'll see if Flora has any ideas."

"Good." He levered himself upright. "I'm not doing this to punish you. You're doing a hell of a job, if you weren't I wouldn't have made you my deputy."

"I thought it was because I made you look old and wise by comparison."

"That's just a side benefit," he said, shoving one arm into his jacket. "Now I'm going to go see if the General's Charger has all its lasers working or if I need to drag Kerr off the new shinies. You go clear anything on your desk you don't think can survive twenty-four hours without your tender loving care."

"Alright boss, but don't blame me if someone sets a Po on fire because I'm not riding herd on them."

"If that's the best you've taught them, I damn well will blame you, scamp. But we both know better than that."

Chapter 4

Galaport, Galatea

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

6 December 3062

The command centre was dead after 20:00 hours.

General James von Lergen had been generous with invitations to his birthday celebration. It made some degree of sense – a lot of the officers recruited were old friends of his from the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces back before it merged into the Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth and then violently then split the Lyran Alliance Armed Forces off again.

Looking around, there was no one my own rank or higher here. Our other cantonment's senior duty officer was Oberst Fleishman – that's Colonel for those unfamiliar with traditional german ranks. I honestly wasn't sure why General von Lergen used the rank since even LCAF hadn't germanised it historically, but then I wasn't sure why the AFFC had entirely replaced it with Leutenant-General so there was probably some sort of reason. Military history wasn't something I'd looked at in this life.

FASA presumably hadn't either when they wrote the 31st century up as a work of fiction, my other memories provided. Military history had been something of an interest then – maybe it had been a persistent irritant for the general. He was pretty keen on reading up on old wars from back on Terra, before man (and woman) had spread to the stars.

Barring emergencies it was likely to be a pretty boring shift. I could see one of the sergeants manning the phones had a pack of cards out and was playing solitaire and he wasn't the only one killing time.

I cracked the seal on a can of sparkling fruit juice and set it on the desk next to the file of reports on the last run of maintenance for the 67th's artillery battalion. They'd been the first to get fuel cell engines so if there were going to be any long term issues they were the most likely to run into them.

Determining what was just the usual gripes of complicated military machinery and what had potential to be serious rested on my judgement but despite the stimulating effect of the apple juice – at least as awakening as coffee in my own experience – I realised thirty minutes later that I was still staring at the third page.

Closing the file I pulled out a drawer and kicked my legs up to rest on top of it. Slouched properly back for serious thought I eyed the ceiling and contemplated the world of shit that was already dropping onto the Inner Sphere.

There were demonstrations and riots on worlds across both halves of the Federated Commonwealth, the result of those disillusioned with Katherine Steiner-Davion and those who'd never liked her but were just coming to grips with the idea that Victor Steiner-Davion hadn't immediately turned his battle hardened troops on his sister when he came back from crushing Clan Smoke Jaguar.

The marriage between their parents had forged a super-state that stretched a thousand light years from end to end, crossing the entire Inner Sphere. Two years of war had allowed the armies of House Steiner and House Davion to carve out a Terran Corridor between their realms, as well as breaking the military power of their traditional rivals. Of course, such breaking hadn't been as permanent as anyone in the Federated Commonwealth had hoped but both House Kurita and House Liao were on the back foot and House Marik, barely touched by the war, had been caught in (another) of their fractious realm's civil wars for most of a decade.

Much to everyone's surprise, rather than the heir to that great victory (see what they did there?) cutting his teeth in a final annihilation of the Kuritas, Victor Steiner-Davion had instead had been thrown into entirely different war. The Clans - descendants of the ancient Star League Defense Force - had returned from centuries of exile, intent on reconquering the Inner Sphere and the five great houses that had torn their precious Star League apart.

House Steiner's half of the Federated Commonwealth had taken the brunt of the invasion, along with the Kurita's Draconis Combine and the Free Rasalhague Republic buffer state that lay between them. Hundreds of worlds fell before the Clans were halted and for all the heroism of the three state's soldiers, they hadn't had a thing to do with it. Instead Anastasius Focht and the ComGuards were the unlikely heroes who won a reprieve of fifteen years.

No one had really expected the sudden death of Hanse Davion, followed only a few years later by the still unexplained assassination of Melissa Steiner-Davion. I, of course, was aware that it was their daughter Katherine who had hired the assassin – murdering one of the two people who stood between her and the thrones she coveted. The other, her brother Victor, was far happier leading his realm's armies on the frontlines than he was governing from those thrones. Some blamed the Davion blood, but while that was certainly a common trait, I could think of at least two Steiner rulers who'd died leading troops into battle during the long Succession Wars.

In any case, Victor had been played like a fiddle, his blunders sparking a brief rebellion in Skye and then an invasion by House Marik, the Captain-General outraged that his young son had been replaced by an imposter while receiving medical treatment on the Davion capital of New Avalon. Katherine, as regent over half the realm seceded and formed the Lyran Alliance out of the former Steiner region while a resurgent Capellan Confederation regained ground lost a generation before.

The formation of a new Star League against the Clans had aided Katherine even more. Victor departed for the frontlines, eventually taking war to their homeworlds most of a year's travel away, and in his absence Katherine undermined the regency of their inexperienced youngest sibling and seized the other half of the realm – albeit diminished and with tensions between the two sides inflamed.

Activating the terminal on the desk I pulled up recent news and checked it against my memories from the books. Lyran regiments and Draconian regiments skirmishing along the borders, despite the fact that both were supposedly at peace and even allies. Later evidence would show the invaders to to be false flag operations by mercenaries hired by unknown third parties, but that would come far too late. Centuries of hatred would flash into a war that none of the rulers involved wanted.

At the same time, other worlds were already getting started. Solaris VII, the game world, had erupted in riots in August when the gladiators there took their duels into the streets of Solaris City. And key worlds found rival garrisons pledged to Katherine or to local leaders like the Duke of New Syrtis. Fighting had broken out at Kathil already, a major industrial world and a lynchpin of the military defenses against the Capellan Confederation.

And two years from now, Clan Jade Falcon would launch a new attack on the vulnerable Lyran worlds. Stopping them had been a near miracle.

So that was what I was faced with, the question was what I could do about any of it.

I – that other me – had read many stories of people thrust suddenly into the 31st century and taking advantage of their foreknowledge to shape events more favourably. Of course, most of those were just a bit earlier – what was the old saw? Raid Helm's Deep… no, that wasn't right, that was Lord of the Rings. The buried cache on Helm, for the military gear stored there and most importantly the memory core that included the lost sciences of the Star League, that was it. And then New Dallas.

The trouble was, those assumed arriving early in the century. Helm had been dug up more than thirty years ago and copies of the core were in the hands of every major player by now. New Dallas wouldn't be found for a few more years, but that was… not worthless, but we were well past the point its contents would have been a technological revolution for the Successor States.

No, if I was going to do anything – and I was going to do something. Millions of lives would be lost in the Civil War that was beginning, I couldn't ignore that! – then it was going to have to involve trying to mitigate the damage done by the war. To finish it before it had torn the heart out of the new Star League and before the Jihad. Good god. What in the world could I do about that!? That was a whole worse mess than this one.

One thing at a time, I told myself, Start with what you can do now.

I checked the clock. Past 22;00 hours, huh. Apparently I'd been musing longer than I realised. Putting my feet down I lifted the phone. Time to check with the gates and make sure they were all awake. Not that I really expected them to screw off, but the point of there being duty officers was to make sure.

"Front gates," a voice replied when I dialled the number.

"Hauptmann-Kommandant Morgen, duty officer," I replied. "Anything happening down there?"

"No ma'am. Quiet as the grave."

"Do you have enough coffee?"

"If you can call it coffee, yes sir."

"Okay. Try not to fall asleep, however boring it is." I made a note to head down and spot check myself once we got past midnight. I was taking their word for the fact they weren't crashed out on the floor of the gatehouse, miserable as that prospect was. Hot as it was in the day, Galaport could get quite cold at night.

Cutting the call, I started dialling the first side gate –

KABOOM!

"The hell was that?" I asked rhetorically and dropped the phone.

Around the command centre, the staff were springing into action – so far as it was possible to – setting aside cards, books and whatever else they'd been indulging in. The sound had come from outside on this side of the building and I sprang for the stair leading up to the watchtower. "Alert status two," I called to the Oberleutenant manning the operations desk.

He nodded sharply. "Alert status two, yes ma'am." That meant kicking a battalion of infantry and a battalion of tankers in each brigade out of their bunks and getting them ready to fight. They were supposed to be on five minutes readiness, on rotation, just in case of coming under attack or some similar crisis. What could go wrong on Galatea I wasn't sure, but something surely must have.

I reached the observation level of the watchtower and as soon as my head was above the edge of the windows I could see the source of the explosion.

The officer's club – a three storey building comprising bars, lounges and various other entertainments – was ablaze. Windows along the entire length I could see of the ground floor were broken and smoke was beginning to rise, lit an eerie orange by the fires below.

"God help," I murmured and crossed myself.

General von Lergen's party had just gone up in smoke. It seemed I had something more urgent to worry about than the Federated Commonwealth's Civil War.

Chapter 5

Galaport, Galatea

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

6 December 3062

Accounts vary as to how long I spent staring in horror at the blazing officer's club.

According to the men on watch, bare seconds passed between my raising the alert status and issuing more specific commands.

It seemed long and dreadful minutes to me before I could gather myself to realise that I couldn't just stand and watch. The sirens were wailing, something I'd not noticed until I tried to speak. "Command centre." I spoke into the handset of the intercom at the top of the tower – for the life of me when I picked it up I'm not sure. "We need firefighters at the officer's club – and a perimeter. Which alert battalion is nearest?"

There was a brief hesitation before the Oberleutenant replied. "Ah… Chiba's Cutthroats, ma'am."

I had to think a moment before I could identify the unit. First battalion of the 661st, good enough. "Divert them to the club for security and rescue efforts."

"Yes ma'am. Should I call the Galaport authorities?"

"Call our hospital," I told him, trying to remember what our obligations were to the city. We were renting the cantonment from them, after all. Flora would know but I wasn't sure. "I'll be right down there, but keep it inside the unit until I'm there."

At the top of the stairs I took one long look at the fires and then started down them.

It can't have taken all that long to get down because as I reached the command centre again, a sergeant was just noting up the log. "Kommandant Chiba confirmed he's moving out with his B company now, ma'am," he told me without prompting. "The other two companies are mounting up. The 411st's infantry are splitting their deployment to cover both side gates."

"Good." I didn't really think this was part of an organised attack… but I hadn't expected the party to blow up either and I'd been completely wrong there.

Back at my desk I picked up the comm and dialled the other cantonment's command centre from memory. "This is the duty officer at Alpha compound," I cut across the sergeant's greeting. "We have a fire and possibly a bombing. I need to speak to Oberst Fleishman."

"Ma'am, the Oberst isn't here."

"Okay, well can you call him and have him get in touch."

"No ma'am," the man said uncomfortably.

I took a deep breath. Don't explode. Don't explode. "Explain. Please."

"No one's seen him this evening. I know he's on the roster but I haven't seen him and I don't know where he is."

"Who's in charge?"

"Hauptmann McCoy, ma'am."

Who? I tried to put a face to the name and failed. There were just so many new faces… "Get him on the comm, sergeant."

With commendable speed another voice came on the line. "This is Hauptmann McCoy, Beta Command Centre. Please identify yourself, ma'am."

"Hauptmann-Kommandant Morgen. Duty officer at Alpha Command Centre. I take it that Oberst Fleishman is missing?"

"That's correct, ma'am. He didn't report for his shift."

Did I have authority for this? Possibly not, but I was sure I had the responsibility. "Lock your compound down, Hauptmann. If Fleishman turns up, detain him. Someone blew up the general's party and the Oberst just put himself on the suspect list."

He made a strangled noise. "Yes ma'am."

I put the comm down, looked at it and shook my head. "Someone has to go over and stiffen his spine. Does anyone here know Hauptmann McCoy?"

The sergeant nodded. "He's a finance officer. Good kid, but he's not combat arms. Posted to 67th Brigade headquarters, I believe."

An entire division and it was now headed by a technician and an accountant. Brilliant. "Fine. Call up..." I checked my memory. "Call Kommandant Ryder. Tell him I want him to head over to Beta and back McCoy up." Aang Ryder was a battalion commander and more to the point he was on call as my back-up duty officer in case I suddenly became unavailable.

"I called him already, ma'am," the oberleutenant said. "I thought you'd want him available, but I didn't get through on his comm."

The temptation to scream was very real. Where the hell was my support!? Was I going to have to do it alone?

That was selfish, I realised. The Oberleutenant was here and doing his job, same as the sergeant and the others. "Good thinking… Parker, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am. Sheffield Parker."

"Rouse the camp, Parker. Get the duty officer of every regiment and independent battalion and have them do a full head count, then prepare to defend the base. I'm going to call the Galaport authorities. We may have to call on them for support at this point."

"Are you sure, ma'am. That's…"

I nodded. It wasn't exactly a good sign for a merc outfit to have to ask civilian authorities for help but right now there was every possibility this was a coordinated attack that might be affecting other units. The only overarching authority available was the municipality. "I want air cover and if I put birds in the air without telling them then they really will come down on us like a ton of bricks."

Parker nodded in understanding. "Yes, ma'am."

My first call wasn't Galaport – or at least not the authorities. Our aerowings were still in the main port since they had airstrips available to operate them out of. Trying to do that within the cantonments would have been a disaster.

"Trackhart speaking."

I blinked. I was sure Andy Trackhart had been called to the party. "Kommandant, this is Cat Morgen."

"Sorry, ma'am. Hauptmann Matthew Trackhart speaking."

Oops. There were two of them? Relatives? They did sound familiar, was it just the comm? No, never mind. "Sorry Hauptmann."

"Happens all the time, ma'am. What can I do for you?"

"I'm the duty officer at Cantonment Alpha," I told him, checking the folder. "Authorisation… Baker Yankee Zulu. There's been an incident at the base. I'm going to want a squadron in the air over us as soon as I can get the spaceport to authorise a flight."

"Understood, ma'am. We have a squadron of interceptors fuelled and on five minutes notice. I'll get the pilots ready to take off."

"Acknowledged, Hauptmann. Also be advised that two officers Oberst Paget Fleishman and Kommandant Aang Ryder are both missing. If they make contact please let the command centre know."

"Understood sir." There was a cautious note to his voice. Missing officers and an incident. It didn't take a genius to see that we had serious problems.

The next number I dialled was the air traffic control and fortunately they were pretty reasonable.

"There's a LAAF air patrol up," I was informed, "But you can put your squadron in the air and we'll allow a holding pattern around your cantonments for the next three hours. After that you'll need to land them or request a new flight plan. There are training flights booked in and we don't want any confusion."

"That's fine, thank you."

"Not a problem. Do you want emergency services to support your people?"

My gut said yes, but I wouldn't be surprised if the troops were jumpy. Bringing in outsiders now… "I'm going to check with the officer on site. If we need the support I'll be calling emergency services next."

"That's clear, Hauptmann-Kommandant."

The call cut off and I looked in the direction of the officer's club. The command centre had no windows but the image of the club in flames was scorched into my eyes.

Just as I was about to pick up the comm, it rang. "Duty officer Morgen," I greeted whoever was calling.

"Sir, the Club.. it's down!"

"What? Who is this?"

"Jerry Anderson… sorry, Hauptmann Jerry Anderson, Charlie Company of Chiba's Cutthroats. We just got to the club to back up Kommandant Chiba. It's… it's gone, sir."

"Gone?" A chill crept down my spine. "Details, Hauptmann."

"Sir, the north half of the building's collapsed. The Kommandant and a platoon of Baker Company were inside trying to get survivors out. The southern end is -"

There wasspan style="mso-spacerun: yes;" /spana roar of sound that drowned out his words. In my minds eye I could see ferrocrete breaking, dust in the air…

"Sir," Anderson reported weakly. "The rest of the building just collapsed. We need help."

"Understood, Hauptmann. Help is on the way. Hold on."

I pressed the handset against my jacket and looked over for Parker. "Oberleutenant, call the Galaport emergency services. And have someone get some 'Mechs on the site."

Fire fighting wasn't something I'd send BattleMechs for, but the ten metre tall warmachines frequently had hands and even the smallest could lift a ton weight with relative ease. For clearing debris, they'd do.

"Alright, Anderson. You're on site until someone more senior gets there. I need you to stay clear and set up a command post." I wasn't sure these were the best orders but the two week 'officer course' I'd gone through at Outreach had stressed that any orders were better than none. "We'll need space for the medical trucks to park, far enough away that the wounded can't be caught up in any further fire or collapse. And space for emergency services to get in…"

Chapter 6

Galaport, Galatea

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

7 December 3062

I glared at the comm unit as it rang again. It hadn't been good news any time tonight so I didn't see why I should hold out hope this time.

Gathering my resolve I lifted the handset. "Duty Officer."

"Ma'am, this is is Kommandant Flynt at Cantonment Beta. You asked that Oberst Fleishman be detained when he returned?"

"If he returned," I clarified. "Has he?"

"The local police brought him in, rather the worse for wear."

I blinked. "He was attacked?"

"Only by a few bottles of liquor, sir. He was apparently brought in after he tried to chat up one of their mounted police… or possibly their horse. No charges, but his blood alcohol level is high enough they didn't want him trying to drive back here."

Under other circumstances that might have been amusing. After the last four… almost five hours, it really wasn't. "Lock him up somewhere he can sober up, Kommandant. Not his quarters, put a guard on them and on him. If he's able to answer questions, please try to find out where the hell he's been all night."

"I'll see what I can do, ma'am."

"Good. And don't let him give any orders. He's temporarily suspended from his position on grounds of being absent without leave."

I couldn't actually prosecute Fleishman for that legally – mercenary units aren't extra-territorial and we don't have the right of high, middle and low justice over our own members. But he'd have a choice of accepting unit discipline or of being fired with one hell of a black mark on his record.

I'd barely taken my hand off the handset when the comm unit rang again. I gave it a dirty look.

Once I was done with that call, Sheffield Parker was hovering near my desk. "Ma'am, we have two investigators outside from Galatea Public Safety. Should I send them in?"

"Probably for the best. How's the coffee holding up?"

He blinked. "We're well supplied."

"The General knew what was important, I guess. Can you have someone see if the investigators want any before you send them in and if they do have someone get them it. May as well be hospitable."

The pair who got admitted were a bit of a mutt and jeff pair – he was tall, dark and scruffy looking, she was short, trim and blonde. They looked around curiously as they were let in. "You're in charge?"

His companion jabbed an elbow below his ribs, for his tone I assume. "Carol O'Reilly, Office of the Public Safety Commissioner. This is my partner, Henry Sachsen."

"Hauptmann-Kommandant Caitlyn Morgen. I'm the duty officer." I gestured towards the seats facing my desk. Compared to their suits I felt slightly underdressed – I was wearing a tank-top and dungarees under my field jacket.

Sachsen slipped a notepad out of his inside jacket pocket. "Hauptmann-Kommandant?" he asked. "How does that work?"

"Surprisingly well." I paused and from the way he jerked, I thought O'Reilly had kicked his ankle. "It's one rank up from Kommandant in the traditional Lyran rank structure. Senior battalion commander or, at least in Hell On Wheels, second-in-command of a support department."

"I don't want to be rude," O'Reilly assured me – warning she was about to be anyway, "But as I understand it, this is a multi-regiment command. Is there anyone more senior we should be speaking to? No offense."

"Unfortunately almost all our senior officers were in the officer's club. Believe me, I'd be happy to hand this off to someone if I could. You're perfectly welcome to talk to Oberst Fleishman or Hauptmann-Kommandant Spencer, but he's in the brig and she's in critical condition so I can't vouch for the replies."

"You have a brigade commander in the brig?" O'Reilly's surprise suggested she'd not had the police report on that incident yet. Since Galaport Police Department was subordinate to Public Safety, I imagined she would have access. "May I ask why?"

"For his own safety, he was apparently trying to seduce a police horse when the rider detained him."

"Could I have their full names and positions?" asked Sachsen politely.

"Paget Flashman and Diana Spencer. He's with the 67th Armored Brigade and she's commander of the 66th Brigade's hover cavalry battalion."

He gave me a startled look as he noted that information down. "How many brigades?"

"Numbering isn't sequential. Some sort of historical reference the General was pleased by. It's possible we may find other officers alive," I added with a threadbare hopefulness. "My understanding is that the chances aren't getting better though."

"And there's reason to believe that this is a case of arson," O'Reilly informed me. "From the information your people provided to our firefighters, the initial blast and the way the fires spread isn't consistent with an accident. Is it normal to have that many officers together in one place?"

"We're still working out what normal is for a unit this large. In this case it was the General's birthday yesterday so he invited everyone just about everyone of field-grade rank. Kommandant and up," I clarified.

"But not you?" Sachsen asked curiously.

"I'm a workaholic, not an alcoholic. Parties like that aren't my thing."

"I guess it's promotions all round for people who didn't attend," he said, the implication clear.

"Since my immediate superior, who is also the nearest thing I have to a father, was just confirmed as dead…" My voice was icy and I reined it in. "If this was indeed arson then I am entirely in favour of finding out who was responsible."

"We have a forensic team on the way," O'Reilly told me, hastily changing the subject. "Are there any issues giving them access?"

"Send us their details and they'll be admitted. I don't -" The comm rang again. "- know what they'll be able to find after the rescue work that's been done but anything they do find will be good to know. Excuse me." I lifted the handset.

Once again, it wasn't good news.

I dropped the handset back in the cradle and looked at Sachsen. "You'll need to update your notes I suppose. Diana Spencer just passed away."

Chapter 7

Galaport, Galatea

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

7 December 3062

I'd have preferred to get some sleep before doing this, but the rumour mill was already working and word was spreading both inside the division and outside about how badly we'd been hurt.

There needed to be a public statement, both to acknowledge what had happened and to declare what we were going to do now. And before anyone could make that statement, there was a choice to make.

I'd substituted for Yang at a meeting of the senior staff before and it was the same room, but the changes to the faces were enough that I couldn't pretend that this was just another go around of the same.

There would be no talking this over with Yang after it was done. I'd have to settle for the voice in my head, Flora and maybe a few others. God. Best not to tell anyone about the first one on the list. That was all this needed.

By custom the senior staff met at a long table, five seats on either side with the General at the head and a spare seat at the bottom for guests. Custom didn't go that far back, but it seemed to have worked so far so why change it?

General von Lergen had represented our BattleMech regiment himself and the brigade commanders sat to his right while the chief of staff and four department heads were along the left hand side. For now I sat second from the bottom, the usual seat for technical, flanked by Operations and Logistics. The former was now represented by Maggie Robb and the latter by John Geary – I knew her fairly well and him not at all. Administration, on the far side of Maggie, was represented by Svetlana Lindskold, who I knew vaguely through Flora. She was one of the two surviving section heads for that department.

Kommandant Terrence Flynt sat immediately opposite me. He seemed sharp and I thought he realised where this was going. Besides Flynt and four other battalion commanders, Matthew Trackhart had ridden in from the port with Geary.

The door opened again to admit a woman about my age who looked as weary as I was. Annette Zibler looked around for a place to sit and I gestured up towards the head of the table. "Sit this side please, Hauptmann. Chief of Staff's seat normally but unfortunately…"

The mechwarrior gave me a thoughtful look and then took the seat.

"That's everyone we're expecting," I announced. "For those who I haven't come across before or who have a poor memory for faces, I'm Hauptmann-Kommandant Morgen, I was duty officer last night. On a more permanent basis I'm head of vehicle repair and Oberstleutenant Virtanen's deputy for the technical department, at least until last night."

"I think we've all heard the rumours," Maggie said quietly. "But those aren't always reliable. Now tell us how bad it is, Cat."

"I haven't had time for a powerpoint presentation so feel free to take notes." I looked around the room. "Starting with the 82nd Armored Reconnaissance Regiment -" Our BattleMech force. "- General von Lergen and all three battalion commanders' bodies have been found. That makes you the senior mechwarrior, Hauptmann Zibler."

She leant forwards, hands together on the table as if in prayer. Not an unreasonable response. "I understand," Zibler didn't meet anyone's eyes as she spoke.

"Similarly, Hauptmann Trackhart, we're now short by five wing commanders. As the senior squadron leader, that makes you the new commander of the aerospace group." The six aerowings weren't officially organised into a single unit, one was attached to each brigade and the last to the 82nd ARR, but in practise aerospace operations were sufficiently specialised that someone had to speak for them at a staff level occasionally and take command during landing operations and the like.

"Could I ask about my brother?"

I froze a second. Caught myself. "I'm sorry, I thought word had been sent…" Damn, had I forgotten. "You're Andy Trackhart's brother?"

He nodded, eyes searching my face.

I shook my head slightly. "He's dead, Hauptmann." Flung out of the building by the original blast and broke his back against some railings, but there was no need to go into graphic detail for him.

Trackhart's face paled. He looked away and clutched at the armrests of his chair.

"Every brigade commander but one is dead," I grated out. Paused, tried to get the harshness out of the words. "Every regimental commander and department chief is dead." Twenty-three good men and women. "More than half of our battalion commanders are dead or in the cantonment hospital right now. To all practical purposes, we are the command staff of Hell On Wheels – and except for Captain Geary, who's representing Logistics until Kommandant Suggs returns, that may be permanent."

"If I can ask the obvious." Russell Cooper was placed lowest on the brigade side of the table, representing 68th Armored Brigade. "The remaining brigade commander would be senior, why aren't they here?"

Flynt, seated next to the ginger-haired tanker, cleared his throat. "That would be Oberst Fleishman, Rusty," he explained. "And there are… issues."

"What sort of issues?" asked Hugo Sorlie. Seated opposite Annette Zibler, he had just inherited the 41st Armored Brigade and he was one of the old guard.

"Last night he was posted as duty officer for Cantonment Beta," I reported grimly. "However, the Oberst was absent without leave. Galaport Police brought him back in the small hours, drunk as a lord. He'd apparently been making a horse's ass of himself in the bars and streets of the city."

"Jesus."

"Not exactly."

Svetlana opened one of the folders in front of her. "I've pulled his personal file to see if I can find any reason or justification. These are copies of a page I felt we should all see." She broke the small stack in two and passed half to Annette and half to Maggie. Each woman took one and passed the rest on until we all had one.

"As you can see," Svetlana continued, "General von Lergen has counselled the Oberst repeatedly over poor performance of his duties, drinking prior to coming on duty and unauthorised absences. Not behaviours, I have to say, that appear earlier on his career running a tank company or battalion, but since the start of this year."

"Some sort of family issue?" asked Sorlie curiously, reading the document. I could almost see the moment he reached the note at the bottom:

'It appears,' the General had noted, 'that Harry wasn't prepared for brigade command. If there are any further issues, he may have to be busted back down to regiment or even battalion command, outside of the 67th for obvious reasons.'

"Harry?" asked Geary curiously. "Isn't his name Paget?"

"A nickname. He and General von Lergen went back years. Whether or not the Oberst was given more opportunity to amend his conduct as a result I couldn't say." Svetlana folded her hands in front of her. "Speaking strictly as the head of personnel, I can't recommend giving Fleishman command of the division. We'd be doing neither he nor the troops any favours."

"Can we do that?"

"In a combat situtation, no. Promotion there is purely by seniority, although it has to be ratified after the fact." Svetlana pursed her lips. "Hell On Wheels is organised as a corporation and General von Lergen appointed that corporation as his heir, rather than his family. Senior staff – ourselves now – are the officers of the corporation and a new unit commander requires a simple majority among the other ten senior officers. Removing a general requires three quarters – eight votes to dismiss."

I leant forwards. "I suggest we call the Oberst in, he's had a few hours to get through his hangover. Let him make his case and if we then want to put him in then he can take his seat. If not… I think we'd have to dismiss him entirely. Asking him to serve under an existing brigade or regiment commander could work but right now we'd be asking him to serve under someone who was a battalion commander yesterday."

"I agree with that, it would be awkward as hell to keep him around in the 67th." Flynt looked from side to side at his comrades. "What do you think?"

"Let's speak to him first," Sorlie said after a moment's thought with none of the other brigade commanders speaking up.

I gave Flynt the nod and he pulled out his comm to give instructions.

No one seemed inclined to speak further and the minutes it took for Fleishman to arrive dragged on and on. I read the section of his personnel file over and over, trying to find a reason for his behaviour but nothing jumped out at me. Beside me, Maggie folded her copy into an origami bird of some kind.

As was his nature, Fleishman made an entrance. He was a big man, with the muscles of someone who worked hard to maintain them and a formidable mustache that probably required almost as much care and attention. His eyes went first to the end of the room and he was halfway into a salute before he saw the general's chair was empty.

Turning the gesture into brushing his hair back, he looked around the table, apparently bemused. "I'm sorry, are we waiting for James?" The apology was undermined by his next words. "I'll have my chair, Terrence. I can do my job."

Flynt glanced at me and didn't rise.

"Possibly you can, Oberst." My voice wasn't raised, but it had the note that I used when I needed to cut across the noise of a working vehicle bay. "But last night you did not."

"All respect, Cat, but I answer to the General, not to you."

"General von Lergen was killed last night. As you would have been aware if you had been at your post."

He froze, halfway to Flynt. "James is dead?"

I nodded. "Along with more than a hundred officers. You consider us a tribunal, if you wish. Where were you, please?"

"I'd stepped out to speak to some prospective recruits," Fleishman explained. "It ran a bit longer than I expected."

"Did you call in once it was clear that you wouldn't be back on time?"

"I… uh, no I'd rather lost track. You know how it is."

"Losing track of time? Or of how many drinks you'd had?" Trackhart's voice was bitter.

"Look, flyboy, running a brigade with thousands of people is a little more complicated than keeping five other pilots in line."

"So you were absent without leave. Your deputy as duty officer, Hauptmann McCoy, was unaware of your location. Since you outranked the duty officer at Cantonment Alpha, you were arguably in command of the entire division for the night… and you went drinking." I steepled my fingers. "Kommandant Lindskold?"

Svetlana nodded. "I'm uncertain if General von Lergen advised you of this, but he annotated your file to say that he would demote you if you continued to underperform. I feel that this qualifies. Speaking for the Administration department, I call for a vote of confidence in the Oberst. A vote of aye is to retain him in rank and senority, a vote of nay to demote or dismiss. I say nay."

"Nay." Flynt nailed his colours to the mast – out of all of us he had been Fleishman's subordinate.

"Damn you all, I demand to speak to the new commander. None of you are more than Kommandants!"

I fingered the two broad bands on my shoulder boards that marked me as a Hauptmann-Kommandant and said nothing.

Maggie voted nay, as did Trackhart. Irma Hooker looked at me across the table. "Cat?"

"Conflict of interest. I abstain."

She looked at my shoulders and nodded in understanding. "Nay."

One after the others, the other three brigade commanders voted against Fleishman. Then John Geary and Annette Zibler made it unanimous.

"You can't do this to me!" Fleishman stood at the corner between Trackhart and Cooper, resting his fists on the table. "Who is in charge here?"

I pushed my seat back. "I'm the senior officer."

"Yang too?" Giving him credit, that obviously struck a note with him and Fleishman straightened up, "But this is too much. I've the right to face my peers and none of you are senior officers. There are Obersts and Oberstleutanants -"

"Not any more."

He stared at me. "What are you talking about?"

"In your absence I am the senior surviving officer of Hell On Wheels." I deliberately turned away to look at the brigade commanders. "Obviously we have regiment and battalion slots to fill. Do any of you wish to offer this officer a place?"

Sorlie didn't meet my eyes or Fleishman's, "No thank you." Beside him, Clive Landon shook his head – other than a one word vote the new commander of the 50th Armored Brigade had yet to say a word.

Hooker looked turned to look at Flynt and Cooper. "I don't. You two?" They both demurred.

"Paget Fleishman, I must inform you that you are dismissed from your position as commander of the 67th Armoured Brigade and we are not prepared to offer you any other position within the unit. You have twenty-four hours to collect your personal effects. Please provide administration with your forwarding details so we can send you any outstanding pay and so we can provide them to Galaport authorities in case they need to speak with you regarding their investigation."

Other than the last few words it was basically what I'd said on the thankfully rare occasions I'd had to discharge one of my techs.

"You…" he spluttered. "This is a coup! You're trying to muscle me out so you can take over. Who do you think you are, Katherine Steiner-Davion? I ain't going!"

"I'm confident I can find enough people to carry you physically out of the cantonment," Flynt warned him firmly. "Just from my battalion alone. You're done, sir. Time to face up to that."

I don't know what support Fleishman thought he'd find looking around the room – everyone but myself had voted to dismiss him after all – but he didn't get it. The bluster fell away and his final words before he turned for the door were sharp and clear of purpose. "You haven't heard the last of me, Morgen."

The door slammed behind him, ensuring that he had the final words. I hoped that he was wrong, but I wasn't going to lose sleep over it.

"So you're in charge now?" asked Cooper, looking at me.

"That's up to you."

"No offense to anyone in the support departments, but I'm not sure a technician taking charge would be the best choice," Sorlie observed. "Ops I could see – you're in intelligence, right?" he asked Maggie.

"No." She turned the paper bird she was holding over in her hands. "I graduated Bolan Academy in '58 as a catering officer. The only reason I'm in charge of feeding everyone right now is that Kommandant Qwan's wife issued an ultimatum and he chose her over his position."

"I don't recall any complaints about the job you're doing," I pointed out. "And at least you graduated from an academy."

"Vehicle repair means that Cat has her finger on the division status as well as anyone does," pointed out Hooker. "And she's done a hell of a job."

"Well sure, but what about combat?"

"Battlefield recovery is a thing," I told Sorlie. "I won't pretend that I relish it, but I have seen action." Arguably I'd held a gun before I'd ever held a hydrowrench. Yang had armed me when we made our escape from Capellan space – although I'd fortunately not had to use it then.

Annette Zibler leant forwards. Other than Matthew Trackhart she was the junior officer present but unlike most of us she was from a long-standing military family. The Ziblers were nigh-legendary in producing Marshals for the Federated Suns and later the Federated Commonwealth. Her family connections probably eclipsed some noble houses. "Hauptmann-Kommandant Morgen seems to have done well so far. Why change horses mid-race?"

"Show of hands, please." Svetlana raised her own. "Who supports Caitlyn Morgen as our new General?"

Five more hands were raised and then a more hesitant seventh. Only Sorlie, Cooper and Geary refrained – although that might be more of abstaining rather than opposing the motion.

Svetlana lowered her hand and pointed to the empty seat at the head of the table. "Take your seat, please, General Morgen."

Chapter 8

Galaport, Galatea

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

8 December 3062

I was writing letters when Flora entered our quarters with a bang.

General von Lergen's personal effects would need to be cleared from his office and quarters before I could use them, but work went on. I'd addressed the unit – twice, once on the parade ground of each cantonment – with those not able to attend listening on the radio and now, with my new subordinates getting to grips with their jobs I was left to write letters to the families of the dead.

Somewhere between the two I'd snatched a few hours sleep. Hopefully by the time the sun set I'd be ready for more. I didn't think I'd have too many chances in the near future.

The door slamming open caught me by surprise and I stopped typing, looking to my roommate who stood panting in the doorway. "What's the crisis?"

"Trivid," she said, then took a deep breath. "You…"

"I haven't cancelled movie night, if that's what you mean."

Flora sneered at me and closed the door behind me. "Your dream is coming true," she said.

"The excitement of writing letters to the dead. At last, all my ambitions are fulfilled."

"Stop joking. Prince Arthur is dead, just like you said he would be."

"Oh. Crap." That knocked the snark out of me. I'd allowed myself to forget that larger events were still unfolding. "When? How?" Robinson. Terrorist bombing.

She outlined that fact, Arthur had been making a speech at a sports stadium on the capital world of the Draconis March, one of the most politically and militarily sensitive parts of his parents' sprawling empire. His first few words had spoken of the importance of freedom of expression – tacitly if not directly criticising his elder sister for the restrictions she'd placed on freedom of speech.

And then bombs had torn the young prince and his audience apart.

It was a stunning emotional blow to both sides of the realm, less than eight years since a smaller but equally public bomb had killed the much loved Archon Melissa Steiner-Davion, mother to Arthur and to four other siblings.

"And Prince Victor's on the trivid now, on the news." Flora's face was pale. "He says. He says…"

"He blames Katherine. He's coming back and he's declared war."

"You knew!"

"It doesn't take a psychic to predict it. Prince Victor's much like his cousin Caesar – a consummate soldier but with little to no interest in politics. But strike at his family and that'll get a reaction. That'll bring him back the way that taking a throne he didn't really want never would."

Victor had been busy in exile. ComStar, the neutral organisation that dominated interstellar communication through their vast network of HyperPulse Generators, had maintained a small, secret army since the fall of the Star League. Under their previous leader that had become far larger and less secret, small garrisons defending each of their planetary compounds. And when two thousand such garrisons were assembled in one place you had the army that had halted the Clan Invasion at Tukkayid, just over a decade ago.

Their commander, Anastasius Focht, had been hailed as the saviour of the Inner Sphere and when events finally brought the Inner Sphere back together in the Second Star League to strike back at the Clans, he'd been the natural choice to command the new Star League Defense Force. Victor had been his primary field commander, leading regiments that had destroyed Clan Smoke Jaguar both on their distant homeworld and in their occupation zone bordering the Draconis Combine.

The choice to destroy the Smoke Jaguars rather than one of the Clans occupying Lyran worlds had been made by the Star League Council for several reasons. Katherine Steiner-Davion had voted for the Jaguars herself, which didn't stop her from painting her brother's absence to win back worlds for their traditional enemy in the worst light. Even so, Victor had won lustre mirroring that of his mentor and the aged Focht had appointed him as his successor – for the last year Victor had led both the Star League Defense Forces and the ComGuards.

"What's he wearing?" I asked.

"Why do you ask?" Flora gave me an odd look. "You've never worried about your own wardrobe, now you care about his?"

That was a slight exaggeration, I thought. I do have nice clothes. Well, a couple of outfits. "Politics, I doubt he'd be wearing a suit, but what uniform he chooses."

"The old Federated Suns uniform – he wears it well. That dark green with the golden sunburst…"

"Dammit."

"Is that bad?"

That hadn't been issued since the 3040s. "It plays into Katherine's portrayal of him as a 'Davion warlord'. Worse, it's endorsing separatism between the two halves of the Federated Commonwealth. She played each half against the other, now it seems even Victor doesn't think the union can be saved."

"Where did all this political analysis come from?" asked Flora, bemused. "I didn't think you cared much for it yourself?"

"As a technician I had that luxury. Not so much as a general."

"Did your dream tell you who'll win the war? We want to be on the winning side, right?"

"Civil Wars don't have winners, Flora. They have survivors. It took almost five years for the war to end, some planets like Kathil were fought over from beginning to end. In the end Katherine was sent into exile and Victor returned to his. The other Steiner-Davions each took half of what remained – Peter here in the Lyran Alliance and Yvonne in the Federated Suns – but they were shattered realms. The death toll was hideous. Orbital bombardments, nuclear weapons…"

"That's illegal!"

"So?"

"Please be wrong about all this."

"I'll do my best," I said drily. "And there were at least three other wars besides brother versus sister. The Sandovals don't blame Katherine for Arthur's death, they link it to the current border incidents, so they launch a private war against the Draconis Combine. Clan Jade Falcon see a weakened Lyran Alliance and cross the border again. And Skye rises in rebellion."

That last would probably suck us in if we were still in the area, Galatea lay within the fractious province. But that was two or three years from now. Not an immediate concern.

The two halves of the realm formed something of an hourglass shape on star charts – one tilted to the left in standard orientation. The upper half, the Lyran Alliance, and the lower, the Federated Suns, had been linked by a corridor of worlds around Terra carved out through war. Much of the Federated Suns side of that corridor was now a maelstrom of petty states that had broken away during Victor's brief reign, severing the direct connection, and Skye formed the Lyran end of the corridor. If they gained their independence then the Federated Commonwealth would be divided beyond all redemption.

Not that that mattered to Free Skye and their leaders were more than happy to ignore the obvious consequence that they'd be caught between their hated enemies in the Free Worlds League and Draconis Combine without the powerful Federated Commonwealth's armed forces to protect them. After all, for Robert Kelswa-Steiner, breaking away Skye was only a stepping stone towards the Archon's throne on Tharkad. It had worked on a larger scale for Katherine, why not for him?

"So who do you want us to fight for?" Flora asked me. "Victor wins, so isn't his side best."

"I don't think there are any really good choices. I'd sleep on it, but I really don't know I have the time between now and the funerals,"

Because that, of course, was another thing I had to deal with. So much for the day off I'd promised to take.

Flora nodded. "How many more letters do you need to write?"

"About…" I checked the list. "Fifty. It's just personalising a template."

"Cat, you're insane." She moved over to the desk and pushed my chair away. "Half these people you didn't even know. Go to bed and I'll finish these for you."

"You have enough on your plate as it is."

"Pff. If I need to I'll give legal to my deputy and step up. You do remember that the General had a chief of staff, right?"

I looked at her and then stretched. "Okay, I accept your offer."

"Great." She replaced me at the chair. "Eight hours sleep, Cat. You'll need it."

"Sure. Just get yourself an Oberst's shoulderboards by that time,"

"What?"

"Chief of Staff is an Oberst, my newly appointed Chief of Staff. Write that up for me to sign, okay?" I unbuckled my pants, kicked them off and climbed into my bunk, leaving Flora to realise she'd violated the first rule of any military organisation: never volunteer for anything.

Chapter 9

Galaport, Galatea

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

9 December 3062

Five minutes before their appointment to meet me, Sachsen called to say he and O'Reilly were caught in traffic and would be late.

I wasn't surprised about the traffic. A single battalion of armoured vehicles took up about half a kilometre of road when they were on the move and I'd ordered all of the division's artillery moved to our dropships this morning. Out of consideration for traffic we were avoiding rush hour traffic, but it was still a pain.

So unexpectedly I had a gap in my schedule and no work to fill it. So I could read a book at last, satiating the urge that had come to me along with the memories of that other look. I even had one – not a technical volume or anything practical, just a cheap novel that Flora had loaned me. Some sort of luridly covered piece of escapism with a creased cover and spine suggesting it had been read repeatedly.

As the clock ticked to the original time of the appointment I realised two things: judging by the equine aliens that the lost company of mercenaries had stumbled across, my room-mate was a brony.

And I really, really wanted to know where this was going.

"Your guests are here."

I jerked my attention away from the book and saw Flora smirking at me from the doorway. "Enjoying the book?" she asked slyly.

"It's rather good." I wasn't going to give her an ashamed reaction. "Thank you for lending it to me." Looking around for a bookmark I found a playing card someone was missing from their solitaire deck. The 'Mech of Marik. Oh well, if anyone asked at least I'd know where it is.

O'Reilly snorted as she walked in and saw me putting the book down. "You read that sort of thing? I thought the market was entirely made up of idiot man-children."

"I liked it," protested Sachsen and then winced.

"Would you like Flora to close the door so you can walk into that as well?" I offered him. "Actually, Ms. O'Reilly I find it quite entertaining and, dare I say, thought provoking. Which is rather the point of literature. But this isn't a book club, so I assume you're here about the investigation."

She nodded and took one of the guest chairs without asking, Sachsen folding himself with noticeably more difficulty into the other one. "Thank you for being so co-operative in giving us access to the site and –"

The sound of a helicopter overhead cut her off for a moment and I shrugged apologetically, "We're on the flight path."

"Flight path from where to where?" mused Sachsen.

"From our helipad to the dropport." It wasn't exactly as secret. "It's easier than going through the traffic."

He laughed sympathetically. "As we found out today, yes."

"What are they carrying?" O'Reilly tried to make the question sound innocent and didn't quite pull it off.

"Munitions, I believe?" I looked over at Flora. "Artillery shells, isn't it?"

"Yes, twelve tons of artillery ammunition per load."

"Twelve tons?" Sachsen frowned and shook his head. "That sounded like a Karnov – I heard them often enough when I was with the militia. But they only have a six or seven ton payload depending on the model."

"There's a lot of slack in the safety margins, particularly if you fuel them with liquid hydrogen." A technician would have picked up that that would mean a complete replacement of the Karnov's rather heavy engine with a significantly lighter unit, increasing the payload proportionately; but it seemed neither of the investigators was that familiar with the technology.

"Twelve tons of munitions and a fuel tank of hydrogen? In the air over Galaport?"

"It's not as if ammunition trucks are at all unusual with all the mercs here," I pointed out to the wide-eyed Sachsen. "And the way some people drive, flying is surely safer. Shall we get down to business?"

"Uhm, yes." O'Reilly seemed similarly off-balance. "The lab has found significant residue of C-34 in the debris from your officer's club. Barring some very odd storage habits on your part, we can dismiss an accident from consideration."

"I'm fairly sure our munitions officer wouldn't have attended a party if he was storing plastic explosives in the building," I replied. "We do have demo charges but they should be in the designated storage – and crowded as we are, no one wants to be bunked down next to that building."

Flora nodded and opened a data pad. "We're running an inventory check as part of the hand-over to the new section heads and munitions haven't reported anything as missing."

"We've traced the exact mix to Toloy Industries of Alkaid, who produce C-34 for the LAAF." The Lyran Alliance Armed Forces. Sachsen rubbed his chin. "Identifying which batch isn't easy given how much gets issued for a Great House's military needs but the labs say it's 95% certain that this shipment was produced nine years ago and sent to an AFFC depot on Corey."

Both investigators glanced involuntarily over at Florimel Corey who smiled slightly and shook her head. "Just because the planet shares a name with my family doesn't mean I've ever been there."

"It's one of the worlds House Liao took back off the Federated Commonwealth in 3057, isn't it?" I was pretty sure I remembered that correctly but there were at least two thousand worlds in the Inner Sphere.

O'Reilly nodded. "Nine years is a long time. It could have been issued to a house unit or a contracted mercenary. Or it's possible this was still in storage when the Capellan Armed Forces took Corey. Does your unit have any history with the Capellans?"

I felt a shiver go down my spine. "I have personal history but I don't recall that Hell On Wheels has ever served with or against the Capellans even before I joined."

The two investigators exchanged looks. "So much for that theory. Our LIC liaison officer suggested the Maskirovka might be using captured AFFC C-34 for revenge attacks since it would be relatively anonymous, but it doesn't sound as if there would be a motive."

"Interesting that you mention LIC."

T|he Maskirovka were the Capellan intelligence service, counterpart to the Lyran Intelligence Corps, and while no nation's intelligence services had lily-white hands in the murky business of espionage, out of the five major states those two agencies were particularly known for brutal efficiency even – sometimes especially – against their own populations.

"We're not talking Loki or Lohengrin," O'Reilly assured me, referencing the two most infamous sections of the LIC. "Given the use of military hardware, we needed to reply on their expertise."

"I'm not criticising your department's practises," I assured her. "But if we're looking just at motives, we've been recruiting heavily from ex-AFFC and LAAF soldiers who… how should I put this delicately?"

"Who don't fit in with the Archon's leadership," Flora suggested deftly.

"Yes, that covers it." I looked at our guests. "It would be naïve to think we're not at least on a watchlist."

"That's… an interesting take," said O'Reilly cautiously. "Most mercenary units try to maintain a neutral position towards future employers. Even the really large units are vastly outnumbered if it comes to a clash, there are some famous examples of how that can go badly."

"I'm not suggesting there's any evidence linking the explosion to the Lyran Alliance, any more than there is to the Capellan Confederation." I smiled slightly. "Of course, there's a difference between a merc falling out with a stable government that can afford to redeploy forces to deal with them and the same happening when that government found itself embroiled in a civil war. Assuming there was a problem in the first place, someone might have thought they could handle it on the cheap."

"Just speculating, Cat?" asked Flora thoughtfully.

"It's entirely hypothetical," I agreed. "Far too easy to get involved in such theories. Really, if we're going to find out it's going to rely on investigation of the known facts. At least we know now that it was a deliberate attack. Knowing we have an enemy somewhere is better than being ignorant of that fact."

Chapter 10

Galaport, Galatea

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

10 December 3062

"We can get a job here as easily as we can on Outreach," Kerr Stirling complained. "And packing everything up is screwing up the upgrade schedules."

I was grateful he'd kept his complaint until we were in the privacy of his jeep, partly because it wasn't a good idea for senior officers to disagree in public and partly because Galatea, for once, had decided to rain on Galaport.

The spaceport had been built near the equator near a river mouth. This made it convenient both for shipping goods to it by water and for dropships lifting off, but the area around it wasn't exactly hospitable. For two thirds of the local year, the river dried up to the point it was unnavigable above the city, leaving the city a dry dusty mess, and for the rest of the year rain here and upriver led to frequent flooding and turned all the dust to mud. The floods swept the area clean of debris left by merc units practicing manoeuveres outside the city but the only reason they didn't remove the city too was that the Star League engineers who built it had created a sort of artificial plateau. Why they hadn't sited Galaport on a more hospitable part of the coast escaped me. Possibly just to show they could.

It was several weeks before the rainy season but climatology wasn't an exact science and rain was beating down on the port, making life miserable for our astechs as they splashed around carrying tools and spare parts to the waiting trucks. A heavy APC skimmed past on a cushion of air, likely loaded with infantry or dependents, causing curses by the people they passed as it kicked up a spray of mud.

"Both parts of what you say are true," I admitted. "But the problem with picking up a contract here is that there's every chance someone else here will be taking a contract from the other side. Galatea is normally neutral ground but a civil war could change that."

"You don't think someone would risk their MRBC rating by getting into a fight here?" Kerr asked skeptically.

"If they're following their employer's orders it probably wouldn't impact the rating," I pointed out. "If, say Wolverton's Highlanders, take a contract from Katherine and we take one from Victor then what do we do if Victor's first orders are to eliminate units his sister hires? Or vice versa?"

My companion grunted in understanding. "City fight, right here and now."

"Not exactly my idea of a good time and not what we're equipped for," I confirmed. Hell On Wheels armored units and hover-transported infantry favoured open field operations with room for sweeping manoeuvres. We only had a single storm battalion of tanks suited for the 'in your face' tactics required in a streetfight.

"Could still happen on Outreach."

"In theory, yes," I agreed. "In practice I suspect the Wolf Dragoons would make an example of anyone who tried that and neither Victor nor Katherine wants them to pick a side that might not be them."

The Inner Sphere's other major hub for hiring mercenaries had a much shorter history in the role than Galatea, but it had the prestige of Wolf Dragoons to back it up. The five elite regiments of the Dragoons had an incredibly high reputation both for battlefield excellence and for being touchy about their honour. Anyone making trouble on their home world would find themselves taking a beating both on the battlefield and legally, with the MRBC rating getting tanked for violating local neutrality. And that assumed the Dragoons didn't decided to make a point by calling in their squadron of warships and just deleting the offender from orbit.

Warships – in the sense of armed jumpships with in-system drives – had been believed extinct since the Second Succession War almost two hundred years ago. The return of the Clans with their own fleets had changed that but even the Great Houses had only been able to build relatively small numbers of the behemoths so far. The only mercenaries who could boast such vessels were the Blue Star Irregulars, who had captured one from the Clans, and the Dragoons, who had obtained their six from the same place as thei Clans.

If I ever suggested Hell On Wheels try taking on the Wolf Dragoons, I was fairly sure the rest of the senior staff would tie me up and have medical sedate me. Just about every other mercenary outfit probably felt the same way.

"I suppose you're right. And at least there we can get more supplies," Kerr agreed reluctantly. "I still want to see if I can get techs onto the dropships carrying the 502nd and 503rd regiments to get their upgrades underway while we travel."

"I'm fine with that." Getting another two tank regiments upteched would be great, but if we had vehicles out of service when we arrived I'd rather they weren't drawn from the 41st and 66th Armoured Brigades – I wanted our best troops ready to fight.

My comm pinged before we could get any further and I dug it out of my pocket. "Cat Morgen speaking."

"Cat, are you still with Kerr at the workshops?" asked Flora abruptly.

"Yep."

"Great, I have a driver on the way with a jeep, we need you back at HQ."

"Okay, why?"

Flora sounded impatient. "Because we have a LAAF recruiter here. I can't stall him forever."

"Ah. Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"And try to look respectable, for Blake's sake."

I looked at the rain outside. And the mud. "That'll be a challenge." But Flora had already ended the call.

"She works for you, right? Not the other way around?"

"That's how I understand it," I confirmed to Kerr. "That must be the jeep she sent."

Outwardly identical to Kerr's, the jeep came to a halt facing the other way from his, passenger door facing that of the jeep I was in. Smart thinking by the driver, I had to admit.

"See you later, Cat." Kerr turned off the engine, which had been running just enough to keep the cab's heater going and prepared to sally out into the mud himself.

"One would hope," I said as I exited.

I was wearing my tech vest, since it was waterproof (also supposedly proof against fire, electric shocks and some acids, none of which I wanted to test) but it didn't managed to keep lukewarm water from finding my collar and down my neck. My boots squelched as I took the two steps to the other jeep and found the door already opening, the driver leaning across to open it for me.

I scrambled in, closed the door and then took him in. I doubted he was old enough to shave, still in the gawky stage of adolescence when he hadn't filled out the promise of long legs and arms. "I gather you're to rush me back to HQ?"

"Yes, ma'am." He put the jeep into drive. Something about the way he moved reminded me of something I'd seen before and I grabbed the door handle as we jerked into motion.

"Blake's blood, who taught you to drive?" I demanded. "Andy Trackhart?" I'd made the mistake of letting the aerotech drive me between cantonments once and sworn: never again. It would be an easy promise to keep now that he was dead, but.

"Yes, ma'am." The engine over-revved as we reached a corner and he jerked the manual gearbox. "He's… he was my father."

"Oh." I felt abashed, remembering suddenly that Andy had been a divorcee with sole custody of his son. It said something about the boy's mother that courts had awarded custody to a mercenary over a civilian. Then again, he was a technician and most outsiders didn't realize how fraught that could be as a career. "Try not to change gears on corners, please."

"Dad said that was the best place since you have to cut the gas anyway."

"Your dad fixed fighters, I handled vehicles. Trust me." I might be keeping the kid alive with the advice. I figure I owed his father that much, at least.

"Yes, ma'm," he said obediently as he skidded the jeep around another corner, working the gearstick again as the tyres skidded sideways in the mud.

Fortunately for my nerves it wasn't far to headquarters and Scott brought the jeep up to a halt that splattered reddish mud across the LAAF staff car already parked outside.

I climbed out with a nod to Scott that hopefully seemed grateful and made for the door, getting inside right before a mixed company of heavy tanks rolled past, tracks biting into the mud, turret guns secured with wires.

Inside, Flora was waiting with a tall photogenic looking man in a LAAF officer's light blue and white uniform. "Ah, here she is." She gave my vest a ruefulspan style="mso-spacerun: yes;" /spanlook as I scraped the worst of the mud off my boots. "General Morgen, may I introduce Colonel Thomas Hogarth."

I recognized the name immediately. The infamous Thomas Hogarth – Hero of the Lyran Alliance during the Jihad, entirely as a result of his luck, family connections and self-promotion rather than any competence on his part. None of that had happened yet of course. No, wait, he'd had a similar moment in the War of 3039 too, hadn't he?

"Ah, general." He offered his hand warmly. "A pleasure to meet you at last."

"And you. Shall we take this into my office?"

"By all means." He followed me into the office and sat without waiting for an invitation. "As you'll have heard, there have been some isolated incidents of civil unrest so the Archon is looking to hire some mercenaries to assist in suppressing them."

"I see. Counter-insurgency work?" In other words, send mercenaries to do the dirty work of crushing dissidents and let them take the blame for any civilian casualties.

"You get the idea," Hogarth confirmed, extending a data chip.

"Let me have a quick look at the details then," I asked, taking the chip and loading it into the terminal.

I wasn't hugely familiar with contracts, it wasn't a side of the mercenary business I'd previously had to learn. However, my other self had seen examples in game books and knew what I should look for.

"There seems to be some sort of error here," I observed. "This specifies a mixed brigade to garrison Nanking, but we field rather more than three regiments."

"Mmm, yes. But only one regiment of 'Mechs though. And given your unit's debts I imagine you'll need to dispose of the excess auxiliary forces to keep the real soldiers in service."

"Real soldiers?" asked Flora.

Hogarth shot her what he probably considered a charming look. "There are obviously places for infantry and armour in combat, but it's BattleMechs that decide battles, Oberst Corey."

"Mmm." I hoped Flora got the message not to take that any further. "And LAAF would provide liaison officers down to the battalion level with command authority."

"That's correct, yes. Given your recent casualties it seemed that we should provide greater support than we usually would."

Said support would effectively make each battalion directly subject to LAAF with myself and the other regiment and brigade commanders cut out. Which fit his excuse, I suppose, since none of us had experience at that level. That didn't make it acceptable though.

"It's an interesting offer, Colonel, but I can't accept at this time," I told him, popping the datachip out and passing it back to him. "Hell On Wheels is relocating to Outreach and we'll see what's on offer there before deciding on our next employer."

He blinked at me. "I was under the impression you lacked the dropship capacity for that."

"It'll be something of a tight fit," I conceded. And I'd have to split some battalions up to fit them into spare space on other battalion's transports. "But we have the jumpships and our excess collar capacity there means I've been able to contract to carry civilian dropships as far as Muphrid, which should mitigate our costs for the next month or so."

When mankind first went to the stars, jumpships had not only carried out interstellar jumps, they'd also made transit as far as orbit and unloaded their cargos through large shuttles from internal bays. Alater breakthrough had managed to cut the cost of jumpdrives drastically at the cost of requiring them to take un an uneconomic percentage of the ship's hull. Initially they'd been confined to courier work but then someone thought to store the cargo externally in large ships that could make their own way from jump-point to planet and back leaving the jumpship to recharge its drive at the point. That model of operations had proven so successful it had driven older jumpships out of service except in purely military roles.

"I can't be sure of offering such generous terms," Hogarth warned. "Other units may jump at this chance."

"Other units may, Colonel." I gave him a cold smile. "The Hell On Wheels Division, on the other hand, can afford to be selective in its employers."

"You seem to like living dangerously," he said – but cheerfully, not threateningly. "Tell me, do you pilot a scout 'Mech? I saw some Zeus in your hangars."

I blinked. The Zeus was an eighty-ton model, an assault design not a scout. "I'm not a mechwarrior, Colonel."

Hogarth blinked and then pulled back the hand he'd been extending. "I understand," he said in the tone of someone learning they were speaking to someone with a terminal and communicable disease. "Well, I've taken too much of your day. Bon voyage, Ms. Morgen."

Apparently, in his view I no longer qualified as a general. Flora shook her head slightly when Hogarth gave her a questioning look as she opened the door for him. "I'm a military lawyer," she admitted and he fled our presence with what little dignity remained to him.

Chapter 11

Orbit over Muphrid

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

22 January 3063

Muphrid was one of the old Terran Hegemony systems and had been controlled by the Lyrans since the collapse of the Star League almost three hundred years ago. (Some historians dated that collapse to the accession of Richard Cameron II which event had seen its tricentennial anniversary last year – no one had celebrated it except maybe the Church of Saint Cameron – but the actual fighting over the Hegemony's scraps had been around twenty years after that).

For most of the interceding centuries, the Lyran Commonwealth had been at war with the other four Successor States over the disposition of the First Lord's throne, both figuratively and , this hadn't eliminated border trade. All five states had long borders with two states and only tenuous access to the other two which made prosecuting the war – except with relatively minor raiding – logistically difficult. And since those more distant states were threats to nearer and more immediate foes, relations had reached at least lukewarm levels.

Muphrid wasn't one of those systems from which one could discreetly jump past Terra into the territory of the Federated Suns or Capellan Confederation. But it was pretty close, so large convoys of jumpships carrying entire fleets of freight dropships weren't unknown.

"General, we have a status change on the dropships ahead of us."

I sat-up sharply. I'd been waiting for that.

Right at the moment, the holotank displayed three groups of dropships in Muphrid's near-space. Two of them were under my control – the civilian transports we'd been hired to bring to Muphrid and our own civilian-type dropships were in high orbit and preparing to move in and land once the drop port was clear.

Our military transports – few as they were – remained with our jumpships and were well away from Muphrid itself. As far as the garrison – two battalions of the 15th Arcturan Guards regiment and the nationalized militia – were concerned, Hell On Wheels was entirely located on those dropships and all ships fromour convoy coming towards them were civilians. The standard mercenary profiles were updated from Outreach, not Galatea, so they likely wouldn't realize that we were far larger than the brigade we'd been listed as on the last major update.

That left one more group of dropships and they were ahead of us, already well into their descent onto the dropport. One Union and two Leopard class transports, all registered as merchant conversions of what were military designs originally. Not unusual really – Unions were incredibly common and the Buccaneers that carried a good chunk of our infantry and light armour had been designed originally to compete against the Union-class for a SLDF military contract.

"What are they doing?" I asked quietly.

"Changing course," John Geary told me equally calmly. "They're claiming some sort of engine malfunction. The sort of story that people spout in bad holodramas to justify landing somewhere they shouldn't."

"Not true then?"

"I very much doubt it, the dropship captain assured me, then tilted his head and cupped his headset for a moment. "The port isn't buying it either. They've ordered them to land on the port so emergency services can resolve the problem – but they're also launching fighters."

"That'll be Oberst Trackhart's issue to deal with," I noted. "Judging by the news we picked up on the way in, there's resistance to the Archon here and on Thorin, one jump away, there's an even more successful resistance being run by Archer Christifiori, late of the 10th Lyran Guards."

Prince Victor's own command before he took the throne, one that had followed him to the Clan Homeworlds and back.

"Have all our troops stand to," I ordered the communications officer. "I'm willing to bet that those dropships belong to Christifiori – he owns a transport company – and that he's trying something to support the local resistance."

"A Davionist attack on the 15th Arcturan Guards here?" asked Geary. "Why here when there's another battalion on Thorin."

"Maybe he's already won on Thorin." I said. "And not Davionist. Don't call them that – the Archon uses that term to stir up opposition to her brother. This has nothing to do with Davion versus Steiner or Suns versus Lyrans. Saying so just muddies the waters and confuses the key issue."

"Then who are we fighting for?" he asked me. "What does Prince Victor want?"

"He's fighting for the traditional rights, freedoms and liberties of all our people. Katherine's been abolishing them – suspending the Estates-General, giving preference to noble rulers over local elected governments." I opened the file I'd opened on Christifiori once his name began appearing in the news on worlds we passed on the way here. He wasn't unique in that respect – the information could be valuable in the right hands – but I knew that he was important, a key player in the developing war. "Christifiori declared his rebellion after his sister was gunned down by a soldier whose father is a Count. But it wasn't the murder that triggered his actions, it was that Katherine commuted the sentence of the court martial from thirty years imprisonment to time served."

"She pardoned him?"

"Nope. Just amended the sentence. Our darling Archon seems to feel it's not a crime worth punishing."

If it seems odd that we had time to discuss this, may I point out that it was important to see how the situation developed before I intervened. But now Christifiori's dropships were heading down, not for the space port but for a point I was sure was one of the main encampments of the 15th Arcturan Guards. And with aerospace fighters taking off from two locations, I now knew where the other one lay.

"Plot a landing aspect for there," I told Geary. "And have someone get Matthew Trackhart on the line."

Geary grinned. "He's been waiting online for you since we noticed those dropships misbehaving." He snapped his fingers and a crewman passed me a headset.

"Matthew, this is Cat Morgen."

"General. I understand we have a situation."

"An opportunity, in fact. But one that relies on you.. Can you secure our dropships with three wings?"

"Absolutely," he said confidently. "I take it you want the other two to take out the local aerospace cover?"

"One wing should suffice for that," I decided, based on my hopes rather than any aerospace expertise. I expected the Arcturan Guards to have two aerospace squadrons here and perhaps a command aerolance too. "I want the other wing to carry out a ground attack ahead of us landing troops. Captain Geary will send you the details, but I expect to find a full battalion on the ground. We need to stop them from focusing on us as the dropships land."

"That I can do," he promised. "I'll lead them myself."

I frowned. "If you think it's best. In that case who will command the three wings escorting us."

Matthew paused. "That's a good point, General. I should stay with the main force. I'll assign the other missions to our wing commanders then."

"I'll trust your judgement," I agreed, hoping I wasn't making a mistake that would get our pilots killed. Then again, I might be doing the right thing and still get pilots killed. Bloodless victories were damned rare things.

The holotable updated with a flicker and more icons burst from our formation, separating from Mule-class dropships that had been converted to launch our aerospace fighters. Each was marked in the blue of friendly, crossed with a second colour to indicate which brigade they were from. Learning more required looking closer at the labelling but I knew that the two peeling off must be those assigned to the ground attack and the interception mission.

The blue-blue icon dived into the atmosphere towards where I expected them to find the 3rd Battalion of the Arcturan Guards was the 50th Brigade's aerowing, callsign Periwinkle. That made sense to me, they were the largest of the six wings with five squadrons – twelve Stingrays and twelve Rievers which would be excellent for ground attack, escorted by six Sabres.

Mantis Wing – blue-green, the 41st Aerowing – dived towards the Christifiori dropships, God, that must look hostile – he only had two fighters of his own compared to their twenty-four. Hopefully they wouldn't enter weapons range because the forces from Thorin had no reason to trust us.

"Can you put me in touch with them?" I asked Geary, pointing.

"At our fighters or the dropships?"

"Dropships." I should have been more precise to begin with. Cutting across the chain of command would be bad too.

"Best way is simply to crash the channel they're using to talk to the surface." The captain turned to his comm officer who held-up three fingers, dropped one, two… as the third finger folded down I heard someone's voice through my headset.

"- Tuck. Friar Tuck. Friar Tuck."

It was a looped recording. Archer had presumably tapped into Robin Hood mythology for code-names. Fitting given some of the tricks he'd pulled this early in his campaign. "First Thorin Regiment, this is Hell On Wheels. Do you copy?"

"Friar Tuck. Friar Tuck. Friar -" Another voice replaced it. "This is Colonel Archer Christifiori, please identify yourself."

"This is Cat Morgen," I paused in recollection. "General Morgen of Hell On Wheels mercenary division. We seem to have double-booked today with you to remove the Archon's garrison here."

On the screen I was relieved to see Mantis change course. The holotable flickered again and displayed what they had picked up, twelve aerospace fighters that had been clawing their way up from the surface but were now aborting and trying to escape. The twenty-four fighters of the 41st Brigade's aerowing – another reinforced formation – dived after them.

"Do you have codes to confirm your identity?" he asked warily.

"Not a thing, sorry. I suggest we both deal with our own targets and talk more once we have less imminent concerns."

The man grunted. "It'll have to do. Be warned that until we sort this out, any unconfirmed friendlies approaching us will be targeted."

"Can't fault you for that," I conceded. "Good luck, colonel."

There was no further conversation as his small force began to land. Our own dropships were entering the atmosphere too.

"Orders for the ground troops?" asked Geary.

I cursed myself. I was rushing this. "Division command channel please." The headset crackled. "All brigades sound off."

Several voices responded, each sounding off with the colour of their brigade's callsigns. I couldn't make-out the words as they overlapped but I made it five voices – the five brigade commanders were all present.

"We've got the opportunity to link up with some of Prince Victor's forces here," I advised. "They're attacking the 2nd Battalion of the 15th Arcturan Guards so if we can knock out the 3rd battalion then that should cripple the Archon's forces in this part of the Alliance. We're coming down near their base. Purple is our spearhead, I need you to get your tanks and troops out and engaging them first, Terrence."

"We're not the heaviest brigade," Terrence Flynt warned me.

"No, but the 672nd and 673rd have a lot of gauss rifles, which should let you punch hard and keep them off balance." I couldn't remember the callsigns for the individual regiments. "They're already being softened up by Periwinkle. The other four brigades are to put up a perimeter around our dropships. Once Red and Green have enough troops unloaded to hold that perimeter Blue and Orange will move to support you."

"Understood."

It was crude tactics, but if six tank regiments couldn't at least force a mixed battalion of regulars back then I'd have to seriously question what we were doing here.

"I can have Teal's dropship off-load their attack helicopters as we descend," offered Clive Landon quietly. "That'll give you six attack squadrons to back you up on the ground."

"Vermillon can add three attack squadrons to that."

"Thank you, Rusty. That's good thinking, Clive, approved." I thought a moment. The 67th Brigade's own Aviation battalion was in a Buccaneer that couldn't slow in mid-descent the same way as the Mules carrying the other helicopters. And the other brigades' helicopters were scattered around other units' dropships, unavailable right now. "Mantis should be clearing the skies so that'll free the other aerowings to cover you as well."

Chapter 12

New Dublin, Muphrid

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

22 January 3063

Second Battalion had been loaded into their dropships at Calenaton spaceport, penned up for Archer Christifiori, but the other battalion had been stationed in the capital and Terrence Flynt had found them deployed and ready for action.

Fortunately the Arcturans had misjudged what they were facing and from where I was standing I could see tech crews working to load an Awesome up onto one of our salvage trucks. The mechwarrior inside had mistakenly thought that the lance of Condor hover tanks didn't pose a serious threat to the heavy armour of his assault 'Mech but one of their gauss rifles had punched straight through his cockpit.

That hadn't been the end of the battle though. I'd already seen another truck dragging the parts of a Maxim infantry transport back for salvage – or more likely to be stripped for parts. Terrence Flynt had elected to lead his new brigade from the front and a Nightsky had literally jumped on the fifty-ton hovercraft and stamped its way through the dorsal armour.

We were salvaging the Nightsky as well but around half a company of 3rd Battalion had escaped.

"General?"

"Yes?"

It was Rusty Cooper, stood beside someone I didn't know. Judging by the colonel tabs, I guessed it would be either Archer Christifiori or the commander of the 15th Arcturan Guards- and what would Fleix Blucher be doing here. "Sir, may I present Colonel Christifiori of the First Thorin regiment."

Well that made guessing unnecessary. "Colonel, my condolences on your sister."

Christifiori gave me a look of surprise. "You're well informed for someone new to the area."

"The recipient of a Star League decoration is almost always newsworthy," I explained.

"I can't say I'm similarly familiar with your past," he admitted, looking around at the spaceport – which was positively swarming with our people. "Which is surprising for such a large unit."

"Recent expansion, but I don't think we'd have crossed your paths specifically."

Christifiori nodded in understanding. "I wish I'd known you were in the area but we've had only limited contact with Prince Victor."

I rubbed my face. "I haven't actually had any contact with him."

"If you don't mind me asking then, what does your contract entail?"

And there it was. "We don't have one yet. Would you mind putting us on retainer?"

The colonel gave me an incredulous look. "You jumped in and crushed a Lyran battalion without a contract? That's… a bit rash."

"I'm not saying that you needed the help, Colonel, but taking out two battalions with the troops you have on hand would have cost you time as well as blood and equipment. I'd really appreciate the retainer though." We'd paid in both of those, though. Our dead and wounded list was close to sixty long. I should have prepared the troops better for this rather than pulling it out of my hat at the last moment.

"I technically have the authority as an independent commander," he said cautiously. "But I can't afford to pay the costs of a full division of troops. You've got at least nine regiments here."

"Counting the various specialist battalions, closer to twenty," I conceded. "That's why I was figuring on a retainer – we have command rights, salvage rights and employment backdated to midnight. Pay us one kroner to keep us in for thirty days or until we can get a full contract in place." Financially speaking we would be okay until the end of February but after that we'd be robbing Peter to pay Paul, the traditional beginning of the financial death-spiral of a mercenary unit. I had an idea or two but we'd need some sort of income.

Christifiori put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a kroner coin. He weighed it in his hand. "That seems to be too good to be true, as many troops as you could bring to our cause but I've no idea what financial resources the Prince can bring to bear and if I give you full command rights, I'm still responsible for anything you do. Meaning no offense, General, I don't know you well enough for that."

Ouch. He was sharp. Then again, that was a good thing. "Tactical command rights then. For the duration of the retainer we're attached to you and your command. You define objectives and rules of engagement. And as for financial resources, if you succeed then he'll have the tax revenue from at least two worlds: Thorin and Muphrid. As little as you may like it, money is another of the costs of war."

"I see." He flipped the coin up in the air and caught it. Fortunately for my nerves he didn't check which face was upwards to guide his decision. "Let me call in one of my officers to draw up a contract. But for now, accept this payment in token of an agreement in principle."

I caught the coin and saluted, probably not as crisply as a NAIS graduate like Christifiori was used to. "Colonel Christifiori, we have a deal."

Chapter 13

Nadir jump point, Muphrid

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

26 January 3063

"New Delos?" Rusty Cooper's skepticism was understandable. "Anton Marik's old stomping grounds? I don't think the Mariks will let us just land and go digging for treasure."

I shook my head. We were using his stateroom – cramped with the two of us, Flora and his three Oberstleutenants. Fortunately we were under zero-g so I was sitting crosslegged against the ceiling, looking down on where he lay on his bunk. "No, New Dallas. D-A-L-L-A-S. It's nearer and as far as official records go, it was depopulated in the First Succession War."

"Depopulated how?"

"Nuclear weapons," I answered Oberstleutenant Nigel Molesworthy's question. "They really didn't want to join the FWL and the local Marik commander got a bit atrocity prone with the major cities. It should be fairly clean now, but it wasn't the nicest world to begin with."

Rusty shook his head. "You send us to the nicest places, Cat."

"It's a gift. Anyway, the information the General found indicated that there was an old Militia boneyard sealed up under the capital city. Somewhere they could lock away old equipment they didn't expect to use again." I'd cobbled together a file of documents, claiming that some were notes I'd found in the General's files and the rest in public sources of data on Galatea and Muphrid. Only Flora knew that I was using this mission to test what I had knew in my 'dream' – the other life I now recalled. "The New Dallas militia was one of the first to get BattleMechs and based on the timing it's likely they'd retired first and second generation 'Mechs, as well as tanks and the like, down there before it was sealed."

Molesworthy frowned. He had a face well suited to that. "What makes you think that?"

I rubbed my chin. "Because it was sealed up right around the time the Star League formed. The states handed a lot of equipment over to the new SLDF but the Terrans also handed down a lot of what had been regular service gear to militia units as they standardized their equipment across the SLDF. You can imagine the nightmare if they hadn't done that with equipment from six different military industrial complexes. So chances are good that they replaced all their hardware and locked the older stuff away."

"And you're sure it wasn't dug up later?" Flora was perched in one of the other ceiling corners, a data terminal in her hand as she checked the data I'd put together.

"Fairly. New Dallas took a real hammering in the Amaris Coup and again when the Free Worlds League invaded, but the accounts we have say they were using SLDF-standard gear to resist both times. There's nothing to indicate they were so hard up for supplies that they were breaking out pre-Star League Mechs and tanks."

Rusty rubbed his chin. "You're the technical specialist, Cat. If it was obsolete back then – and possibly not compatible with SLDF technical requirements then how useful is it to be now?"

"I doubt it's great," I conceded. "Optimistically it may be on par with the sort of gear in use back before the Helm core was recovered, but it might be even older than that. If we can recondition it, that's great, but I'm mostly thinking it can be sold off to militia forces to raise the cash to clear our debts."

"Seems like a lot of bother," grunted Smythe, another of the regiment commanders.

"Well, there is one other thing."

"I knew it. What's the catch?"

"There was some indication that the Hegemony Central Intelligence Bureau used the same bunker to store one of their back-up data cores. The sort of place they could rebuild their files from if the main ones got destroyed somehow."

"Who cares about that now? Isn't it irrelevant?"

"Setting aside the historical value, some of that data would be on military hardware being used by the Hegemony's neighbours. That could be very useful indeed. There are any number of firms that would love to convert their factories to build military hardware and this would be a goldmine of relatively simple – crude, if you want – designs that could be within their reach."

"And that could be profitable?" asked Rusty sceptically.

"Stolen goods are never sold at a loss," Flora told him cynically. "And unless Prince Victor comes through then we'll really need the money."

He shrugged. "Well if it keeps Mac McCoy from tearing his hair out even further then great. A brigade seems like overkill though."

"Hopefully it will be – Annette Zibler's agreed to detach a company of BattleMechs and you'll have about half our exo-skeletons for techs to work with. While they're on the way, they can get your tanks upgraded."

All four of the 68th Brigade's officers looked up eagerly at that. New toys were usually popular, and the way that the 67th had torn the vehicles and lighter Mechs of the Arcturan Guards apart with massed gauss rifle fire had definitely won over some of the officers who'd been dubious about the merits of the upgrades.

"For transport, I'm detaching your artillery battalion so you'll have the room in that dropship along with the three Arcturan dropships we captured." Two were Union-class ships but there was a Fortress that had tried to hold out long enough to take off. Matt Trackhart had stopped it, but the massive artillery piece in the nose got wrecked in the process. I could live with that so long as we kept that lovely extra lift capacity.

"Do you think you can cram in the 683rd Heavy Tanks and my aviation battalion?" Cooper asked me. "It'll give me another two empty Mule-class ships to work with if the find's as large as you say, and – no offense Gregor – they aren't going to be ideal for operating in a wrecked city, which is what it sounds like we'll be dealing with."

"I'll see what we can manage," I conceded. "There'll be open berths in the 67th Brigade's dropships, that'll do as a start."

"Have you decided who'll take over the brigade now?" asked Gregor quietly. The Oberstleutenant had taken his regiment's summary removal from the operation without a word but this seemed to interest him.

"For now, I'll take it."

Flora was the only one who wasn't surprised by my decision. "Are you sure you can do that and run the division?" asked Rusty carefully.

"If I can't handle a brigade then I'll have to consider whether I should be in command of the division. I didn't exactly do a brilliant job here."

"For a combat landing, particularly without dedicated combat transports, it could have gone a lot worse," Molesworthy pointed out. "And we did win."

"We were lucky."

The four combat officers exchanged looks. "Good," Gregor grunted. "After what happened on Galatea, we are due some good luck."

Chapter 14

Ecol City, Thorin

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

2 February 3063

There were eight BattleMechs waiting as our three dropships landed and this time, as far as we could tell,no one suspected a thing.

Colonel Felix Blucher's 15th Arcturan Guards had only brought a single battalion to Thorin with him – unlike some of their sister units the 15th hadn't been expanded to a Federated Suns-style Regimental Combat Team, instead operating much like Hell On Wheels had a few years ago, a single regiment containing 'Mechs, armour and infantry forces – although with more than half their forces in BattleMechs. Calling in another battalion from Muphrid, where resistance to Archon Katherine Steiner-Davion was ongoing, showed that Christifiori's existing campaign had worn him down.

Of course, Christifiori's militia forces had also been worn down. Twenty-four fresh BattleMechs and a mixed infantry and combat vehicles would have turned the tide heavily against them – thus his gambit to neutralize Kommandant McCoy's (no relation to our financial officer) command while they were vulnerable, loaded into their dropships.

Two of those dropships had been captured intact and the loaded equipment, which would be familiar to Blucher, lead the way out. Christifiori's Blackjack was towards the rear, where it might be mistaken for another 'Mech of the same class that wasn't repairable in time.

The contents of the third dropship couldn't be mistaken for Arcturan Guards even if the explanation that a civilian Jumbo-class freighter had been commandeered to replace a sabotaged Guards dropship had been accepted. Thus, we unloaded behind the cover of the ship and Christifiori issued his challenge before we came into view:

"Colonel Blucher, I order you to surrender in the name of Victor Steiner-Davion." He'd at least listened to me when I warned against omitting half of the prince's family name.

The waiting 'Mechs responded with the smoothness of the combat veterans piloting them: all eight backed up, keeping their frontal armour towards the new arrivals and falling back towards the buildings of the planetary capital. They might be outnumbered but they still had formidable firepower and no one wanted to destroy the city by firing wildly.

Well, no one except a Salamander which fired rapidly with its massed long-ranged missile racks. The weapons weren't precision instruments, but they did pose a serious threat at long range and posed a major threat to Yellowjacket helicopters from the 68th Aviation Battalion as they hovered above the city, stalking the Arcturan Guards.

Archer's Avengers – the First Thorin Regiment – plunged into the streets after their prey. Behind them I had to grip the side of my console as the 67th Brigade's Mobile Headquarters truck raced into the city, surrounded by Zhukov and Brutus heavy tanks. Ahead, Po tanks scouted for us, turrets flicking back and forth as they sought out targets for the gauss rifles they carried.

"We have the enemy Salamander in view," one tank commander reported. "The…" He swallowed. "The Avengers just blew it apart with massed fire."

I nodded and checked my data. "The only Salamander in the Guards belongs to Luther Fisk – the man who killed Andrea Christifiori." I was tempted to say murdered, but never ascribe to malice to what is merely stupidity. "Keep on for the fort."

We didn't arrive before the Guards… or at least not before the Atlas belonging to Blucher himself. I upgraded my estimation of him – outpacing faster 'Mechs through the city streets was no mean feat. A battered Kintaro and Centurion flanked him, and behind them a Chapparal missile tank. That could be a problem – its artillery could do serious damage to city buildings if it opened fire.

But the fort gates were closed to them. Christifiori had hinted at one more card in his hand and if I recalled correctly he'd inserted a militia officer into Blucher's staff, the man claiming to be among the handful of militiamen who followed the Archon over their own commander.

"Richard, keep us behind cover," I warned the driver. "There's nothing more dangerous than someone who's been driven into a corner."

"Got it," he agreed, pulling the truck into an alleyway. Tanks continued past us and feeds from their turret cameras let me watch as Christifiori moved forwards to face his adversary.

His barrage was of words, not lasers. "Colonel Blucher, this is Colonel Christifiori," he greeted the other man on a LAAF frequency. Basil Bannockson, my communications officer, had been given the encryption so I could hear every word from the truck's speakers. Christifiori's words were polite, even respectful. "I've ordered my troops to hold their fire. I respectfully request your surrender, sir."

Blucher's response took a moment. I could see smoke rising from rents in the armour of his Atlas. "I would prefer to die here, in my cockpit, rather than surrender."

"I understand, Colonel," Christifiori said sympathetically. "However, I have no desire to kill a man like you or those brave MechWarriors and officers who fought beside you. Too much blood has already been shed. Let us stand down."

The offer hung in the air. I could practically feel the tension in my tank commanders, crosshairs hovering over each of the three surviving Arcturan 'Mechs and the tank. This wasn't going to be a battle whatever Blucher decided. I hoped he had the sense to realise that before I had to turn it into an execution.

"How did this happen?"

I felt in a second's hesitation that Christifiori must have hidden a sigh of relief. Blucher was talking, not just blustering. "We learned of your plans, Colonel. We caught your Second Battalion offguard in their dropships. A second force… loyal to Prince Victor defeated your Third Battalion at the same time. The HPG was crippled on Muphrid to keep you in the dark, apparently successfully."

"In all of my years of service to House Steiner, I have never lost a battle and been forced to surrender."

"There's a first time for everything," Bannockson murmured in the quiet of the truck.

"Let the man speak," I admonished him, glad that we weren't transmitting. "Respect costs nothing and these people have to live with each other when this is done."

I'd missed part of what Christifiori was saying: "-respected so much to surrender, either. But my duty requires it."

"And I must accept, As you say," Blucher conceded in a low voice, "duty requires it. You're right. Too many have already died."

"You'll find my terms reasonable," Christifiori answered, no real note of triumph evident to me. "You'll be prisoners. Your arms are our possessions now. You'll be exchanged with other prisoners as soon as is practical or authorized by Prince Victor. As for your forces on Muphrid..."

"If I may ask, who was it who attacked them," asked Blucher. "Your fight was here."

"Until you involved your forces there. As for our allies, I'll let them speak for themselves."

"You're up, boss," Bannockson told me, irrepressibly. He flipped a switch and I saw an amber light on my station turn green.

"Colonel Blucher, this is Caitlyn Morgen of the Hell on Wheels – a mercenary unit serving against the current Archon."

To my surprise, the Arcturan's reaction was immediate. "Jim von Lergen's outfit? What could have possibly turned him against the Lyran state like this?"

"I regret to inform you that General von Lergen and many of his officers were assassinated early last month," I said, voice tight once more at being the bearer of that news. "I can't honestly claim to have known his mind on the matter."

"But you know your own, I suppose." Blucher paused. "So am I surrendering to both of you?"

"To Colonel Christifiori, sir. Thorin was his battle to fight, and that of his regiment." I let irony bite a moment. "Although he has taken custody of our prisoners, on the same terms being offered to you now."

There was no verbal reply and I glanced at the screens. No one was moving or… no, was it my imagination?

Sheffield Parker snapped a control and the screen he was looking at flickered to greens. "He's done it," the young man told me. "Blucher's powering his 'Mech down. It's over."

I nodded slowly, looked at Bannockson and slashed two fingers across my throat rather than fumbling with the unfamiliar controls. Understanding, he switched my microphone off. I'd really better get used to muting it for myself though.

"He's a good man. Better than the Archon deserves," Katya Chaffee said from across the way. She'd been assigned to me as a liaision for this brief operation and had done nothing but watch us quietly. Taking our measure, I thought.

"Aye. He might say your colonel is better than a certain Prince deserves though." I shot her a wry look. "Civil wars tend not to be civil. Thorin may be glad one day that both sides had honourable leaders for this."

Blucher had survived, as I recalled, to rebuild the 15th Arcturan Guards and fight alongside Adam Steiner against Clan Jade Falcon a year or so from now. Or… Damn. He'd had an intact battalion to build around, but I'd done a considerable amount of damage to that. For that matter, he'd played at least some part smoothing in the Steiner commander's rocky relationship with Archer Christifiori in that campaign.

The future was looking more and more like a house of cards, one that could be brought down by an idle breeze.

Chapter 15

Ecol City, Thorin

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

9 February 3063

Thomas Sherwood had been Christifiori's man inside Blucher's headquarters, both a crucial source of information and the man responsible for locking the Guards outside of their fortifications during the final battle.

He and Chaffee had been digging into the Arcturan's files and one message that they'd found in Blucher's supposedly secure orders database looked like political dynamite to my eyes.

On screen, Archon Katherine Steiner-Davion – or Katrina Steiner as she preferred to be styled – was speaking from the throne – a direct message from the head of state to local commanders.

"To protect the integrity of our realm, I now declare martial law throughout the Federated Commonwealth. Individual commanders will use their own discretion in executing these orders."

"Davion forces calling themselves members of the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns have attacked several planets. To prevent the further spread of seditious propaganda, I am limiting the flow of information via HPG. No communications between worlds by any non-military office will be permitted. This may have economic repercussions in the short term, but it is necessary to cripple coordination by our enemies."

"From this point forward, a state of war exists between the Lyran Alliance and the Federated Suns led by my misguided brother. However, we will not make this declaration public as it would only galvanize his efforts to unite rebel elements. But have no doubt, we are already at war. All garrison commanders should consider our enemies to be outright terrorists and should use the harshest measures in dealing with them. The fate of House Steiner and the Alliance depends on your ability to crush these traitors. I will fully support your actions and decisions as those of loyal protectors of the realm."

I leant back in my seat and looked across at Archer Christifiori, who had watched it with me. "I'd love to put that on the news. Right after one of the state-sanctioned message that all that's going on are 'minor domestic issues'."

"Unfortunately we can't get that message out," he said drily. "Shutting down HPG communications except through her loyal garrisons means that the only news reaching the people is what Katherine Steiner wants them to hear."

"We should publicise it anyway. It'll get out eventually – ships carrying it if nothing else. You know what gossip is like that."

"Probably," he agreed. "But first news is always the one that has the most credibility."

"I'd say that the worlds on the other side of the Terran Corridor might be surprised to learn that they're the Federated Suns once again and being led by Prince Victor. Particularly from the mouth of the woman currently heading their government."

"It's still the Federated Commonwealth," Sherwood said tiredly.

"She seems to want to have it both ways though. Ruling both halves but treating each as an enemy in the other. I wonder if she's claiming Steiner terrorists are fighting for Victor over there."

"That would be a little two-faced, even for her."

"Is anything too two-faced for her?" I asked Christifiori rhetorically. "I'll take a couple of copies with me, if that's okay. Bullets can kill soldiers but propaganda can sway hearts and minds, which might be more important in the long run."

"You're a funny sort of general," he said, shaking his head in amusement. "Go ahead and let her make a copy, Leftenant."

"Sir," the man confirmed grudgingly.

The same word came from Katya Chaffee's mouth as she opened the door. "Sir, we've got a visitor. A dropship landed an hour ago from a pirate point."

The three of us exchanged looks. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that," Christifiori said, rising to his feet. "Where is he?"

"Just outside, sir. He says he was sent by a friend, and I've checked out his credentials."

The colonel looked around and then shrugged. "Send him in, Katya. I'm sure General Morgen won't mind giving us the room if it's sensitive."

"It's your base, colonel." I started to sort my datapads back into the attache case I'd brought. Sherwood passed me a data chip which I guessed had a recording of the Archon's instructions.

The man who entered wore a white uniform which I needed a moment to identify as that of the ComGuards. He didn't look particularly impressive, except for the Cameron Star hung around his neck on a blue, green and white ribbon, just like Archer Christifiori's: the Star League Medal of Honor.

Fortunately, Archer recognised the face I didn't. "Commodore Beresick," he greeted him warmly. "Welcome to Thorin."

So this was the famous naval commander of Operation Serpent, the deep strike that had reached the distant Clan homeworlds and destroyed the home of Clan Smoke Jaguar. There was more to this man than surface impressions conveyed.

"I'm glad to see you're well, Colonel Christifiori, though I'm ranked as Precentor now that I'm no longer with the Star League Defense Force." He smiled, softening the correction. "I bring greetings from Prince Victor Steiner-Davion."

"I'm honoured you've come to visit." Christifiori indicated me. "Please allow me to present General Morgen of Hell On Wheels."

"Ah, the mysterious mercenary who's offered us her support." Beresick bowed. "An offer that the Prince is glad to accept, I must add. Prince Victor extends his deep gratitude to both of you for your actions on Thorin and Muphrid."

Christifiori flushed. "That's hardly necessary."

"At the risk of sounding mercenary, which I suppose I am, I hope that that some of that gratitude is financial."

"General!" The dark-haired colonel seemed suitably appalled at my cheek.

The Precentor gestured for calm, unruffled by my question. "I'll come to that in a moment, if you please." Reaching into his pocket he produced a folded sheet of paper and some rank pins. "By order of Prince Victor Steiner-Davion, Archer Christifori is hereby granted the field promotion of Leftenant General."

Christifiori stared at the rank pins he was passed in disbelief. "Leftenant General?"

"Congratulations," I told him drily. "From experience, they weigh more on your shoulders than you might expect."

"Rank does, for those worthy of it." Beresick saluted the new Leftenant General solemnly, as did Chaffee and Sherwood. "As you are, general. You're an inspiration to those who may otherwise feel they're alone and isolated in fighting against Katherine Steiner's tyranny."

Still weighing the pins in one hand, Christifiori returned the salute with the other. "I never expected this."

"We're going to need men and women like you – and like General Morgen – on the Prince's side as this fight continues." The Precentor turned his eyes towards me. "Patriotism and practicality – you're a Federated Commonwealth citizen, as I understand it, General?"

"Naturalised as a refugee," I confirmed, although I couldn't recall offhand if that had transferred to the Lyran Alliance or if I still had the original paperwork. "I've nothing against patriotism, but I've something like ten thousand hungry mouths to feed…"

"I do understand," he agreed. "There are a lot of demands on the Prince's warchest but I have a draft here on our accounts for five million C-bills. I hope you'll be willing to accept this as an advance until a more regular payment arrangement can be agreed."

"Gladly."

"Excellent." Beresick turned back to Christifiori who seemed to be gathering his wits at last. "I understand you still have mopping up operations to carry out on Muphrid, but I gather your own regiment is equal to that challenge?"

His answer was a nod. "We have that in hand, sir."

"That being the case, the Prince would like Hell On Wheels to continue across the Terran Corridor. Our allies in the Federated Commonwealth are gathering a task force near their end of the corridor for an operation that should allow us to supply and support future efforts, including paying Hell on Wheels for their services."

"Sounds like a fine plan to me." I offered my hand and Beresick shook it. "May I ask who I'll be reporting to and where?"

"The exact assembly point is being decided – we'll get word to you once you've crossed the Chaos March," the little man assured me. "However, once there you'll be taking orders directly from Field Marshal Ardan Sortek."

Chapter 16

Zenith Point, Tybalt

Draconis March, Federated Commonwealth,

3 March 3063

I was snuggled into a bunk, warm and in a hazy state that suggested actual sleep was imminent when the alarm went off. After a brief struggle, adrenaline overcame the impulse to hit snooze and I instead reached out and grabbed the string bag holding my comm and other essential items.

Thumbing the activation without getting it out of the bag I hit the speed-dial for the command deck. "Cat Morgen speaking, what's the situation?"

"Jump signatures," the voice of one of the dropship's officers reported.

I fought back a yawn. "How many?"

"Dozens," he reported instantly. "At least our own number."

Several responses suggested themselves, some of them would have had a confessor imposing penances on me. That was far too many to be Rusty Cooper rejoining us. I restrained myself until I was sure I wouldn't say anything untoward. "What's their… ETA? And has Oberst Trackhart been informed."

"First emergence is expected in, hmm, a hundred seconds – mark. And yes, the Oberst is being woken. Combat air patrol is alerted and two more squadrons are launching."

That was still only eighteen of our fighters, I noted. And if there were more than thirty dropships arriving then that could easily mean one or more Regimental Combat Teams, who'd have forty aerospace fighters each at full strength. We'd need the rest of our fighters in the air… but that was Matt Trackhart's job and bypassing him would be bad.

"Oberst Trackhart has tactical command as soon as he's ready for it," I said instead. "I'll be on the bridge as soon as I can be."

The little cabin gave me some privacy at least as I scrambled out of bed and dragged on a jumpsuit. Whatever I did, I wouldn't reach the command deck before the jumpships arrived.

Tybalt had been a border system for centuries – on the border between the Terran Hegemony and the Capellan Confederation until the fall of the Star League, and then in Capellan hands on the border with the Federated Suns – increasingly isolated as worlds around it were taken by House Davion. In the end, the Fourth Succession War left it several jumps inside the newly forged Federated Commonwealth but that was a relatively recent development, only a generation ago.

A large force arriving now could be one of Katherine's Loyalist units, one of Victor's Allied units or even a Capellan invasion force intent on reclaiming the world for House Liao. Two of those would be bad for us – a squadron of assault dropships or a warship would rip through our fleet with ease. I was hoping for the third – despite Beresick's promise no one had been in touch about where we were supposed to meet Ardan Sortek's force. I'd chosen Tybalt as a rendezvous for the 68th Brigade's expedition based on my other life's memories that Sortek used it as a staging ground but so far there was no sign of him.

Shoving my feet into boots I left the cabin and scrambled up the ladder to the command deck. We were under gravity, the dropship spinning around one of our Invader-class jumpships to provide centifugal force. It was a little more of a work-out than I enjoyed – clearly I should make sure I got more exercise… in the less than copious spare time left to me from running the division.

Captain Geary had beaten me to the bridge, although I guessed only barely since he was standing by the holotable rather than strapped into his seat. "Military types," he told me as I joined him. "They're carrying at least three Overlords and an Excalibur. Picking up what look like Avenger and Claymore assault ships too."

"Well it wasn't likely to be a convoy."

"No, not here." He shook his head. "We haven't confirmed any dedicated carrier dropships but just the Overlords alone would be one wing and the assault ships make up a lot of the balance."

That made sense to me. I hadn't really encountered them before professionally, but assault dropships weighed ten to twenty times as much as fighters, so they could presumably be armed proportionately. That would be a lot of firepower for our fighters to deal with even if numbers were on their side.

"Any signals?"

"We're getting some sidebands, but I think they're mostly using tightbeams within their formation."

I frowned. "Because that's harder to pick up than normal radio transmissions?"

Geary nodded. "Tybalt can't miss the jump flares but basic communications security is still useful."

"And in this case confusing. Do we have the codes Beresick gave us?"

He glanced across the compartment to one of his officers. "We do, do you want to issue a challenge?"

"It's going to be bloody hard to find out who they are if we don't ask." I picked up a headset. "Send the recognition signal and see what happens."

More than one of the people at the dropship consoles had half an eye on the comms as we waited. It was fair enough in my book – until we detached from the jumpship they weren't actually doing anything critical.

Then came a relieved sigh. "They're authenticating… and we have a signal."

"Accept it and put it on speakers," Geary ordered.

"…ooper calling allied flotilla, I repeat, Marshal Stephan Cooper calling allied flotilla. Do you read me."

I adjusted my microphone. "We read you, Marshal Cooper. This is General Morgen of Hell on Wheels."

"Ah, so you did get our message. We hadn't heard from ComStar that you'd been informed of this rendezvous."

Geary gave me a questioning look. "Did we get a message?"

I shook my head. "Negative, Marshal. We picked this system to reunite with one of our combat commands, I was still waiting for a message telling me where to go."

"What are the odds?" the other officer said in a bemused tone.

"I'd say about eighty to one." There were only about forty possible systems in this general area, two regular jump points each…"

There was a chuckle – another voice on the channel. "You're a gambler if you can add odds that quickly, General. And a lucky one at that." The accent was that of New Avalon, but that wasn't exactly uncommon among the upper military and political levels of the Federated Suns – New Avalon was home to two military academies and two major universities, albeit it only three distinct establishments since New Avalon Institute of Science qualified as both.

"It's useful but not reliable," I conceded. "And you would be…?"

"Of course, forgive me. Field Marshal Ardan Sortek. Prince Victor sent word I should expect you."

…great going, Cat. You just challenged one of the most famous men in the Inner Sphere. What next, prank calling the Forbidden City? "My apologies, Marshal Sortek."

"It's quite alright, communications discipline must be -"

I got a double doze of warning sirens, coming from both Geary's command deck and wherever Sortek and Cooper were.

"Additional jump signatures!" Geary snapped. "Two of them."

The 68th had taken a pair of Star Lord-class jumpships for their mission. "Could be Cooper."

"I beg your pardon," Marshal Cooper responded sharply. "What are you accusing me of, General?"

"Oberst Cooper of my 68th Armoured Brigade, Marshal. His force was scheduled to rejoin ours here."

There was a pause and then: "That wouldn't be Russell Cooper, would it?"

"Uh, that's correct."

The commander of the Davion Assault Guards grunted.

"You know him?" asked Sortek.

"If it's my second cousin, he got kicked out of Albion for academic malpractise."

I rolled my eyes, glancing at the building indicators of the jump signatures. The jumpships were about to emerge if I was reading it correctly. "That'll be him then."

"He was cheating?"

"No, but he was taking money to help other people cheat." Cooper didn't sound sure if he should be proud or ashamed. "He was in the top percentile of his class until then."

Two Star Lords erupted into existence near us. If I'd been looking with the naked eye it would have been a spectacular lightshow. As it was, the icons just replaced those of the incoming jumps on the holotank.

"You gave this man a brigade?" Sortek demanded.

"I'm prepared to tolerate merely venal sins in my officers' past, as long as they don't repeat them." Rather than mute my microphone I just pushed it aside for a moment. "Captain Geary, do we have confirmed identification?"

He studied a screen and then nodded. "It's our lost lambs, ma'am."

"Sir, we have a signal from the Archimedes Rex."

I wasn't sure the ancient philospher Archimedes had ever been a king, but I hadn't named the Monarch-class dropship that carried half of the 68th Headquarters Battalion. Bringing the microphone down again, I excused myself from the two Marshals and switched across to the divisional command frequency, which was the same on the ground and in space. "Orange Actual, this is General Morgen. We read you."

Rusty Cooper's excited voice beamed back to me across space: "General, it was just as you said. We found the cache."

"I'm glad to hear it, Rusty. Save the details until we can speak in person. Were there any issues we need to deal with?"

"No emergencies," he confirmed. "I take it the other flotilla are Marshal Sortek's people."

"Yes." I paused. "Your cousin still commands the Davion Assault Guards, doesn't he?"

The Oberst gulped, all enthusiasm draining away. "He's here?"

"They do seem to be the bulk of his force. I do hope you won't have any problems working with him."

"I won't," he assured me, with a little emphasis – perhaps unintentional – on the first word.

Chapter 17

Zenith Point, Tybalt

Draconis March, Federated Commonwealth

5 March 3063

There were times when I regretted Hell On Wheels' lack of a dress uniform – and our general lack of uniformity in dress. It wasn't particularly rational – that lack wasn't uncommon in mercenary units, much the reverse. Only a handful of mercenary forces did issue formal uniforms and less than half issued uniforms at all, usually limiting them to combat gear where mistakes in knowing who was and who wasn't part of the unit could be critical.

I could think of three units that did have their own dress uniforms: the Wolf Dragoons, the Kell Hounds and the Eridani Light Horse – although the latter had gone back to the Star League Defense Force and might not count. Each issued a distinct uniform for formal occasions (in the Eridani's case patterned after those of the original SLDF) and each was or had been a A* rated unit, the very top of the mercenary trade.

While size wasn't everything, they were also relatively large forces with multiple regiments and the uniforms, along with other traditions and customs tied the units together. Given our finances, I could understand why General von Lergen hadn't paid out for a specific uniform, but I couldn't help but feel it was affecting our cohesion.

As it was, while Field Marshal Sortek and Marshal Cooper greeted Flora and I wearing the bottle green of the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns, with spurs on their heels and actual golden half-breastplates on the left sides of their chests (not to mention an awesome array of medals including but not limited to Sortek's Medal Excalibur), the only matching things in our outfits were AFFC-surplus field jackets.

I'd put on my best black pants and red blouse, while Flora was wearing tailored black pants, a white shirt and a small black bow-tie. I'm not sure what we looked like but it probably wasn't the command team for the largest unit in this campaign.

The Davion Assault Guards were the next largest, with a reinforced regiment of BattleMechs, three-quarters of them over eighty tons, three heavy tank regiments and a brigade of five infantry regiments. The 'Crushers' could trace their history back to the Age of War, just look of any occasion when House Davion wanted to drop the biggest hammer available on their neighbours and there they would be.

In addition to Cooper's Guards RCT, Sortek had turned up the 1st New Avalon Institute of Science Cadet Cadre, a combined arms brigade whose rank and file were predominantly recent graduates from that esteemed academy. The AFFS had traditionally used such cadres to season inexperienced soldiers before sending them on to line units. That might not be a luxury that either side could afford in a Civil War.

Leftenant General Sanchez of the Cadre wasn't going to be present for this little get together and nor were my other senior officers. That would change as we planned the operation to come but for our first face to face meeting Sortek had suggested keeping numbers to a minimum.

I saluted, although I was a little vague on whether or not it was formally expected of me. It was a gesture of respect though and as far as I was concerned that respect was damn well due to the balding man who solemnly returned the salute and then extended his hand.

"General Morgen, it's a pleasure to have you on board." Sortek followed that not by shaking my hand but instead lifting it to kiss, as if this were some courtly function. I don't recall anyone ever doing that to me before!

Stephen Cooper just shook my hand, which was something of a relief, but Flora got the same effusive welcome from the older of the two officers. (Sortek must be near enough seventy, I thought – yes, he was born in 2993 so, seventy or a few months short. That was middle aged even by the standards of New Avalon and other worlds with first rate medical care.)

"Please come with me," he invited and gestured towards the door. "We can speak somewhere more comfortable."

Given we were aboard a dropship, comfortable was a matter of degrees but he led our little group to a small lounge that I guessed had been cleared for our conversation. Crewmen and soldiers we passed pulled aside to let us pass and saluted Sortek sharply, a gesture he returned in every case. The lounge was little more than three couches, upholstered in worn leather the same green as the men's uniforms.

"Mind telling us about that cache you mentioned?" Cooper asked brusquely.

I tilted my head to the side. "I don't recall mentioning a cache to you, Marshal but if you'd like to be specific." I was pretty sure I'd not given any specifics about why his cousin's brigade had been detached. Which… ah.

Sortek tsked. "Stephen, really. That's a touch ham-handed of you."

"A backhanded way of suggesting our encryptions aren't sufficient to keep you – or by extension Katherine's loyalists – out of our communications?" I asked.

"What?" Flora exclaimed. "But those are supposed to be military grade!"

"They were, but rather old ones."

I considered a moment and sighed. "Let me guess, perfectly reasonable encryption back in the early 3040s?"

"Exactly. I imagine it's the same package James von Lergen purchased when he set your unit up, but intelligence agencies tend to work at breaking such security on general principles and…"

I nodded. "I'm grateful for the kind warning then, Marshal Cooper."

"I'll have my communications staff provide something more current," he offered. "We're working together, so we need to share some codes anyway."

"I must say I am curious about what sort of cache you may have found though." Sortek smiled and I saw a sign for a moment of what he might have looked like as a young man. "I was a fairly young officer back around Halstead Station and the Helm find, but I've never come across a find in person."

Flora gave me a look. "Well since you're kindly helping us with our communications security…" she began cautiously and I gave her the nod. "What Oberst Cooper found was a pre-Star League bunker belonging to the Terran Hegemony's militia forces."

Cooper leant forwards. "Anything worth the time and trouble?"

"Several regiments' worth of equipment, all cutting edge technology… back in the twenty-fifth century." I shrugged depreciatingly. "Forty or fifty years ago they might have counted as merely second-rate but right now it'll take a lot of work to make anything useful out of it."

"That's rather disappointing. You had my hopes up."

I returned Sortek's smile. "It should work out as a profit overall – if nothing else the scrap value of a few hundred tanks and 'Mechs isn't negligible. The real prize though was a Terran Hegemony intelligence database covering technical data they'd gathered from their neighbours. I have schematics on some of the early BattleMechs developed by the Federated Suns, for example, that Achernar BattleMechs might be interested in since they developed some of them originally."

"Interested, yes, but unfortunately they're based on New Avalon so right now their factories and management are in Katherine's hands," Cooper warned.

"It's waited six hundred years or so, another few won't matter too much."

"Good point," Sortek agreed. "I'd rather like a copy of that for the Federated Suns myself, you never know how useful data will be. You claim all salvage rights as part of your agreement with Christifiori though, don't you?"

"We could probably work something out."

"Just as long," Cooper told me, "As it's understood that the depot we're after isn't something you can claim as salvage."

"I'm familiar with the difference between salvage and a mission objective, Marshal." Were they playing good cop, bad cop on me? Did they think I'd never haggled for parts before? "Of course, if there's something we really need in the cache, I'd hope you'd be open to reasonable discussions of purchase or exchange."

"Within reason, of course," Flora clarified.

"I think we can all be reasonable." Sortek straightened. "Now, let's start discussing how I'd like to you to support our efforts on Addicks."

Chapter 18

Loknar, Addicks

Draconis March, Federated Commonwealth

21 March 3063

The Mobile HQ truck shook wildly as Dick Cameron rammed it through a fence and I had to cling to my seat as he turned sharply and got us into a drainage ditch. I couldn't complain though because the Firestarter behind us missed wildly with its lasers.

It had started out as such a nice day too.

Marshal Sortek's original plan had been to ignore the depot and the Sixth FedCom defending it while he dealt with the Addicks DMM, who were centred on Fort Lucien with scattered detachments elsewhere around the world.

The hope was that much of the March Militia – and the planetary militia – would choose to give their support to Prince Victor's cause. General Bannson hadn't clearly committed to either side yet. Somewhat optimistically, Sortek and Cooper claimed to have similar hopes for the Sixth FedCom but I had my doubts there.

In any case, the Assault Guards had landed on Tauken and the First NAIS Cadre on Silesia, to secure the major population centres and the militia. We'd detached the 66th Brigade to support the NAIS cadre's relatively limited conventional forces but the bulk of Hell On Wheels was with me on Loknar with orders to secure a landing zone and if possible to deal with minor detachments. The Sixth FedCom and the Department of Quartermaster complex were to wait until negotiations had been tried and one or both of the other Allied forces joined me.

Too bad that no one had convinced General McConnel to go along with that, which is why the hundreds of kilometres of farmland between our dropships and the DQ depot were currently a maelstrom of companies and lances.

"Will someone deal with that -"

At least three gauss rifle shots hit the Firestarter as it followed us along the ditch, skylining its upper torso to the lance of Zhukovs that Dick had been bringing us around to. One shot took off an arm, the other ruptured armour on the chest but the third hit the cockpit – too bad for the mechwarrior inside.

"- thank you," I concluded.

"You're welcome, chief," the lance commander reported. The turrets of his three remaining tanks – I recalled that the fourth was awaiting recovery twenty km away with one track wrecked – swivelled and a pair of Darts behind the Firestarter tried to backtrack.

One of them made it but the other lost a leg and toppled face first into the dirt. Before it could get up a Po came out of the corn, the flanks of the tank's chassis scarred by lasers and missiles. The long barrelled Poland gauss rifle came around and almost kissed the Dart's cockpit in mute warning. Yielding to the inevitable, the warrior inside shut down his reactor and a moment later I saw the hatch pop.

Ignoring the APC moving in to take the mechwarrior into custody I dialled back the scale on the holotank in front of me. The immediate surroundings were still a mess of red and blue icons – I'd pulled the 67th Brigade and the 82nd Armored Reconnaissance Regiment out of reserve and hooked them around the right flank once it was clear McConnel was coming for our dropships. The general was no fool and the first encounter between his leading companies and Hugo Sorlie's heavy tanks had convinced him that he'd bitten off more than he could chew.

The 41st Brigade didn't have many upgraded tanks yet, but that still left a lot of heavy autocannon firing down range, backed by LRMs from the Heavy LRM Carriers and the Brutus tanks in their ranks. While I had my flank attack operating in company sized groups rather than trying coordination that might be beyond us, Sorlie was keeping his veterans under tight order and concentrating fire with deadly effect.

"Ma'am, we have a significant number of tanks concentrating to punch through. Sector G-3, mostly Vedettes and Drillsons."

I checked the ID's and saw that the speaker was Zachary Alwyn, commanding my medium tanks. Without needing instructions, Conan Howard adjusted the holotable to display the sector in question. "It looks like the core of Sixth FedCom's Light Armour regiment," he advised me.

That made sense – the heavy armour regiment and the two assault companies of heavy 'Mechs that the RCT was known to maintain had remained at the DQ site as far as we knew.

"We're not going to be able to complete the encirclement," I decided. "So we need to focus on crippling as many units as we can. If they can get back to the DQ they can be put back into working order from the supplies so the fewer that get back, the better."

"Do you want me to harass them?" asked Alwyn. "It'll take time to concentrate our companies."

"Negative. Just make sure we have eyes on them." I flipped through the codes listed beside the holotable and then worked my controls to place a marker on the indicated hostile unit. "All artillery, we have a priority firing mission."

I hadn't limited the orders to my own brigade either. The 68th was still unloading and the 50th were securing our LZ but their artillery was out and could bear. Even Sorlie's artillery battalion joined the barrage, their support not needed in ferreting out the Sixth FedCom's rear-guard.

More than a hundred and forty artillery guns opened up, shells blasting into the tank formation. Far from punching through my own tanks as they sniped at the retreating BattleMechs, the Loyalist tanks were forced to scatter – those that still could. More than a few of the Vedettes and Drillsons were mobility kills and I ordered two infantry companies forward to secure them for salvage and capture any crew that hadn't gotten away, before switching my attention back to the rest of the fight.

I felt the Mobile HQ shake its way to life again and Cameron gunned the engine, getting us up the edge of the drainage ditch. Sitting back I looked out one of the viewslots in the side and saw that the cornfield was burning, flames spreading from the wreck of a Duan Gung two hundred metres away.

One of Able Company's scout lance, I realised. There were only two of the Capellan-built scout 'Mechs in Hell On Wheels and how would one have fallen into Federated Commonwealth hands? Had it been Hugh Houston – the alliteration had stuck in my head – or the shorter, man with red hair?

I checked the data and saw it was the redhead, Sam Driscoll, who had lost his 'Mech. Not his life, at least, but according to the preliminary report from the medic he'd been taken too, his arm was in doubt.

That news was still fresh to me when the 'Mech exploded behind us, the fire having at last reached its LRM storage. We were winning, but not without loss. Losses harder to deal with than the likely ire of the farmers whose crops were being destroyed.

"Purple Actual, this is Noir Actual, do you read?"

I steadied my headset. "Noir Actual, this is Purple Actual. I read you."

"Many of my 'Mechs are at combat status six," Annette Zibler reported. "If you want us to push further we could take serious losses."

"Understood, Noir Actual. We're moving to the clean up phase of operation so go after the strays, but don't get too close to the DQ. That's a fight for another day."

"Roger that. Can you spare Thistle and Mauve to give us a screen in case McConnell doesn't agree with that transition." Respectively, that was the Aviation battalion's eighteen gunships and the Hover Cavalry's Plainsman hover tanks.

"Confirmed. I'll send them to cover your flank."

Switching channels I started giving the necessary orders, as well as consolidating companies to deal with the remaining knots of crippled 'Mechs and tanks still trying to make it back to the depot. My best estimate was that General McConnell's Sixth RCT had lost a battalion of medium tanks and perhaps half that in 'Mechs. A lot worse than our own losses but nothing more than a down payment on the likely casualties if the battle dragged on.

Chapter 19

Loknar, Addicks

Draconis March, Federated Commonwealth

31 March 3063

Our artillery was still thundering.

"I hope they have a lot of munitions stored in there." Simone Suggs was parked in a chair opposite me outside the Mobile HQ truck.

Fortunately no one was shooting at us right now so we had some creature comforts right now, like the large mug of coffee in her hand. Over the last ten days I'd established a rough cordon around the DQ facility and Suggs had ventured out to Addicks' civilian settlements to make sure that we were resupplied with critical consumables like coffee. I wasn't incredibly fond of the stuff personally, but caffeine was still the stimulant of choice for soldiers and had fewer side effects than most of the alternative.

"I have no doubt that they have mountains of Sniper shells," I assured her. "And Marshal Sortek has agreed that we can resupply our ammo loads from them once we take the place."

The Addicks DMM hadn't held out long against the Assault Guards and much of the local militia had proclaimed loyalty to Victor – sincerely or because they saw the writing on the wall. Marshal Cooper was still sorting out a few exceptions over on Silesia but overall the campaign was going well.

"Good job they don't seem to have artillery pieces of their own to run those stores down,"

I nodded. "Maggie, has Intel found out why that's the case? RCTs usually have artillery?"

The young woman put her tea cup down on it's saucer (I assume standards had to be upheld even if the rest of us were savages) and worked on her noteputer for a moment. "About half their armour brigade decided to stay in Lyran space when they pulled out during the secession," she reported. "That included their entire artillery battalion and it hasn't been replaced so far."

"Convenient for us." Annette Zibler stretched in a way that made me fee quite inadequate, although that might just be due to the amount of spandex in a mechwarrior's standard field gear. "Do we know why he tried to attack the dropships?"

"Apparently he thought that it was a convoy of Allied transports to empty the DQ into," Maggie replied. "He knew we were protecting them but he only had outdated information on our numbers and the number of military transports we have."

"So much for whoever runs intelligence over there," Suggs grinned. "Poor bastard probably got a roasting."

Another salvo of artillery arced out from our guns – close enough for us to hear them but not so near we were deafened. They were pounding bunkers and turrets around the DQ facility based on spotting information provided by light 'Mech and hovercraft scouting the positions. Compared to trying to hit moving forces in the field this was relatively simple – bunkers can't dodge after all. The limits of their use against mobile forces like BattleMechs usually limited the amount of artillery deployed but General von Lergen had loved his big guns and I was learning to enjoy the advantages they provided.

Zibler rubbed her chin. "I'd feel bad if our own light 'Mechs weren't out there helping the kids," she confessed. "Sending raw cadets out to scout is a bit like dropping baby kittens into piranha-infested waters."

"The fish or the Clan 'Mech?" jibed Flora.

"Yes."

"It's a learning experience for them," I said sagely. "And they're not cadets any more. They're soldiers."

While most of the First NAIS Cadet Cadre the Assault Guards were still mopping up, the attack on our dropships had alarmed Cooper enough to send General Sanchez to back us up with a battalion of 'Mechs. The Cadre was a light formation, almost all their 'Mechs thirty-five tons or less – great for scouting out targets like this but if it came to a serious fight I'd rather rely on more heavily armed and armoured BattleMechs such as Zibler's Gallowglas which was parked near our little command post.