Anywhere
Tamar March
Federated Commonwealth
3 March, 3050
Leftenant Fiona Kendrick took a long drag on the cigarette, instantly regretting it as she fought back a cough. Cheap cigarettes tasted like dirt, but what could you expect when you were stationed on the ass-end of the Federated Commonwealth.
Shit. Might as well be stationed in the Periphery for all the civilization there is on this rock. Ducal troops my ass.
Fiona had, along with the rest of the 2nd New Ivaarsen Chasseurs, just been posted to Anywhere. She was only a year out of the Robinson Battle Academy, and already her dreams of a glorious military career were being severely dashed. Okay, so maybe her family were only minor nobles, but it had been enough to secure her a spot in the Robinson Battle Academy class of '49. That, along with her posting to the 2nd Chasseurs, had been enough to fill her head with many a notion of glory in battle fighting the hated Draconis Combine. She might not be the most martial type on the surface, but she had grown up reading the histories of great battles against the Federated Suns' enemies, and had a vivid enough imagination to picture herself playing a part in future glories.
Then she and her unit had been posted to Anywhere. At least the place was aptly named. No, she corrected herself, it should be named Nowhere, bland as it was. And far enough removed from the border with the Combine that the prospect of any action against the snakes was reduced to about zero. Maybe they would fight pirates, if, and only if, the brass decided to get aggressive and raid into the bandit kingdoms like the Greater Valkyrate. And really, what kind of a challenge would that be?
She was only maybe two thirds done with the cheap cigarette, but she had made it through her RBA years smoking high end e-cigs, and damned if she was going to finish this one. She flicked it away in disgust, watching the embers jump and dance as they impacted against a rock. As she stood, she adjusted her sunglasses slightly, and ran a hand through her dark brown hair as she noticed her lance Sergeant heading towards her, his hand held up against the comm set plugged into his right ear.
"Hey Leftenant, Regimental is on the horn, says they're canning all our exercises out here in the outback. Raiders burning in fast and the General wants everyone back at the barn ASAP. Maybe this ain't going to be so boring a post after all."
She sighed. "Markey, even if it is pirates burning in, they're facing a whole goddamn RCT. The odds of us getting in on the fun are probably just about shit over infinity. I mean what can pirates hit this place with? A company? Maybe two or three if they hired mercs? Nah, we won't get that lucky. We'll get stuck babysitting something, I'll bet."
...5 hours later...
The air in the room that served as the RCT's command center was stuffy, but that paled in comparison to the almost palpable anticipation that flooded the room. As a lance commander, technically she shouldn't even be in the room, but she'd flirted with a few guys at the Battalion level, enough to get at least two of them into a pissing contest that resulted in her getting let into the room as a way to show their influence. Silly boys had their uses, she guessed..
At the moment, attention was focused on the holo-image, which currently displayed a placeholder text and something about connecting. Everyone was still waiting on the uplink. For some reason, these pirates were trying to set up a comlink with local defenders. It made zero sense, but who knows, maybe some pirate had delusions of grandeur.
The chatter subsided as Leftenant General Greensville walked in with his command lance.
"Alright people, this is unusal, but the unknown dropships burning in-system have asked for some kind of parlay. We don't know what all they're up to, but I aim to listen to them and find out. Once we figure out what these clowns are up to, we'll make our plans accordingly."
After a few minutes of subdued chatter, the holo-link came to life, displaying the image of a relatively young man who looked beyond full of himself.
"I am Star Colonel Brikai Buhallin, commander of the Eighth Falcon Regulars, warriors of Clan Jade Falcon. We have come to lay claim to this planet in the name of Clan Jade Falcon. What forces are foolish enough to defy us in this claim?"
Everyone in the room looked around at each other. This was beyond strange. Nobody had ever heard of this pirate group calling themselves Clan Jade Falcon. And clearly nobody had ever heard of a pirate band being so boastful as to announce themselves in a way like this self-declared Star Colonel just had. The General straightened his jacket and stepped into frame.
"I've never heard of your band of pirates before, but this is a planet of the Federated Commonwealth. I don't care if you're here to claim it, raid it, or whatever, but I have an entire FedCom RCT here on planet, plus the planetary militia. You're not welcome on this world. Turn yourselves around and go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.
The man on the other end of the signal bristled at the General's words. "We are elite warriors of Clan Jade Falcon. Who dares insult us by declaring us pirates? We are no mere rabble, but an elite Cluster of warriors who will exact a steep price for your insolence. Do you bid your entire force in the defense of this world?"
The General looked confused. "Bid? Whatever you want to call it, yes, I'm Leftenant General Jacob Greensville, commander of the 2nd New Ivaarsen Chasseurs RCT, and I'll use everything I've got to kick your pompous ass out of this system."
"Well bargained and done. I will transmit the landing coordinates of my forces. May the battle be glorious and honorable."
The screen winked into blackness. The general turned to the room.
"Alright, I don't know who these Jade Falcons think they are, but we're gonna teach them a lesson. They're burning in with a shit-ton of dropships, but if they're pirates, I'll wager a big chunk of them are to haul off loot. I don't know what in the hell a 'cluster' of forces is, but we've got a mean-ass RCT that's gonna teach them a lesson. They've transmitted landing coordinates, and if they actually stick to them, it mean's we'll probably hit them in the Brigham Rollo. It's pretty open there, so we should be able to pin them with our conventional elements and kick their asses back with our mech forces. Their ETA for landing is about 12 hours from now. We're only a couple hours away from their LZ, so get 3 or 4 hours rack time if you can with your people, then saddle up."
