Anywhere
Tamar March
Federated Commonwealth
4 March, 3050
Fiona pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, her hair still damp with moisture from the cockpit. She took a breath, readied herself, and walked through the door of what had once been some kind of office or meeting room at the abandoned quarry that was serving as an ad hoc rally point for whatever resistance forces remained on the surface of Anywhere.
A host of people sat and stood around the elongated table. A few of the faces she vaguely remembered from her regiment. Most were unfamiliar, clad in a motley assortment of uniforms, but bearing the insignia of the Anywhere Militia. A few glanced in her direction, but most spoke among themselves.
At the head of the table sat two men, both wearing militia uniforms and the rank insignia marking them as Hauptmanns, presumably the highest ranking officers left on the planet. One leaned back in his chair. He could best be described as non-descript. Probably in his late thirties, he was of average height and build, had hair halfway between brown and blonde, and could probably disappear into any crowd, anywhere. The other man looked like something out of a holovid. He was probably in his fifties, his dark hair thoroughly mixed through with grey. He sat leaning on the arm of his chair, chewing on a smoldering stub of a cigar, and wore a cowboy hat.
On noticing her, Cigar Man took the nub of the cigar from his mouth and gestured in her direction. "Everyone, this here is Leftenant Kendrick. Near as we can tell, she's the ranking officer left on the planet from the Second New Ivaarsen that didn't turn tail and run."
Her eyes darted around the room, taking in a mixture of sneers and looks of disinterest. "Strictly speaking, sir, that's not true. There's a combat surgeon in the MASH unit I escorted in, he carries the rank of Kommandant."
Cigar chuckled. "Yeah, well I ain't takin' my order from a doctor, so for all intents and purposes, what I said stands. I'm Hauptmann Clay, this here is Hauptmann Hallick. We're glad to have your people on board. It's going to be a long slog trying to get these Falcons off our planet, we'll take any help we can get. We've just been taking store here, it will be a few days before we can start getting off any real raids. We're pretty short on supplies, so we'll have to hit one of the bigger supply dumps before these clanners can get their paws on them."
She paused a moment before speaking up. "Begging the Hauptmann's pardon, but we should get moving as fast as we can. Grab supplies before the Jade Falcons can get settled in. These guys are big on single combat, that gives us a chance to hit them in multiple places."
Clay raised an eyebrow. "No offense missy, but are you crazy? These guys, whoever the hell they are, they're tough as nails. We have to gang up, hit 'em fast and hard where it counts. You want to split up?"
"They're over the top on these duels, even more so than the snakes. They'll fight prize fights, 'trials of possesion' they seemed to call it. You fight them one-on-one over a prize and beat them, they'll just let you walk away with the prize. We can use that. Hit multiple supply dumps in multiple trials. We launch six attacks, even if we only win half of them, we've won three whole supply dumps."
The Hauptmann stood up. "Girl, I've seen people fighting honor duels before. I've been fighting the dracs since you were in nappies. I'm telling you, fighting on their terms isn't the way to go. They like duels, you use that to your advantage by making it a junkyard fight."
Fiona shook her head. "With all due respect sir, if I'd fought that way, we wouldn't be here right now. I only got my people out because I won the right to escape in a duel."
Clay stabbed a finger in her direction. "That's all well and good. Just because you got lucky, doesn't mean you're the next incarnation of General Kerensky."
"I didn't get lucky, sir. I was just better than them. We all can be."
Clay shook his head, "Enough, Leftenant. This is our world, and our fight. You're welcome to help out, but you'll follow orders and do it our way. Understood?"
She gritted her teeth. "Yes Hauptmann, understood."
He smiled and put the cigar back in his mouth. "Good. Now, take a few days to get your people repaired and rested. We'll all meet up for a strategy session in a few days."
Sunday, December 29, 2019
Monday, December 23, 2019
Anywhere
Tamar March
Federated Commonwealth
4 March, 3050
Tamar March
Federated Commonwealth
4 March, 3050
"I am Mechwarrior Greer of the 8th Falcon Regulars. I pilot the Kit Fox that stands before our lines. I have won the bidding for the right to seize your rabble of a force in a trial of possession. Do not flee like the cowards we have seen so far, and I promise you a quick death in battle that will fulfill your obligations as a warrior. Our trial will commence as soon as you signal your readiness."
Fiona's palms were already sweating, only the fingerless gloves she wore kept her grip on the control sticks secure. She glanced down at her targeting monitor, which still struggled hopelessly to identify the enemy mech, whose pilot had referred to it as a Kit Fox. Sensors pegged it at about thirty tons. It's one arm ended in a barrel of some sort, which at that weight class must be a very small bore autocannon. Other than that, she was blind to its capabilities. At the very least, she outmassed it in her Wyvern.
She raised her mechs arm in a salute. "I stand ready to fight you, Greer. I assure you, you're in for a surprise."
With that, she kicked her mech up into a flank speed run. She didn't know what that little mech could do, but there had been reports of the enemy mechs having very long ranges. She wasnt going to risk it. Get in close, hit hard and fast, and put her weight advantage to good use.
The enemy mech advanced toward her, though not at what looked like a run. She was pondering triggering her jump jets to launch herself into range for her LRM rack, when suddenly a silvery flash twinkled into her vision just before a tremendous force smashed into her mechs torso. The impact of whatever the shell was nearly spun her around, having not been braced for the shot.
What the hell was that? I cant even get a lock on him with my LRMs, and he's hitting me with a cannon that hits at the range of a light AC but punches like the big cannon on a Hunchback.
She waited a few seconds, then triggered her jump jets, just in time to see another of the silver cannonball fly beneath her. She rode her jets to their maximum height and readied herself for landing. As soon as she hit the ground she flexed her Wyverns knees to absorb the landing. As soon as she was under control, she jerked to the right hard, avoiding yet another shot from the enemy cannon, although just narrowly. A sharp crack pierced the air after the supersonic slug passed her.
Greer was being free with his shots, seemingly firing as soon as his cannon recharged. She only had a handful of seconds between volleys, and she knew that her mech was not going to take many hits from whatever that gun was.
She didn't yet have a hard lock on the enemy mech for her missiles, but nonetheless she triggered a salvo that sent ten missiles streaking towards the small enemy mech. They impacted a short distance in front of him, but it must have been enough to throw off his aim, as his next shot drilled into the ground in front of her.
Another burst of her jump jets brought her to within range for her heavy laser. She crouched on landing, and snapped off a shot from the large laser. The beam scored a hit, scoring armor from the small mechs leg.
The enemy reply came in the form of yet another shot from his cannon, which struck her shoulder, but luckily at a glancing angle, lessening the damage. Two medium laser also clawed at her mech, one hitting her arm, and the other a leg.
She glanced down at her damage readout. Shit. Those medium lasers hit almost as hard as my heavy laser.
It was now clear that range wasnt going to be her friend. She continued her strategy of trying to get close. If she could bring her heavier weight and all of her firepower to bear, she might stand a chance.
Her heat was beginning to spike, and she knew with the strain she would soon be putting on her heat sinks, she dared not risk another jump just yet. Instead, she stood and charged yet again, her mental clock ticking the seconds by until she expected another volley from her foe, and just before she felt it would come, she juked her mech, this time to the left.
The enemy pilot had anticipated her move, but not the direction. A silver slug, followed by two lancing laser beams blasted wide of her as she realigned her charge on the enemy light mech. She pulled the trigger on her large laser, which scored yet another hit on the squat Jade Falcon mech. As the beam finished it's work on the Kit Fox's torso, a target lock tone sounded in her helmet, and instinctively she triggered a blast from her LRM's. Soon she would be inside their range, and they made this volley count, eight of the missiles pounding across her foe.
This time, his reply was true, his cannon striking her Wyvern squarely in the chest, nearly stopping her momentum. The enemy lasers followed up, tearing two gashes in her torso armor. Even though she was trading shots with a light mech, she knew she was getting much harder than she was giving, and her protection was growing terrifyingly thin. She was praying that she would make it close enough to count before that protection began to fail.
She waited until she hit the outside range on her short range missiles. As she stepped within range, she pulled into a salvo from the six-pack, simultaneously with her Nightwind large laser, coring more armor from the small enemy mech. She didn't have time to watch her handiwork to check for internal damage, as she slammed her booted feet down on the thrust pedals, sending her mech soaring into the air, and a wave of heat smashing into her.
The enemy pilot was good, tracking her leap. While the cannon slug missed low, the two lasers cored precious armor from her right leg, slightly unbalancing her mech in the air. Coughing for oxygen in the stifling heat, she managed to right her trajectory and inject the spin that she desperately wanted to the jump. Her mech pirouetted in the air, and by the time she found herself over the clan mech, the two war machines facing's matched. A second more and her momentum carried her behind her opponent as she dropped to the ground.
She didn't even wait for a lock, roughly aligning her crosshairs and snapping off a shot from all her weapons except her LRMs. The large laser, along with the pair of small lasers she had yet to use cored into the thin rear armor of the enemy mech. The six pack of missiles peppered the rear torso further, opening rents in the armor.
She paid the price in heat. Her reactor struggled to meet the demand of the jump as well as the volley of weapons fire, and the raw heat dumped into her mech's innards was simply too much for her heat sinks to handle. She tried to inhale, but the incredible ambient heat seared her throat and lungs, the lack of oxygen pulling at her consciousness. She no longer felt sweat running down her exposed flesh, and as her head bobbed down for a moment, she imagined she could almost see the few meager drops of moisture evaporating off her leggings.
She willed herself to retain consciousness, pulling her head back and slamming forward on the control sticks by instinct. Only muscle memory allowed her to complete the maneuver she had envisioned at the start of this particular attack. Her mech took two stumbling steps forward, then she drove her fist into the back of her shocked enemy, punching through the already savaged rear armor, her mech's right hand flexing open and then closed on some internals or another. She could almost feel the enemy mech die in her clutches as it went limp, then fell forward.
She had no idea how much time had passed. She had simply leaned back in her command chair and tried desperately to breathe. Finally she blinked herself back to awareness, an unfamiliar voice sounding in her ears.
"Leftenant Fiona....are you conscious?"
She shook her head, trying to shake off the fatigue weighing her down.
"Leftenant Fiona. Can you respond? This is Star Captain Terrence Mattlov."
She tried to steady her pulse and took a deep breath. "Yes, Star Captain. I am here, I hear you, and I am the victor."
She could hear an almost light tone to the Star Captain's voice. "Indeed, Leftenant, you won the trial, and your fight showed some skill. But do not gloat too openly, for your victory is a hollow one."
She furrowed her brow. "What do you mean? You better not renege on our deal, Star Captain, or I will have your hide myself."
"Relax, little Inner Sphere warrior. I will not violate the terms of our rede. You are the winner of the trial, and you shall have your prize. You, your lance, and those lesser forces that you protect may withdraw from the field of battle. But you cannot run far. As we speak, your cowardly comrades are lifting offworld. Look to the skies in front of you, and you can see them fleeing now like rats from a sinking ship. You are stranded here." She cut off his laughter with a slap of the comm switch, and tried desperately to fight back the tears as the clan forces withdrew, leaving her small band abandoned and alone.
The enemy pilot had anticipated her move, but not the direction. A silver slug, followed by two lancing laser beams blasted wide of her as she realigned her charge on the enemy light mech. She pulled the trigger on her large laser, which scored yet another hit on the squat Jade Falcon mech. As the beam finished it's work on the Kit Fox's torso, a target lock tone sounded in her helmet, and instinctively she triggered a blast from her LRM's. Soon she would be inside their range, and they made this volley count, eight of the missiles pounding across her foe.
This time, his reply was true, his cannon striking her Wyvern squarely in the chest, nearly stopping her momentum. The enemy lasers followed up, tearing two gashes in her torso armor. Even though she was trading shots with a light mech, she knew she was getting much harder than she was giving, and her protection was growing terrifyingly thin. She was praying that she would make it close enough to count before that protection began to fail.
She waited until she hit the outside range on her short range missiles. As she stepped within range, she pulled into a salvo from the six-pack, simultaneously with her Nightwind large laser, coring more armor from the small enemy mech. She didn't have time to watch her handiwork to check for internal damage, as she slammed her booted feet down on the thrust pedals, sending her mech soaring into the air, and a wave of heat smashing into her.
The enemy pilot was good, tracking her leap. While the cannon slug missed low, the two lasers cored precious armor from her right leg, slightly unbalancing her mech in the air. Coughing for oxygen in the stifling heat, she managed to right her trajectory and inject the spin that she desperately wanted to the jump. Her mech pirouetted in the air, and by the time she found herself over the clan mech, the two war machines facing's matched. A second more and her momentum carried her behind her opponent as she dropped to the ground.
She didn't even wait for a lock, roughly aligning her crosshairs and snapping off a shot from all her weapons except her LRMs. The large laser, along with the pair of small lasers she had yet to use cored into the thin rear armor of the enemy mech. The six pack of missiles peppered the rear torso further, opening rents in the armor.
She paid the price in heat. Her reactor struggled to meet the demand of the jump as well as the volley of weapons fire, and the raw heat dumped into her mech's innards was simply too much for her heat sinks to handle. She tried to inhale, but the incredible ambient heat seared her throat and lungs, the lack of oxygen pulling at her consciousness. She no longer felt sweat running down her exposed flesh, and as her head bobbed down for a moment, she imagined she could almost see the few meager drops of moisture evaporating off her leggings.
She willed herself to retain consciousness, pulling her head back and slamming forward on the control sticks by instinct. Only muscle memory allowed her to complete the maneuver she had envisioned at the start of this particular attack. Her mech took two stumbling steps forward, then she drove her fist into the back of her shocked enemy, punching through the already savaged rear armor, her mech's right hand flexing open and then closed on some internals or another. She could almost feel the enemy mech die in her clutches as it went limp, then fell forward.
She had no idea how much time had passed. She had simply leaned back in her command chair and tried desperately to breathe. Finally she blinked herself back to awareness, an unfamiliar voice sounding in her ears.
"Leftenant Fiona....are you conscious?"
She shook her head, trying to shake off the fatigue weighing her down.
"Leftenant Fiona. Can you respond? This is Star Captain Terrence Mattlov."
She tried to steady her pulse and took a deep breath. "Yes, Star Captain. I am here, I hear you, and I am the victor."
She could hear an almost light tone to the Star Captain's voice. "Indeed, Leftenant, you won the trial, and your fight showed some skill. But do not gloat too openly, for your victory is a hollow one."
She furrowed her brow. "What do you mean? You better not renege on our deal, Star Captain, or I will have your hide myself."
"Relax, little Inner Sphere warrior. I will not violate the terms of our rede. You are the winner of the trial, and you shall have your prize. You, your lance, and those lesser forces that you protect may withdraw from the field of battle. But you cannot run far. As we speak, your cowardly comrades are lifting offworld. Look to the skies in front of you, and you can see them fleeing now like rats from a sinking ship. You are stranded here." She cut off his laughter with a slap of the comm switch, and tried desperately to fight back the tears as the clan forces withdrew, leaving her small band abandoned and alone.
Anywhere
Tamar March
Federated Commonwealth
4 March, 3050
The pace was frenetic. As the smoke of combat, and the frantic mess of comm channels clouded her view of the actual picture of combat, Fiona could only try to make sense of the scattered and fragmented transmissions coming across her comm link. The RCT was in chaos. Disparate elements were shouting and clamoring for support across the net as the situation spun out of control.
These Jade Falcons were running roughshod over any and all opposition they faced. They were apparently honor driven like the samurai of the Draconis Combine, trying to coerce their opponents into single combat whenever and wherever they could.
"Leftenant, all our parent elements are pulling out. We have no direction, but should we follow?"
She slammed her fist against the console of her Wyvern."No, we are not going to bail out and leave this M*A*S*H truck to fend for itself. Our orders from Battalion and Regimental were to support these elements, and we are going to damn well hold the line and support these elements. "
Tamar March
Federated Commonwealth
4 March, 3050
The pace was frenetic. As the smoke of combat, and the frantic mess of comm channels clouded her view of the actual picture of combat, Fiona could only try to make sense of the scattered and fragmented transmissions coming across her comm link. The RCT was in chaos. Disparate elements were shouting and clamoring for support across the net as the situation spun out of control.
These Jade Falcons were running roughshod over any and all opposition they faced. They were apparently honor driven like the samurai of the Draconis Combine, trying to coerce their opponents into single combat whenever and wherever they could.
"Leftenant, all our parent elements are pulling out. We have no direction, but should we follow?"
She slammed her fist against the console of her Wyvern."No, we are not going to bail out and leave this M*A*S*H truck to fend for itself. Our orders from Battalion and Regimental were to support these elements, and we are going to damn well hold the line and support these elements. "
"But leftenant, they'll chew us to bits. How do we hold with just a lance and a few infantry against the whole damn lot of them?" Markey asked.
The truth was she didn't know. She didn't have a clue. She looked down at her tactical display, the few friendly blue dots that appeared were painfully far away to the north, and rapidly moving off. To the south, more and more red dots were appearing. Her computer was struggling mightily to identify the enemy units, flipping madly back and forth between disparate designations and the all too common 'unknown battlemech' tag that was applied to many of them. Unknown attackers, unknown mechs, her support fleeing rapidly, and a truck full of wounded soldiers protected by a few dozen infantry relying on her somehow for protection.
She flipped her comm filter over to include general open frequencies, and bas bombarded immediately by a host of angry voices on various open channels. "Stravag! Stand and fight, freebirth cowards!", "By the founders, there is not a drop of warrior blood among any of your pathetic genetic legacies. Even bandits face their fate more honorably than you!"
The channels were filled with a chorus of such insults. But it was more than taunting. The challenges were filled with a genuine anger that the Fed-Com forces were now fleeing rather than fighting. The voices were strange, and definitely not from the Combine.
She was about to flip the filter back, her spirit sagging and her mind void of any idea that might offer hope. Then, in the angry cries of the enemy warriors, the spark of an idea flashed in her head.
She clicked her comms back over to her lance frequency. "Markey, rally the troops in a tight perimeter around the hospital truck. Get everyone ready to move out at a moment's notice, but dont move yet."
"Leftenant, are you nuts? We might barely get back to our lines if we run now. But if we hang around?" She could hear the fear in his voice. It was a gear she shared, possibly even more so. But she could not allow herself to surrender to it. The lives of the whole group were depending on her keeping her wits, her fighting skill, and some false bravado.
"I know what I'm doing, Markey. Follow orders. I'll get you out of this. All of you. Just trust me on this." Without waiting for a response, she flipped over to a general frequency.
"I am Leftenant Fiona Kendrick, of the Ivaarson Chasseurs. Though my comrades may flee, I do not fear you. I will stand and fight in single combat against any you care to offer. I ask only that we fight over a worthy prize. Reply if you dare."
With that, she closed her eyes and rested her head back. This would either pay off incredibly, or be the last and most foolish mistake she ever made.
There was nothing but silence for a few seconds, then a deep male voice came over the line.
"I am Star Captain Terrence Mattlov, Commander of Trinary Charlie, 8th Jade Falcon Regulars. Your batchall is crude, but understood. You wish a trial of possession, quiaff?"
"Call it whatever you want. I'm offering you a fight. Me against your champion."
"Even a challenge as weak as yours is a welcome sight on this pitiful rock. Over what do you wish to fight this trial?"
She took a deep breath. This was it. "My comrades are fleeing, and in doing my duty, protecting this mobile hospital, I find myself cut off from my parent command. When I am victorious, you will allow safe passage for me, my lance, the hospital truck, and its supporting forces."
The enemy commander laughed. "Bold words for someone who has yet to fire a shot against us Falcons. What is the prize when you are defeated by whatever token force is needed to put you down?"
"If I am sefeated, then I will be dead. But should this happen, my entire force will surrender to you, men and material alike."
There was a brief pause before Mattlov replied. "A pitiful prize, but we must take what we can get. Well bargained and done, Leftenant Fiona. My warriors will bid for the small honor of defeating you. The trial will commence in five minutes."
It was done. Now all she had to do was win.
Tuesday, December 17, 2019
Anywhere
Tamar March
Federated Commonwealth
4 March, 3050
"Leftenant, why are we just sitting here? Our armor elements are getting cut to pieces somehow out there by these pirates.!"
Fiona took a deep breath before answering. "Can it, Markey. I don't know what's going on, I just know the general's plan seems to have hit a snag. But we can't go off half-cocked. Regimental will get it under control. Battalion says we'll be moving soon. I want a piece of these guys as much as you do."
Holding her lance back was hard. They all wanted a shot at these raiders. Somewhere along the line, the plan had gone wrong. While they might not be at the top of the battlefield pecking order, the tanks of the RCT were still a huge chunk of guns and armor. They should have been enough to hold these raiders in place. That they seemingly were unable to do so was worrying.
"Company, move up to grid 3-1-9. Looks like we've found trouble again, First and Second battalions are engaging the hostiles and we're to move up to support any breakthrough."
She keyed an acknowledgement of the order and kicked her Wyvern up into cruising speed, keeping her lance tight to her as the company moved up, hopefully into some action. They advanced at a solid pace, and what they found was not good.
Once they broke out of the woodlands into the gently rolling hills of the Brigham Rollo, they stumbled into the battlefield that had become a graveyard for the majority of their armor. In most cases, the hulks of the tanks were still burning. The medics had barely had time to start tending to the wounded, and rescue teams were still swarming over many of the destroyed vehicles.
The enemy had apparently smashed through the armor regiments and simply kept moving. They were now somewhere ahead, locked in combat with the other two Chasseurs battalions. But the level of destruction she saw formed a pit in her stomach. The armor regiments had been hurt, and hurt badly. There was more to this than a simple pirate raid.
"Company, apparently the boys in First Battalion are getting their hats handed to them, we're going to reinforce. Kendrick, your lance is to stay back and provide mech support to the protection detail. I guess these guys have some kind of super infantry or something, and the Kommandant wants to make sure the medics and recovery crews don't get caught without protection."
"Aye sir." She acknowledged the order as she slammed her fist against the console. Fate was doing everything possible to conspire to keep her out of the fight, it seemed. As the rest of her company moved off, she posted her lance at various intervals around the field of carnage. She knew the order made sense, her lance was mainly configured as an urban defense lance, relatively slow but packing significant firepower. This wasn't ideal ground for them to defend, but they were better suited to it than the rest of the company.
"Leftenant, what are we supposed to do here, twiddle our thumbs?" Always it was Markey with a wise crack.
"We have to watch the recovery teams. I've got you guys positioned, just keep your eyes open. I'm going to climb out of the cockpit and see how they're doing on the ground."
Ten minutes later, and she found herself on her knees, spewing her guts onto the ground outside of a M*A*S*H unit. Her heart was still pounding in her ears. The blood, guts, and general level of chaos had overcome her seconds into her visit to the mobile medical van. She had tried to steel herself and overcome it, but the physical sight of so many men and women torn apart and in agony had just overwhelmed her. She had managed to rush out of the door to the unit before the nausea overcame her and she fell to her knees.
She had just managed to control her breathing, overcoming the reflex to expel more, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Normally she would have tried to brush it off, but her spirit was sapped.
"It's ok, kid. Ain't a one of us who hasn't spilled our guts on the ground the first few times we saw a battlefield for real."
"I just....I don't know what I was trying to show myself." She ran her hands through her hair, pulling it back out of her face to observe the person who had happened upon her. He was an infantryman, a sergeant from the looks of his uniform. "I told myself I wanted a feel for what was going on. Guess I got more than I bargained for."
The groundpounder looked towards the horizon for a moment. "Yeah, well I think that's par for the course today. I've seem my share of pirate raids, this isn't one of them."
"What do you mean?"
The sergeant shrugged. "These raiders, they're sharper than any pirate I've ever seen. Got these god awful big armored infantry too. Their mechs were tearing our guys apart from ranges they had no business shooting from, and that was bad enough, but I tell you, when those damn armored infantry ran through us....I've never seen anything like it. Not even spec ops shit. Hell, these guys might as well have been miniature mechs for all the good our small arms fire did against them. Took mech grade weapons to put any kind of hurt on them at all.
Fiona sat back against the stump of a tree. "So who do you think they are then? If they aren't pirates?"
"Some kind of super crazy Dracs if you ask me."
She shook her head to clear her mind and shake the nausea. "Can't be the Combine this far out. Why would you say that?"
"The open comm channels were clogged with challenges to one-on-one fights, honor duels, the kind of shit the Snakes eat up with their Bushido code. If you'd have heard it, they'd have all agreed to line up and fight a bunch of staged fights. Like it was all a big game. 'Course it ain't a game to all the boys they tore up when they swarmed all over our lines."
"We'll get a handle on it. Even if it's Combine raiders, we'll get things under control." She was already trying to recover from her stumble and steel herself for the conflict to come.
The sergeant smiled as he shook his head. "Ma'am, no disrespect to the rank or anything, but you're still wet behind the ears, aren't you?"
She cocked her head, sure she could deal with anything this presumptuous veteran gropo could deal out. "Sergeant, this might be my first official combat assignment, but I'm a damn good Mechwarrior, near top of my class at the Robinson Battle Academy, and I know what I'm doing. We will get this under control, do you hear me?"
The sergeant chuckled. "Leftenant, sir. I know this probably don't mean much, but I've got a few years of reading people. When you've seen as many people wear the uniform as I have, you pick up a thing or two. I can get a read on people. My family, we're 7th generation Lyran Commonwealth Armed forces, and damn near all of us have been groundpounders. I've got two girls in the service probably close enough to your age. And they're both groundpounders. Tough as nails and built like softball players. You, you're from a noble family I'd wager. You're built like a dancer. Ain't nothing against you, I'd wager you're a fine mech jockey. But I've got a finger a hell of a lot closer to the pulse of this shit than you, ma'am. This.....this is something big."
She wanted nothing more than to dispel the man of his notion, but she knew in that moment that she had no case at all. And it scared her.
Tamar March
Federated Commonwealth
4 March, 3050
"Leftenant, why are we just sitting here? Our armor elements are getting cut to pieces somehow out there by these pirates.!"
Fiona took a deep breath before answering. "Can it, Markey. I don't know what's going on, I just know the general's plan seems to have hit a snag. But we can't go off half-cocked. Regimental will get it under control. Battalion says we'll be moving soon. I want a piece of these guys as much as you do."
Holding her lance back was hard. They all wanted a shot at these raiders. Somewhere along the line, the plan had gone wrong. While they might not be at the top of the battlefield pecking order, the tanks of the RCT were still a huge chunk of guns and armor. They should have been enough to hold these raiders in place. That they seemingly were unable to do so was worrying.
"Company, move up to grid 3-1-9. Looks like we've found trouble again, First and Second battalions are engaging the hostiles and we're to move up to support any breakthrough."
She keyed an acknowledgement of the order and kicked her Wyvern up into cruising speed, keeping her lance tight to her as the company moved up, hopefully into some action. They advanced at a solid pace, and what they found was not good.
Once they broke out of the woodlands into the gently rolling hills of the Brigham Rollo, they stumbled into the battlefield that had become a graveyard for the majority of their armor. In most cases, the hulks of the tanks were still burning. The medics had barely had time to start tending to the wounded, and rescue teams were still swarming over many of the destroyed vehicles.
The enemy had apparently smashed through the armor regiments and simply kept moving. They were now somewhere ahead, locked in combat with the other two Chasseurs battalions. But the level of destruction she saw formed a pit in her stomach. The armor regiments had been hurt, and hurt badly. There was more to this than a simple pirate raid.
"Company, apparently the boys in First Battalion are getting their hats handed to them, we're going to reinforce. Kendrick, your lance is to stay back and provide mech support to the protection detail. I guess these guys have some kind of super infantry or something, and the Kommandant wants to make sure the medics and recovery crews don't get caught without protection."
"Aye sir." She acknowledged the order as she slammed her fist against the console. Fate was doing everything possible to conspire to keep her out of the fight, it seemed. As the rest of her company moved off, she posted her lance at various intervals around the field of carnage. She knew the order made sense, her lance was mainly configured as an urban defense lance, relatively slow but packing significant firepower. This wasn't ideal ground for them to defend, but they were better suited to it than the rest of the company.
"Leftenant, what are we supposed to do here, twiddle our thumbs?" Always it was Markey with a wise crack.
"We have to watch the recovery teams. I've got you guys positioned, just keep your eyes open. I'm going to climb out of the cockpit and see how they're doing on the ground."
Ten minutes later, and she found herself on her knees, spewing her guts onto the ground outside of a M*A*S*H unit. Her heart was still pounding in her ears. The blood, guts, and general level of chaos had overcome her seconds into her visit to the mobile medical van. She had tried to steel herself and overcome it, but the physical sight of so many men and women torn apart and in agony had just overwhelmed her. She had managed to rush out of the door to the unit before the nausea overcame her and she fell to her knees.
She had just managed to control her breathing, overcoming the reflex to expel more, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Normally she would have tried to brush it off, but her spirit was sapped.
"It's ok, kid. Ain't a one of us who hasn't spilled our guts on the ground the first few times we saw a battlefield for real."
"I just....I don't know what I was trying to show myself." She ran her hands through her hair, pulling it back out of her face to observe the person who had happened upon her. He was an infantryman, a sergeant from the looks of his uniform. "I told myself I wanted a feel for what was going on. Guess I got more than I bargained for."
The groundpounder looked towards the horizon for a moment. "Yeah, well I think that's par for the course today. I've seem my share of pirate raids, this isn't one of them."
"What do you mean?"
The sergeant shrugged. "These raiders, they're sharper than any pirate I've ever seen. Got these god awful big armored infantry too. Their mechs were tearing our guys apart from ranges they had no business shooting from, and that was bad enough, but I tell you, when those damn armored infantry ran through us....I've never seen anything like it. Not even spec ops shit. Hell, these guys might as well have been miniature mechs for all the good our small arms fire did against them. Took mech grade weapons to put any kind of hurt on them at all.
Fiona sat back against the stump of a tree. "So who do you think they are then? If they aren't pirates?"
"Some kind of super crazy Dracs if you ask me."
She shook her head to clear her mind and shake the nausea. "Can't be the Combine this far out. Why would you say that?"
"The open comm channels were clogged with challenges to one-on-one fights, honor duels, the kind of shit the Snakes eat up with their Bushido code. If you'd have heard it, they'd have all agreed to line up and fight a bunch of staged fights. Like it was all a big game. 'Course it ain't a game to all the boys they tore up when they swarmed all over our lines."
"We'll get a handle on it. Even if it's Combine raiders, we'll get things under control." She was already trying to recover from her stumble and steel herself for the conflict to come.
The sergeant smiled as he shook his head. "Ma'am, no disrespect to the rank or anything, but you're still wet behind the ears, aren't you?"
She cocked her head, sure she could deal with anything this presumptuous veteran gropo could deal out. "Sergeant, this might be my first official combat assignment, but I'm a damn good Mechwarrior, near top of my class at the Robinson Battle Academy, and I know what I'm doing. We will get this under control, do you hear me?"
The sergeant chuckled. "Leftenant, sir. I know this probably don't mean much, but I've got a few years of reading people. When you've seen as many people wear the uniform as I have, you pick up a thing or two. I can get a read on people. My family, we're 7th generation Lyran Commonwealth Armed forces, and damn near all of us have been groundpounders. I've got two girls in the service probably close enough to your age. And they're both groundpounders. Tough as nails and built like softball players. You, you're from a noble family I'd wager. You're built like a dancer. Ain't nothing against you, I'd wager you're a fine mech jockey. But I've got a finger a hell of a lot closer to the pulse of this shit than you, ma'am. This.....this is something big."
She wanted nothing more than to dispel the man of his notion, but she knew in that moment that she had no case at all. And it scared her.
Saturday, October 5, 2019
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."
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."
Saturday, April 27, 2019
The Sisters of Sarna - Chapter 3
Sarna
Sarna Commonality
Capellan Confederation
The farmers, militia, or whoever they were had grown tired of Azalea's protests, and in addition to binding the sisters hands, they fashioned makeshift gags out of bandannas to ensure a peaceful trip as they pushed the two girls into the back of a ramshackle truck. Hope looked over at her sister, taking note of the bruise beginning to form on her jaw.
It had all happened so fast. One minute they were elated, having found civilization. Their ordeal should have been over. Except that it wasn't. Those who should have been their saviors had treated them with confusing disdain. Rather than be accepted as Capellan soldiers, they were instead taken for Davion spies. None of that added up. Sarna was not under Davion threat. If anything, it was House Davion that feared the Capellan military these days. Sarna was well behind the front lines.
And then there was the way that the men had reacted to learning their names. These girls were used to their names opening doors for them, not closing them. Things simply didn't add up. They rode on in their enforced silence for what seemed like hours. She lost count of the number of times she cramped up in the uncomfortable seating in the back of the truck as they rumbled over poorly maintained roads, hitting bumps and rocks, more than once tossing one of the sisters to the floor. Two armed men rode in the back with them, but they never spoke, only occasionally moving to light a cigarette or to toss a spent one from the back of the vehicle.
Finally, they came to a stop. She could faintly hear voices coming from the cabin of the truck, but she could not make out any of what was said. After a few moments, the rear hatch swung open, and the leader of the group from before motioned to the two guards, who in turn roughly ushered the two women from the back of the truck and to their feet. Their hands were still bound in front of them, and they were led to a gate that was obviously a checkpoint of some kind for a large compound that lay sprawled ahead of them.
Custody was clearly transferred when they reached the gate, and two uniformed infantry troopers took them by the arm and led them through the gate. Hope noted the patch on the troopers uniforms, a helmeted knight with two clenched fists. Still gagged, she grunted to Azalea and motioned to the patch. Her sister gave her a confused look.
That's the insignia of McCarron's Armored Cavalry. But none of the MAC units are stationed anywhere near Sarna, so what is going on here?
They were marched unceremoniously past several buildings in what was a huge, if temporarily erected compound. It was a pop-up compound like had served many a house and mercenary unit throughout the history of the conflicts of the Inner Sphere. Hell, it was something like what Hope had expected to find herself in when they reached their assignment with the MAC on the front lines. They were led to a building which seemed to double as storage and a makeshift brig. The first two cells were occupied by what looked like passed out infantrymen or tankers, one of which had recently spread the contents of his stomach, suitably soaked in some cheap alcohol, all over the floor.
Hope and Azalea each were shoved into their own cell, and their gag and wrist bindings removed. They were roughly and thoroughly searched by the two troopers, their pockets emptied and their overshirts removed, leaving them in only their now sweat soaked tank tops.
"You should have seen our identification by now. You know we're CCAF soldiers, same as you. What's going on?" Azalea demanded.
The young corporal, who spoke with a distinct Chesterton accent, seemed unimpressed. "That's all above my pay grade ma'am. Locals brought you in with fake papers on suspicion of being spies for the Federated Suns. Somebody will be down to sort you out when they get a chance. Till then, sit tight."
Their cell doors slammed shut. As soon as the guards had taken a few steps away, the sisters turned to each other. Azalea spoke up first. "What the hell is going on, and what were you trying to tell me earlier?"
Hope looked around nervously before speaking. "This is all wrong. I mean like everything is wrong. These guys are McCarron's Armored Cavalry. But we're on Sarna, they shouldn't be anywhere near Sarna. And those locals? Yeah, I know we're a couple of spoiled brats, but we shouldn't stick out that bad. I mean, we lived here for four years for fucks sake."
Hope stood still, but Azalea paced the tight confines of her cell like a caged animal. "What could have gone wrong in the time we were out of it that has them on edge like this?"
Hope rattled on the bars of the cell. "Zee, you're not listening to me. This is like major league wrong. Ok, we misjumped, but we couldn't have been out of things for more than a few days till the time of the crash. There's no way that the planet would be under threat of Davion attack and have the MAC back here to meet it in that amount of time."
Azalea stopped and faced her sister. "So what are you saying is going on? You're the smart one here, remember?"
Hope looked up at the ceiling of the cell. "I'm saying that I don't know, Zee. I don't know and it scares the shit out of me."
Azalea walked over and grabbed her sister's hands through the bars of the cell. "Listen. I don't know what fucked up shit we've gotten ourselves into, but we'll get through it. We always do. Whatever we landed in, we landed in it together. And I know one thing, the bad guys can't handle that."
A few hours later, a swarm of troopers appeared and unlocked their cells. Without explanation, they led the two sisters out of the brig, through several corridors, and into what seemed like some kind of conference room. The guards secured cuffs around their wrists, connected by a length of chain, which they then connected to an anchor point on the solid metal table. They were given metal chairs to sit on, and all of the guards except for one left the room. The remaining guard stood beside the door.
A few attempts to learn information from the guard were rebuffed, and they sat on in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Then finally, the door opened, and three men entered. The first was a large man with red hair, chewing on a cigar in cliche fashion, seemingly heedless of the risk of it lighting his full beard aflame. He wore a simple field uniform, but it bore the rank markings of a colonel. The second man was the man whose face you would see if you looked up the word 'soldier' in the dictionary. His hair was cut close cropped, and his jaw set firmly in such a way that you dare not challenge him. He wore a more formal uniform, also sporting the crest of McCarron's Armored Cavalry, and the insignia of a colonel. The third man was Asian, and wore the uniform of the CCAF, albeit an old one. His calm demeanor and chilling eyes screamed Maskirovka.
The three men sat down opposite the sisters, with the red-haired man in the middle. He was the one to speak, as he tossed their identification cards on the table between them. "So I get told this story, seems there's a couple of pretty young ladies trying to walk through the lines claiming they're Capellan officers. Problem is, their Chinese is only good enough to maybe order from a buffet menu, and their ID's look like they got them off of said buffet menu. Don't look like any CapCon ID's I've ever seen. And then the frosting on the cake, their names." He paused and picked up the ID cards again. "Azalea McCarron and Hope McCarron? What, you pick these names out at Easter time or something?"
Azalea banged her hands on the table, getting satisfaction in the ringing of the metal of her cuffs off the table. "They were picked by our mother, Lady Freyja McCarron. I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but you better start showing some respect around here." Hope tried in vain to rein her sister in, but Azalea plowed ahead. "I'm tired of this shit, and I want some answers."
The colonel with the close cropped hair kicked back in his chair and laughed. "I don't know, Archie, she sure as shit sounds like a McCarron to me. Maybe you ought to listen to her."
The red haired man held up a hand. "Can it, Marcus. This is serious." He turned to Azalea. "Well young lady, I don't know who, as you so distinctly put it, the fuck you are, but I am Colonel Archibald McCarron, Mandrinn of Menke, and commander of McCarron's Armored Cavalry. I don't know of anyone in the family named after a flower or a prayer. You have some explaining to do."
The sisters sat back in stunned silence. No one spoke for an awkward moment, eyes darting around the room. It was finally the other colonel who broke the silence with a chuckle. "Well shit, Archie, you scared the poor girls into silence."
Hope spoke up meekly. "This can't be. You've been dead for....over a hundred years."
He shook his head. "They haven't put the nail in my coffin yet, girl. Although you look like you've seen a ghost. You're gonna have to do better than that."
The Asian man spoke up next. "If you'll allow me, Colonel, the Maskirovka can obtain the answers you seek. This is clearly some trick of Hanse Davion's, but he will fail in it, I assure you."
Archie McCarron held up a hand. "Hold your horses, Major Lin. We'll get this sorted out, I promise that. Now, ladies. The truth, please. I don't have time to be messing around."
Azalea waved her hands excitedly. "This is the truth. This is who we are. We graduated from the Sarna Martial Academy not more than two weeks ago. We were headed out of system, we jumped, then we crashed. And now we're here."
Major Lin spoke up. "We're obviously getting nowhere with this banter. Turn these spies over to me, and we'll get to the bottom of things. They will tell you the complete truth, Colonel, I assure you."
Hope spoke up. "Wait. We can prove who we are. Take a blood sample and you'll be able to look at the DNA. You'll see that we are authentic McCarron blood, from the line of Thomas McCarron."
He shook his head. "My brother's line hasn't produced any offspring until a little miracle happened about 2 years ago. A little girl named Faith. And you two young ladies are decidedly older than two. Unless you've got anything better than that, I'm afraid I'm going to have to turn you over to the spooks here.
Hope's mind was spinning in circles. Things were happening that couldn't be true. Times and dates simply were not adding up. People were alive that should not be. The only explanation was that they had not gotten lost in a misjump in terms of location, but in terms of time. "What is the date?"
She blurted it out. Azalea looked at her as if to say are you crazy?
Archie McCarron put his cigar out. "Beg your pardon?"
Hope closed her eyes. "Today's date, what is it?"
Archibald McCarron answered. "It's May the twenty-ninth, thirty twenty-nine. Why?"
29 May, 3029. It hit them both like a Gauss rifle slug. Things had definitely gone wrong.
Sarna Commonality
Capellan Confederation
The farmers, militia, or whoever they were had grown tired of Azalea's protests, and in addition to binding the sisters hands, they fashioned makeshift gags out of bandannas to ensure a peaceful trip as they pushed the two girls into the back of a ramshackle truck. Hope looked over at her sister, taking note of the bruise beginning to form on her jaw.
It had all happened so fast. One minute they were elated, having found civilization. Their ordeal should have been over. Except that it wasn't. Those who should have been their saviors had treated them with confusing disdain. Rather than be accepted as Capellan soldiers, they were instead taken for Davion spies. None of that added up. Sarna was not under Davion threat. If anything, it was House Davion that feared the Capellan military these days. Sarna was well behind the front lines.
And then there was the way that the men had reacted to learning their names. These girls were used to their names opening doors for them, not closing them. Things simply didn't add up. They rode on in their enforced silence for what seemed like hours. She lost count of the number of times she cramped up in the uncomfortable seating in the back of the truck as they rumbled over poorly maintained roads, hitting bumps and rocks, more than once tossing one of the sisters to the floor. Two armed men rode in the back with them, but they never spoke, only occasionally moving to light a cigarette or to toss a spent one from the back of the vehicle.
Finally, they came to a stop. She could faintly hear voices coming from the cabin of the truck, but she could not make out any of what was said. After a few moments, the rear hatch swung open, and the leader of the group from before motioned to the two guards, who in turn roughly ushered the two women from the back of the truck and to their feet. Their hands were still bound in front of them, and they were led to a gate that was obviously a checkpoint of some kind for a large compound that lay sprawled ahead of them.
Custody was clearly transferred when they reached the gate, and two uniformed infantry troopers took them by the arm and led them through the gate. Hope noted the patch on the troopers uniforms, a helmeted knight with two clenched fists. Still gagged, she grunted to Azalea and motioned to the patch. Her sister gave her a confused look.
That's the insignia of McCarron's Armored Cavalry. But none of the MAC units are stationed anywhere near Sarna, so what is going on here?
They were marched unceremoniously past several buildings in what was a huge, if temporarily erected compound. It was a pop-up compound like had served many a house and mercenary unit throughout the history of the conflicts of the Inner Sphere. Hell, it was something like what Hope had expected to find herself in when they reached their assignment with the MAC on the front lines. They were led to a building which seemed to double as storage and a makeshift brig. The first two cells were occupied by what looked like passed out infantrymen or tankers, one of which had recently spread the contents of his stomach, suitably soaked in some cheap alcohol, all over the floor.
Hope and Azalea each were shoved into their own cell, and their gag and wrist bindings removed. They were roughly and thoroughly searched by the two troopers, their pockets emptied and their overshirts removed, leaving them in only their now sweat soaked tank tops.
"You should have seen our identification by now. You know we're CCAF soldiers, same as you. What's going on?" Azalea demanded.
The young corporal, who spoke with a distinct Chesterton accent, seemed unimpressed. "That's all above my pay grade ma'am. Locals brought you in with fake papers on suspicion of being spies for the Federated Suns. Somebody will be down to sort you out when they get a chance. Till then, sit tight."
Their cell doors slammed shut. As soon as the guards had taken a few steps away, the sisters turned to each other. Azalea spoke up first. "What the hell is going on, and what were you trying to tell me earlier?"
Hope looked around nervously before speaking. "This is all wrong. I mean like everything is wrong. These guys are McCarron's Armored Cavalry. But we're on Sarna, they shouldn't be anywhere near Sarna. And those locals? Yeah, I know we're a couple of spoiled brats, but we shouldn't stick out that bad. I mean, we lived here for four years for fucks sake."
Hope stood still, but Azalea paced the tight confines of her cell like a caged animal. "What could have gone wrong in the time we were out of it that has them on edge like this?"
Hope rattled on the bars of the cell. "Zee, you're not listening to me. This is like major league wrong. Ok, we misjumped, but we couldn't have been out of things for more than a few days till the time of the crash. There's no way that the planet would be under threat of Davion attack and have the MAC back here to meet it in that amount of time."
Azalea stopped and faced her sister. "So what are you saying is going on? You're the smart one here, remember?"
Hope looked up at the ceiling of the cell. "I'm saying that I don't know, Zee. I don't know and it scares the shit out of me."
Azalea walked over and grabbed her sister's hands through the bars of the cell. "Listen. I don't know what fucked up shit we've gotten ourselves into, but we'll get through it. We always do. Whatever we landed in, we landed in it together. And I know one thing, the bad guys can't handle that."
A few hours later, a swarm of troopers appeared and unlocked their cells. Without explanation, they led the two sisters out of the brig, through several corridors, and into what seemed like some kind of conference room. The guards secured cuffs around their wrists, connected by a length of chain, which they then connected to an anchor point on the solid metal table. They were given metal chairs to sit on, and all of the guards except for one left the room. The remaining guard stood beside the door.
A few attempts to learn information from the guard were rebuffed, and they sat on in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Then finally, the door opened, and three men entered. The first was a large man with red hair, chewing on a cigar in cliche fashion, seemingly heedless of the risk of it lighting his full beard aflame. He wore a simple field uniform, but it bore the rank markings of a colonel. The second man was the man whose face you would see if you looked up the word 'soldier' in the dictionary. His hair was cut close cropped, and his jaw set firmly in such a way that you dare not challenge him. He wore a more formal uniform, also sporting the crest of McCarron's Armored Cavalry, and the insignia of a colonel. The third man was Asian, and wore the uniform of the CCAF, albeit an old one. His calm demeanor and chilling eyes screamed Maskirovka.
The three men sat down opposite the sisters, with the red-haired man in the middle. He was the one to speak, as he tossed their identification cards on the table between them. "So I get told this story, seems there's a couple of pretty young ladies trying to walk through the lines claiming they're Capellan officers. Problem is, their Chinese is only good enough to maybe order from a buffet menu, and their ID's look like they got them off of said buffet menu. Don't look like any CapCon ID's I've ever seen. And then the frosting on the cake, their names." He paused and picked up the ID cards again. "Azalea McCarron and Hope McCarron? What, you pick these names out at Easter time or something?"
Azalea banged her hands on the table, getting satisfaction in the ringing of the metal of her cuffs off the table. "They were picked by our mother, Lady Freyja McCarron. I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but you better start showing some respect around here." Hope tried in vain to rein her sister in, but Azalea plowed ahead. "I'm tired of this shit, and I want some answers."
The colonel with the close cropped hair kicked back in his chair and laughed. "I don't know, Archie, she sure as shit sounds like a McCarron to me. Maybe you ought to listen to her."
The red haired man held up a hand. "Can it, Marcus. This is serious." He turned to Azalea. "Well young lady, I don't know who, as you so distinctly put it, the fuck you are, but I am Colonel Archibald McCarron, Mandrinn of Menke, and commander of McCarron's Armored Cavalry. I don't know of anyone in the family named after a flower or a prayer. You have some explaining to do."
The sisters sat back in stunned silence. No one spoke for an awkward moment, eyes darting around the room. It was finally the other colonel who broke the silence with a chuckle. "Well shit, Archie, you scared the poor girls into silence."
Hope spoke up meekly. "This can't be. You've been dead for....over a hundred years."
He shook his head. "They haven't put the nail in my coffin yet, girl. Although you look like you've seen a ghost. You're gonna have to do better than that."
The Asian man spoke up next. "If you'll allow me, Colonel, the Maskirovka can obtain the answers you seek. This is clearly some trick of Hanse Davion's, but he will fail in it, I assure you."
Archie McCarron held up a hand. "Hold your horses, Major Lin. We'll get this sorted out, I promise that. Now, ladies. The truth, please. I don't have time to be messing around."
Azalea waved her hands excitedly. "This is the truth. This is who we are. We graduated from the Sarna Martial Academy not more than two weeks ago. We were headed out of system, we jumped, then we crashed. And now we're here."
Major Lin spoke up. "We're obviously getting nowhere with this banter. Turn these spies over to me, and we'll get to the bottom of things. They will tell you the complete truth, Colonel, I assure you."
Hope spoke up. "Wait. We can prove who we are. Take a blood sample and you'll be able to look at the DNA. You'll see that we are authentic McCarron blood, from the line of Thomas McCarron."
He shook his head. "My brother's line hasn't produced any offspring until a little miracle happened about 2 years ago. A little girl named Faith. And you two young ladies are decidedly older than two. Unless you've got anything better than that, I'm afraid I'm going to have to turn you over to the spooks here.
Hope's mind was spinning in circles. Things were happening that couldn't be true. Times and dates simply were not adding up. People were alive that should not be. The only explanation was that they had not gotten lost in a misjump in terms of location, but in terms of time. "What is the date?"
She blurted it out. Azalea looked at her as if to say are you crazy?
Archie McCarron put his cigar out. "Beg your pardon?"
Hope closed her eyes. "Today's date, what is it?"
Archibald McCarron answered. "It's May the twenty-ninth, thirty twenty-nine. Why?"
29 May, 3029. It hit them both like a Gauss rifle slug. Things had definitely gone wrong.
The Sisters of Sarna - Chapter 2
Location Unknown
Azalea awoke to the steady drip of water landing on her face. She had no idea how long she had been out, or even when exactly she had lost consciousness. The crash was a blur. As the world around her came into focus, she became aware of light, sunlight, piercing through an opening above her. She tried to blink herself to consciousness. Where is my sister?!
"Hope?!" She heard nothing at first. "HOPE!" she was rewarded the second time with a cough to her right. She shook her head, trying to shake the confusion free. She saw her sister laying on her side, open her eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief. They were alive, at least. Somehow they had made it. She stood slowly, realizing the deck plate below her was resting at an odd angle. The opening she had seen earlier was a huge gash in the side of the compartment they had been in. Sunlight was flooding through, as was water, slowly dripping into a small puddle forming at the base of the compartment.
"Hope, can you move? Are you alright?" her sister was slowly sitting up, taking account of herself just as Azalea had a few moments before.
"I'm fine Zee, at least I think so. We crashed. We're alive."
"Thank you, miss obvious," Azalea quipped. "We have to get outside, see what the situation is. Are you good to move?"
Hope nodded, and the sisters carefully climbed their way towards the tear in the hull before climbing out into a hot, humid marsh. The air was thick, both with moisture and with insects, which immediately began feasting upon the twins as they emerged. They quickly got their bearings, finding the outline of the part of the ship that they had gone down with. With the ship secured for jump operations, their particular segment of the ship was empty of people. Indeed, they should not even have been there, but for their little excursion.
They found no other survivors in their immediate area, and as the day wore on, they quickly made a search of the wreckage for any supplies they could use. Thankfully, the segment of the ship that had come down with them included one of the dropship's escape pods, and so there was an ample supply of emergency rations, supplies, and an assault rifle. By the time the sun had set, they had managed to erect a shelter to keep out the elements, and started a fire.
The immediate situation in hand, and with night falling, the sisters sat beside the fire, which thankfully kept away the insects that had done their best to make a meal of the two girls throughout the afternoon.
"So what the fuck happened?" Azalea asked as much to the universe as to the sister who sat beside her.
Hope rubbed her hands over her arms. "I don't know. Obviously we misjumped, but normally that just puts you either stranded at your starting point, stranded at your destination, or 'poof' out of existence. We clearly didn't seem to end up at the start or finish or our trip, and from the itching of these bug bites, we haven't poofed out of existence. So that leaves.....I don't know.
Azalea sighed, "You're supposed to be the smart one. You got the brains, I got the boobs. If you don't know what happened..." She let her question drift off unanswered. They sat in silence for a few minutes.
"Well, we have to figure out where the hell we are. Looking up at the stars can give us some idea of that."
Azalea shook her head, "You're not going to start doing math on me, are you. You know I hate math."
Hope slapped her sister on the arm. "You don't hate math Zee, you just prefer to let me do the math. But no, seriously, we can make an educated guess based on the alignment of certain stars in the sky. I'm not saying I can tell you what planet we're on, but I can tell you maybe which corner of the Sphere we're in."
Azalea let Hope ramble on about the position of stars relative to each other, knowing that her sister understood the details far better than she ever would. Instead, she gazed up into the heavens, trying to see patterns and constellations to comfort her. It was silly to think that gazing up at the stars would bring her any kind of comfort, but it was her way of relaxing while her sister's mind worked.
Then she saw it. "Shut up, I know where we are."
Hope glared at her. "Were you even listening to me? I've figured out that we're rimward of Terra, so we're not that far off where we should be. I mean, we're not in the clan homeworlds or anything."
"We're still on Sarna."
The two stared at each other for a moment before Hope spoke up. "And you know this how?"
"Well, the constellations are unique to each world, right? We're staring up at the same sky, but from vastly different points. So the constellations that we saw growing up on Lummatii aren't going to be close to the ones on Sarna. And you may be the brains of the operation, but I spent a hell of a lot more time looking up into the sky than you did."
Hope smiled mockingly at her. "Probably on your back with some guys head between your legs."
Azalea raised an eyebrow. "Hey, don't knock it. So I may have been bored while that stupid rich prick from Menke was trying to figure out what he was doing down there, but in between making sure he felt like he was the greatest little lover in the world, I drew some pretty pictures with the constellations. And it gave me something to focus on whenever I had to deal with a less than spectacular end to an evening. But I also know these stars. We're on Sarna, I'm telling you. We must have crashed on the ass end of Jacarlos somewhere, but it's Sarna. All we have to do is make our way to some kind of civilization, and we'll be fine. We've got a gun, that will keep the bigger lizards off us, and when we find some loyal Capellan homestead, we flash our IDs, and we're fine."
Hope glanced around nervously. "It just doesn't feel right. We spent four years here. It doesn't feel like Sarna."
Azalea frowned. "We spent four years on Sarna as cadets at the academy and as a couple of rich bitches. Unless you were slumming it sometime out in the swamps that I didn't know about, we didn't spend too much time out in these parts. Trust me. Come on, we'll button up for the night, and hit the road in the morning."
The night passed without incident, and by morning, they were indeed on the road. They struggled to make a good pace with the heat and humidity, and staying on dry land through the marshes proved to be a challenge as well. Several times they had nearly been accosted by rather large predatory lizards, but each time, Azalea had dispatched their would be tormentors with a shot from her assault rifle.
They had just about given up on finding civilization for the day when they broke out of the marsh and into what was obviously a cultivated paddy field. Where there was farming, there were people. The sisters sloshed their way through the flooded paddy until they reached a raised section of land that could almost serve as a road. The vegetation was still thick, and with the waning light, they could not see very far in front of their path.
Suddenly a light snapped on in front of them, blinding them temporarily, and they could hear several excited voices. Both women shielded their eyes from the blazing light, trying to recover. A voice shouted out from behind the light, in Mandarin. "Drop your weapons. We shoot Davion rats here."
What the hell? "We are not Davions. We are Capellan Janshi. Our ship crashed back in the marsh. We are trying to make our way back."
She heard a grunt in reply. "You speak Mandarin like guests on a Davion soap opera."
Fuck. She knew that her Mandarin wasn't perfect, not being a native speaker, but both she and her sister spoke at least passable forms of the language. She placed her weapon on the ground, and her hands in the air. "You can check our papers. We are graduates of the Sarna Martial Academy, and loyal Capellan soldiers. There's no cause for alarm."
"We'll see. I still say you talk like Davion spies."
Hope whispered to her as a figure emerged from the light, carrying a rifle. "I should have done the talking, my Mandarin is better."
Azalea stared daggers at her sister. "You think these bumpkins care?"
"Quiet!" the man walking towards them shouted. As he reached them, his eyes darted back and forth between the two sisters. "You talk like Davions, look like Davions. We could just shoot you and leave you here in the marshes, save the Chancellor the time. Show me your papers, and I might change my mind."
Azalea slowly removed her ID card from the back pocket of her pants, and handed it over to the man, who looked over it confusedly. "I am supposed to believe this? This is a bad forgery to start, and the name? McCarron? As in the mercenaries who are supposedly here to protect us? The Fox is not as sly as he thinks if these are the spies he is sending us. Don't move. We will take you to the authorities, and turn you in for a reward."
"This is all a mistake. I don't know what you think you're talking about, but we are Capellan officers and-"
Her protests were cut off with the butt of the man's rifle to her jaw. As she spun around and fell to the ground, she heard her sister scream in protest, but those screams were quickly muffled. The world swam around her as she tried to get a handle on what exactly was going on.
Azalea awoke to the steady drip of water landing on her face. She had no idea how long she had been out, or even when exactly she had lost consciousness. The crash was a blur. As the world around her came into focus, she became aware of light, sunlight, piercing through an opening above her. She tried to blink herself to consciousness. Where is my sister?!
"Hope?!" She heard nothing at first. "HOPE!" she was rewarded the second time with a cough to her right. She shook her head, trying to shake the confusion free. She saw her sister laying on her side, open her eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief. They were alive, at least. Somehow they had made it. She stood slowly, realizing the deck plate below her was resting at an odd angle. The opening she had seen earlier was a huge gash in the side of the compartment they had been in. Sunlight was flooding through, as was water, slowly dripping into a small puddle forming at the base of the compartment.
"Hope, can you move? Are you alright?" her sister was slowly sitting up, taking account of herself just as Azalea had a few moments before.
"I'm fine Zee, at least I think so. We crashed. We're alive."
"Thank you, miss obvious," Azalea quipped. "We have to get outside, see what the situation is. Are you good to move?"
Hope nodded, and the sisters carefully climbed their way towards the tear in the hull before climbing out into a hot, humid marsh. The air was thick, both with moisture and with insects, which immediately began feasting upon the twins as they emerged. They quickly got their bearings, finding the outline of the part of the ship that they had gone down with. With the ship secured for jump operations, their particular segment of the ship was empty of people. Indeed, they should not even have been there, but for their little excursion.
They found no other survivors in their immediate area, and as the day wore on, they quickly made a search of the wreckage for any supplies they could use. Thankfully, the segment of the ship that had come down with them included one of the dropship's escape pods, and so there was an ample supply of emergency rations, supplies, and an assault rifle. By the time the sun had set, they had managed to erect a shelter to keep out the elements, and started a fire.
The immediate situation in hand, and with night falling, the sisters sat beside the fire, which thankfully kept away the insects that had done their best to make a meal of the two girls throughout the afternoon.
"So what the fuck happened?" Azalea asked as much to the universe as to the sister who sat beside her.
Hope rubbed her hands over her arms. "I don't know. Obviously we misjumped, but normally that just puts you either stranded at your starting point, stranded at your destination, or 'poof' out of existence. We clearly didn't seem to end up at the start or finish or our trip, and from the itching of these bug bites, we haven't poofed out of existence. So that leaves.....I don't know.
Azalea sighed, "You're supposed to be the smart one. You got the brains, I got the boobs. If you don't know what happened..." She let her question drift off unanswered. They sat in silence for a few minutes.
"Well, we have to figure out where the hell we are. Looking up at the stars can give us some idea of that."
Azalea shook her head, "You're not going to start doing math on me, are you. You know I hate math."
Hope slapped her sister on the arm. "You don't hate math Zee, you just prefer to let me do the math. But no, seriously, we can make an educated guess based on the alignment of certain stars in the sky. I'm not saying I can tell you what planet we're on, but I can tell you maybe which corner of the Sphere we're in."
Azalea let Hope ramble on about the position of stars relative to each other, knowing that her sister understood the details far better than she ever would. Instead, she gazed up into the heavens, trying to see patterns and constellations to comfort her. It was silly to think that gazing up at the stars would bring her any kind of comfort, but it was her way of relaxing while her sister's mind worked.
Then she saw it. "Shut up, I know where we are."
Hope glared at her. "Were you even listening to me? I've figured out that we're rimward of Terra, so we're not that far off where we should be. I mean, we're not in the clan homeworlds or anything."
"We're still on Sarna."
The two stared at each other for a moment before Hope spoke up. "And you know this how?"
"Well, the constellations are unique to each world, right? We're staring up at the same sky, but from vastly different points. So the constellations that we saw growing up on Lummatii aren't going to be close to the ones on Sarna. And you may be the brains of the operation, but I spent a hell of a lot more time looking up into the sky than you did."
Hope smiled mockingly at her. "Probably on your back with some guys head between your legs."
Azalea raised an eyebrow. "Hey, don't knock it. So I may have been bored while that stupid rich prick from Menke was trying to figure out what he was doing down there, but in between making sure he felt like he was the greatest little lover in the world, I drew some pretty pictures with the constellations. And it gave me something to focus on whenever I had to deal with a less than spectacular end to an evening. But I also know these stars. We're on Sarna, I'm telling you. We must have crashed on the ass end of Jacarlos somewhere, but it's Sarna. All we have to do is make our way to some kind of civilization, and we'll be fine. We've got a gun, that will keep the bigger lizards off us, and when we find some loyal Capellan homestead, we flash our IDs, and we're fine."
Hope glanced around nervously. "It just doesn't feel right. We spent four years here. It doesn't feel like Sarna."
Azalea frowned. "We spent four years on Sarna as cadets at the academy and as a couple of rich bitches. Unless you were slumming it sometime out in the swamps that I didn't know about, we didn't spend too much time out in these parts. Trust me. Come on, we'll button up for the night, and hit the road in the morning."
The night passed without incident, and by morning, they were indeed on the road. They struggled to make a good pace with the heat and humidity, and staying on dry land through the marshes proved to be a challenge as well. Several times they had nearly been accosted by rather large predatory lizards, but each time, Azalea had dispatched their would be tormentors with a shot from her assault rifle.
They had just about given up on finding civilization for the day when they broke out of the marsh and into what was obviously a cultivated paddy field. Where there was farming, there were people. The sisters sloshed their way through the flooded paddy until they reached a raised section of land that could almost serve as a road. The vegetation was still thick, and with the waning light, they could not see very far in front of their path.
Suddenly a light snapped on in front of them, blinding them temporarily, and they could hear several excited voices. Both women shielded their eyes from the blazing light, trying to recover. A voice shouted out from behind the light, in Mandarin. "Drop your weapons. We shoot Davion rats here."
What the hell? "We are not Davions. We are Capellan Janshi. Our ship crashed back in the marsh. We are trying to make our way back."
She heard a grunt in reply. "You speak Mandarin like guests on a Davion soap opera."
Fuck. She knew that her Mandarin wasn't perfect, not being a native speaker, but both she and her sister spoke at least passable forms of the language. She placed her weapon on the ground, and her hands in the air. "You can check our papers. We are graduates of the Sarna Martial Academy, and loyal Capellan soldiers. There's no cause for alarm."
"We'll see. I still say you talk like Davion spies."
Hope whispered to her as a figure emerged from the light, carrying a rifle. "I should have done the talking, my Mandarin is better."
Azalea stared daggers at her sister. "You think these bumpkins care?"
"Quiet!" the man walking towards them shouted. As he reached them, his eyes darted back and forth between the two sisters. "You talk like Davions, look like Davions. We could just shoot you and leave you here in the marshes, save the Chancellor the time. Show me your papers, and I might change my mind."
Azalea slowly removed her ID card from the back pocket of her pants, and handed it over to the man, who looked over it confusedly. "I am supposed to believe this? This is a bad forgery to start, and the name? McCarron? As in the mercenaries who are supposedly here to protect us? The Fox is not as sly as he thinks if these are the spies he is sending us. Don't move. We will take you to the authorities, and turn you in for a reward."
"This is all a mistake. I don't know what you think you're talking about, but we are Capellan officers and-"
Her protests were cut off with the butt of the man's rifle to her jaw. As she spun around and fell to the ground, she heard her sister scream in protest, but those screams were quickly muffled. The world swam around her as she tried to get a handle on what exactly was going on.
The Sisters of Sarna - Chapter 1
Sarna Martial Academy
Sarna
Sarna Commonality
Capellan Confederation
15 May, 3172
Thankfully it was May, and while it was still warm for her taste, at least it was not the swealtering humid heat for which Sarna was known for most of the year. Today, while warm, saw a gentle breeze blowing across the open fields surrounding the Sarna Martial Academy. The breeze was strong enough to gently ripple the flags that stood above the main building, the flag of the Capellan Confederation the highest, with the flags of Sarna and various military unit's whose members were in attendance at the graduation ceremony earlier today flying decidedly lower.
Lady Freyja McCarron stood at the podium, one of several assembled for the occasion where the assorted media outlets could pester their target of choice with a few questions. Freyja was in attendance today for her twin daughters, both of whom had just graduated, but owing to her position as a member of the nobility, it was expected that she make an appearance in front of the media with her recently commissioned children.
She wore a conservatively cut suit, black with bronze highlights, suitably Capellan for the occasion, with a green blouse underneath. Her hair, still the golden blonde of her youth, she wore braided intricately, and highlighted with crystals from her holdings in the periphery. She hated playing up her Capellan heritage, but her daughters had chosen to attend school in the confederation, and if anything, a certain level of Capellan pride was expected of anyone making an appearance at any sort of formal event within the Confederation borders.
She was flanked by her two daughters. To her left stood Hope, the more delicate of the two, her hair a golden blonde that matched Freyja's own perfectly, pulled up in a perfectly regulation bun. Her eyes shone with a soft blue that radiated calm. She stood at a parade rest, her slender figure somehow managing to cut a commanding pose in spite of her slight stature.
To Freyja's right, also at parade rest, stood her other daughter, Azalea. She was, in many ways, the opposite of Hope. She was more toned and athletic, and her stance looked as if she were ready to bolt into action, whatever the action may be. Her eyes were a deep, dark brown that almost enveloped you with their gaze. They matched her dark brown hair, which she wore tightly in a less than regulation ponytail, her lips pursed in a display that showed she wanted to be anywhere but where she was.
Freyja leaned in to the microphone. "I'll only take a few questions, so be brief and on point. I'm sure you understand, I'd like to spend some time with my girls on an occasion like this" she smiled a smile that was practiced enough to placate the audience. As she stopped speaking, a sea of hands immediately raised, and she pointed aimlessly at one, being totally unfamiliar with the local media.
"Lady McCarron, as one of the few in your family to have never served in the Capellan Military, can you describe the sense of pride you feel at having not one, but two daughters joining the loyal ranks of the Capellan janshi?!"
If that wasn't a backhanded compliment, I don't know what is. "Of course, this is a great day for our family. Citizenship is earned in the confederation, and as I'm sure you know, I earned mine before I entered military service, helping the poorer citizens of Altorra, where my family maintains our landhold. My daughters, of course, were raised mainly in my adopted home in the Lothian League, so I always felt it was important that they maintain contact with the Confederation to understand their heritage and the responsibilities that come with it. When they chose to attend the Sarna Martial Academy together, their father and I could not have been more proud of their decision to make a commitment to the land of their ancestors."
Another reporter soon broke in with a question. "Does this signal that you will be spending more of your time and attention here in the Confederation, as your family traditionally has, or will you be returning soon to the periphery?"
Always so damned welcoming, aren't you. "My ties and responsibilities to the Confederation remain strong. I would like to take this opportunity to say that I am beyond happy with the job my brother Angus has done as Lord McCarron in my stead at Castle McCarron on Altorra. He and his family will continue to maintain that role as, yes, I return to the all consuming responsibilities of governing an entire world in the name of Grand Mistress Logan. While I'm sure that my regent, Count Gunnar Logan, is doing a fine job holding down the fort in my absence, it would be irresponsible of me to leave my people on Lummatii without firm guidance."
A female reporter wearing entirely too much makeup and what looked like enough jewelry to equip a small noble family jumped in next. "Speaking of your regent, the fetching Count Gunnar, are there ever going to be plans for the two of you to wed, now that the nest is empty, so to speak?"
Freyja sneered. "Count Logan and I are quite happy in our relationship. We have managed to raise two amazing daughters without the cumbersome chains of marriage, and I see no need to change that arrangement now, so sorry, your society gossip pages will have to keep chewing on that one, I'm afraid."
A stern looking man interjected next with his question. "Assignments have been leaked recently, it seems both of your daughters will be serving with the Fourth McCarron's Armored Cavalry. Given your line of the family's tendency to distance yourself from the line that has run the MAC so ably for our state for generations, were any strings pulled to get these postings, perhaps as a sort of peace offering and reuniting of disparate branches of the family?"
"As I'm sure you know, my line of the McCarron family diverged from the one vested with control of the MAC long ago. Both sides of our family have done our own thing, and will continue to do so. I had no talks with my cousin Xavier, or anyone in the MAC or the CCAF regarding my daughters postings. I'm sure they will be welcomed into the unit, and I'm sure they will do our side of the family proud. Thank you all, that's it for today."
Freyja stepped down from the podium and followed a cordoned off path to her right, followed by her daughters. Crowds mixed with reporters and common citizens were held back by barriers, until they reached a waiting hoverlimo, and the three women stepped in and closed the door, as if sealing the outside world away.
"Not going to run off and get married now that the nest is empty, mother?" Azalea asked with a laugh.
Freyja shook her head. "God, you never know what those reporters are going to hit you with. You'd think they would have something better to do."
Hope interjected, "It's the society column, mom, they have nothing better to do. But hey, you handled them well. Nice to see you haven't lost your edge, living all soft there in the periphery, leaving us to deal with the big bad Capellan press." she winked.
Freyja leaned back and sighed, unbuttoning her suit jacket. "Are you girls sure this is what you want? You could have plum assignments in the Lothian military, you'd be closer to home, and far safer than running with the wild and crazy MAC."
Azalea frowned. "Mom, you talk about the MAC like it's before the Fourth Succession War and they're a bunch of barbarians getting into bar fights and all. The MAC of today is as prime an assignment as you can get. We'll be the cream of the crop. And besides, you're a fine one to lecture us about playing it safe. You practically ran away from home, got caught up in the slave trade, and fought real life pirates, and that was all before we came along. And come on, there's two of us, we can handle anything."
Freyja shook her head. "I know, it's just different when the shoe is on the other foot. I'm going to be worried about you two all the time, you know that."
Hope leaned forward and put a hand on her mother's knee. "We'll be fine, mom. And besides, we'll be so famous, you'll hear news stories about us, you can practically watch us from home."
"Follow our trail of ass kicking, you mean," Azalea quipped.
A week later, the two sisters floated in zero-G, staring out of the viewport at the tiny dot that was Sarna in the distance. They were moored at the jump point now, waiting to make the jump to their next assignment, their first real assignment.
"Who do you think will freak more, mom or dad?" Azalea asked as she hovered next to her twin sister. Her dark brown hair was a twisted mess, floating every which way, moving with the gentle motions of her neck.
"Definitely mom." Hope replied. She had her hair wrapped up and tied in a bun, with barely a loose strand escaping. "Dad is chill when it comes to this stuff. Mom, you'd think she'd be calmer after all she's been through, but she's definitely the worry wart."
"Just like you, sis." Azalea quipped as she poked Hope and sent her spinning slowly away. "You need to loosen up. We're on our own now, we made it, we graduated, we're free. No more rules and bullshit like that, we're mechwarriors, we get to go out, kick ass, and have a good time."
Hope steadied herself against a railing. "Zee, you do realize that we don't get to leave rules behind? If anything, we get more of them. Have you missed the last four years where we've be training to be part of a military unit? Military, as in discipline, rules, regulations?"
Azalea shook her head purposefully to send her hair flying in every direction. "God, Hope, you make it sound like we signed up for the DCMS or something. This is the thirty-second century, we're signed on with McCarron's freaking Armored Cavalry, we get to get blow stuff up, get drunk, and have sex in wild places. Let your hair down for once in our lives.
Just then, the jump alarm sounded. Hope pointed at her sister. "We're already living on the edge, we're not supposed to be up here during jump operations, we're supposed to be tucked away safe in our beds."
Azalea pushed off the deck and tumbled through the air effortlessly. "Oh come on, Hope. Neither of us gets TDS, and I didn't sneak any boys into my bed, and I'm pretty sure you didn't sneak any girls into yours, so it's class-A boring back there. At least here we get to watch the stars appear and disappear."
The warning klaxon sounded again, counting down 5...4...3...2..1...jump. Hyperspace jump was different for everyone. Some people loved it. Some people hated it. Some people were sick for days with it. For the McCarron sisters, it was somewhere in the middle. They had jumped so many times in their lives, traveling between systems, that it just sort of....was. It was as everyday ordinary as falling asleep.
Except this time. Azalea felt like she was being sucked inside out, a pressure building up inside her that desperately wanted to pop, like the seal on a jar. She hung motionless in the air, seemingly not even breathing for what registered like an eternity in her mind. And then in popped. The seal broke. The lid came off.
She tumbled unceremoniously to the deck, thankfully not landing on her head or anything vital. She heard her sister yelp out in pain an instant later. She used that sound to focus her, to draw her back to reality. In twenty-two years of life, she and her sister had rarely been apart, and for as much as they fought and teased the other, each knew they were linked to the other for life. She didn't know if it was something magical, if it was just a product of being raised together, or some mystery of twins, having shared the same womb and come into the world together, but they were connected on some level that neither understood, and they used it more than once in their lives.
"Hope, are you ok?" She cried out frantically. The lights on the dropship had all failed, the only light was that coming through the viewing port, a port which showed.....a planet? That couldn't be. They had just jumped, there was no way they were close enough that the view from the port would be like one orbiting a planet, yet it was.
"I hurt like hell, but I'm ok. What the hell happened. And what the hell is that out the window?"
Azalea tried to sit up. "I don't know, maybe we misjumped or something to a pirate point--" She was cut off mid sentence as the ship around them shook violently. The image out the viewport shifted, and they began to once more be thrown about. She felt her sisters hand grab hold of her arm.
"What's going on? If we misjumped, and that's a planet, then everything's gone wrong and we're going to crash. We won't survive. We should try to get to our mechs. Maybe inside them we could survive the crash."
Azalea pulled her sister in closer, and they gripped each other for dear life. "There's no way we'll make it to the mech bay. Or out of here any way at all. We either live through this or we don't. But I'm not splitting up from you. If we're going to die, then we're going out the way we came in, kicking and screaming, and together....."
Sarna
Sarna Commonality
Capellan Confederation
15 May, 3172
Thankfully it was May, and while it was still warm for her taste, at least it was not the swealtering humid heat for which Sarna was known for most of the year. Today, while warm, saw a gentle breeze blowing across the open fields surrounding the Sarna Martial Academy. The breeze was strong enough to gently ripple the flags that stood above the main building, the flag of the Capellan Confederation the highest, with the flags of Sarna and various military unit's whose members were in attendance at the graduation ceremony earlier today flying decidedly lower.
Lady Freyja McCarron stood at the podium, one of several assembled for the occasion where the assorted media outlets could pester their target of choice with a few questions. Freyja was in attendance today for her twin daughters, both of whom had just graduated, but owing to her position as a member of the nobility, it was expected that she make an appearance in front of the media with her recently commissioned children.
She wore a conservatively cut suit, black with bronze highlights, suitably Capellan for the occasion, with a green blouse underneath. Her hair, still the golden blonde of her youth, she wore braided intricately, and highlighted with crystals from her holdings in the periphery. She hated playing up her Capellan heritage, but her daughters had chosen to attend school in the confederation, and if anything, a certain level of Capellan pride was expected of anyone making an appearance at any sort of formal event within the Confederation borders.
She was flanked by her two daughters. To her left stood Hope, the more delicate of the two, her hair a golden blonde that matched Freyja's own perfectly, pulled up in a perfectly regulation bun. Her eyes shone with a soft blue that radiated calm. She stood at a parade rest, her slender figure somehow managing to cut a commanding pose in spite of her slight stature.
To Freyja's right, also at parade rest, stood her other daughter, Azalea. She was, in many ways, the opposite of Hope. She was more toned and athletic, and her stance looked as if she were ready to bolt into action, whatever the action may be. Her eyes were a deep, dark brown that almost enveloped you with their gaze. They matched her dark brown hair, which she wore tightly in a less than regulation ponytail, her lips pursed in a display that showed she wanted to be anywhere but where she was.
Freyja leaned in to the microphone. "I'll only take a few questions, so be brief and on point. I'm sure you understand, I'd like to spend some time with my girls on an occasion like this" she smiled a smile that was practiced enough to placate the audience. As she stopped speaking, a sea of hands immediately raised, and she pointed aimlessly at one, being totally unfamiliar with the local media.
"Lady McCarron, as one of the few in your family to have never served in the Capellan Military, can you describe the sense of pride you feel at having not one, but two daughters joining the loyal ranks of the Capellan janshi?!"
If that wasn't a backhanded compliment, I don't know what is. "Of course, this is a great day for our family. Citizenship is earned in the confederation, and as I'm sure you know, I earned mine before I entered military service, helping the poorer citizens of Altorra, where my family maintains our landhold. My daughters, of course, were raised mainly in my adopted home in the Lothian League, so I always felt it was important that they maintain contact with the Confederation to understand their heritage and the responsibilities that come with it. When they chose to attend the Sarna Martial Academy together, their father and I could not have been more proud of their decision to make a commitment to the land of their ancestors."
Another reporter soon broke in with a question. "Does this signal that you will be spending more of your time and attention here in the Confederation, as your family traditionally has, or will you be returning soon to the periphery?"
Always so damned welcoming, aren't you. "My ties and responsibilities to the Confederation remain strong. I would like to take this opportunity to say that I am beyond happy with the job my brother Angus has done as Lord McCarron in my stead at Castle McCarron on Altorra. He and his family will continue to maintain that role as, yes, I return to the all consuming responsibilities of governing an entire world in the name of Grand Mistress Logan. While I'm sure that my regent, Count Gunnar Logan, is doing a fine job holding down the fort in my absence, it would be irresponsible of me to leave my people on Lummatii without firm guidance."
A female reporter wearing entirely too much makeup and what looked like enough jewelry to equip a small noble family jumped in next. "Speaking of your regent, the fetching Count Gunnar, are there ever going to be plans for the two of you to wed, now that the nest is empty, so to speak?"
Freyja sneered. "Count Logan and I are quite happy in our relationship. We have managed to raise two amazing daughters without the cumbersome chains of marriage, and I see no need to change that arrangement now, so sorry, your society gossip pages will have to keep chewing on that one, I'm afraid."
A stern looking man interjected next with his question. "Assignments have been leaked recently, it seems both of your daughters will be serving with the Fourth McCarron's Armored Cavalry. Given your line of the family's tendency to distance yourself from the line that has run the MAC so ably for our state for generations, were any strings pulled to get these postings, perhaps as a sort of peace offering and reuniting of disparate branches of the family?"
"As I'm sure you know, my line of the McCarron family diverged from the one vested with control of the MAC long ago. Both sides of our family have done our own thing, and will continue to do so. I had no talks with my cousin Xavier, or anyone in the MAC or the CCAF regarding my daughters postings. I'm sure they will be welcomed into the unit, and I'm sure they will do our side of the family proud. Thank you all, that's it for today."
Freyja stepped down from the podium and followed a cordoned off path to her right, followed by her daughters. Crowds mixed with reporters and common citizens were held back by barriers, until they reached a waiting hoverlimo, and the three women stepped in and closed the door, as if sealing the outside world away.
"Not going to run off and get married now that the nest is empty, mother?" Azalea asked with a laugh.
Freyja shook her head. "God, you never know what those reporters are going to hit you with. You'd think they would have something better to do."
Hope interjected, "It's the society column, mom, they have nothing better to do. But hey, you handled them well. Nice to see you haven't lost your edge, living all soft there in the periphery, leaving us to deal with the big bad Capellan press." she winked.
Freyja leaned back and sighed, unbuttoning her suit jacket. "Are you girls sure this is what you want? You could have plum assignments in the Lothian military, you'd be closer to home, and far safer than running with the wild and crazy MAC."
Azalea frowned. "Mom, you talk about the MAC like it's before the Fourth Succession War and they're a bunch of barbarians getting into bar fights and all. The MAC of today is as prime an assignment as you can get. We'll be the cream of the crop. And besides, you're a fine one to lecture us about playing it safe. You practically ran away from home, got caught up in the slave trade, and fought real life pirates, and that was all before we came along. And come on, there's two of us, we can handle anything."
Freyja shook her head. "I know, it's just different when the shoe is on the other foot. I'm going to be worried about you two all the time, you know that."
Hope leaned forward and put a hand on her mother's knee. "We'll be fine, mom. And besides, we'll be so famous, you'll hear news stories about us, you can practically watch us from home."
"Follow our trail of ass kicking, you mean," Azalea quipped.
A week later, the two sisters floated in zero-G, staring out of the viewport at the tiny dot that was Sarna in the distance. They were moored at the jump point now, waiting to make the jump to their next assignment, their first real assignment.
"Who do you think will freak more, mom or dad?" Azalea asked as she hovered next to her twin sister. Her dark brown hair was a twisted mess, floating every which way, moving with the gentle motions of her neck.
"Definitely mom." Hope replied. She had her hair wrapped up and tied in a bun, with barely a loose strand escaping. "Dad is chill when it comes to this stuff. Mom, you'd think she'd be calmer after all she's been through, but she's definitely the worry wart."
"Just like you, sis." Azalea quipped as she poked Hope and sent her spinning slowly away. "You need to loosen up. We're on our own now, we made it, we graduated, we're free. No more rules and bullshit like that, we're mechwarriors, we get to go out, kick ass, and have a good time."
Hope steadied herself against a railing. "Zee, you do realize that we don't get to leave rules behind? If anything, we get more of them. Have you missed the last four years where we've be training to be part of a military unit? Military, as in discipline, rules, regulations?"
Azalea shook her head purposefully to send her hair flying in every direction. "God, Hope, you make it sound like we signed up for the DCMS or something. This is the thirty-second century, we're signed on with McCarron's freaking Armored Cavalry, we get to get blow stuff up, get drunk, and have sex in wild places. Let your hair down for once in our lives.
Just then, the jump alarm sounded. Hope pointed at her sister. "We're already living on the edge, we're not supposed to be up here during jump operations, we're supposed to be tucked away safe in our beds."
Azalea pushed off the deck and tumbled through the air effortlessly. "Oh come on, Hope. Neither of us gets TDS, and I didn't sneak any boys into my bed, and I'm pretty sure you didn't sneak any girls into yours, so it's class-A boring back there. At least here we get to watch the stars appear and disappear."
The warning klaxon sounded again, counting down 5...4...3...2..1...jump. Hyperspace jump was different for everyone. Some people loved it. Some people hated it. Some people were sick for days with it. For the McCarron sisters, it was somewhere in the middle. They had jumped so many times in their lives, traveling between systems, that it just sort of....was. It was as everyday ordinary as falling asleep.
Except this time. Azalea felt like she was being sucked inside out, a pressure building up inside her that desperately wanted to pop, like the seal on a jar. She hung motionless in the air, seemingly not even breathing for what registered like an eternity in her mind. And then in popped. The seal broke. The lid came off.
She tumbled unceremoniously to the deck, thankfully not landing on her head or anything vital. She heard her sister yelp out in pain an instant later. She used that sound to focus her, to draw her back to reality. In twenty-two years of life, she and her sister had rarely been apart, and for as much as they fought and teased the other, each knew they were linked to the other for life. She didn't know if it was something magical, if it was just a product of being raised together, or some mystery of twins, having shared the same womb and come into the world together, but they were connected on some level that neither understood, and they used it more than once in their lives.
"Hope, are you ok?" She cried out frantically. The lights on the dropship had all failed, the only light was that coming through the viewing port, a port which showed.....a planet? That couldn't be. They had just jumped, there was no way they were close enough that the view from the port would be like one orbiting a planet, yet it was.
"I hurt like hell, but I'm ok. What the hell happened. And what the hell is that out the window?"
Azalea tried to sit up. "I don't know, maybe we misjumped or something to a pirate point--" She was cut off mid sentence as the ship around them shook violently. The image out the viewport shifted, and they began to once more be thrown about. She felt her sisters hand grab hold of her arm.
"What's going on? If we misjumped, and that's a planet, then everything's gone wrong and we're going to crash. We won't survive. We should try to get to our mechs. Maybe inside them we could survive the crash."
Azalea pulled her sister in closer, and they gripped each other for dear life. "There's no way we'll make it to the mech bay. Or out of here any way at all. We either live through this or we don't. But I'm not splitting up from you. If we're going to die, then we're going out the way we came in, kicking and screaming, and together....."
Friday, April 19, 2019
Forging Freyja - Chapter 13.5
Royal Palace
Lordinax
Lothian League
Marian Hegemony
The Periphery
27 February, 3150
Gunnar Logan tried not to appear worried as he sat at the square breakfast table in what seemed to be the Grand Mistress' private room. There was a large closed set of doors that he only could guess led to her bedroom, and another open set on the opposite wall that led into a library or study. He had to admit to being a little intrigued at being so close to the Grand Mistress' bedroom. The lady had something of a reputation for her appetite, and had been flirtatious as hell during their meeting the day before. And of course it didn't hurt that she was both powerful and beautiful. But Gunnar had been unable to seal the deal, finally realizing that the Grand Mistress was all tease, and had ended up returning to his room with nothing but frustration.
It hadn't helped that he had no word or contact from Freyja. He had made several discreet inquiries, but it wasn't as if he could go barging around another noble's palace looking for her. Discretion was the better part of valor, and he had finally drifted off to sleep. He had received an invitation to a group breakfast with the Grand Mistress, which is where he found himself now.
Seated across from him was Senator Ghant, pecking away at a piece of potato with his fork in an irritated manner. The man was short on both patience and manners. Seated to his left was Grand Mistress Logan, looking poised as ever, sipping a cup of tea and eyeing each of the two men in turn. To his right was an empty place setting where Freyja should be sitting, but she was notably absent.
"I trust you gentlemen slept well?" she asked.
The senator nodded and made some kind of sound. Gunnar looked at the Grand Mistress. "I slept adequately, but there is a lot on my mind. Starting with where Freyja is. I thought she would be joining us, but I haven't seen or spoken with her since yesterday."
Claire waved her hand dismissively, "She's fine, I assure you. She's probably still asleep. I'm afraid I kept the poor girl up quite late last night going over details of my plans. Plus she needs her rest, with her condition and all. I'm sure she will be joining us soon."
Gunnars mind raced. Was the Grand Mistress fishing for information? Surely Freyja would not have let slip word of her pregnancy. And why would Mistress Claire have dropped that in his lap. The woman had a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.
Senator Ghant looked even more pale than usual. "Why would you have been discussing plans with her, Mistress? We should all be involved."
Claire flashed a devilish smile. "Oh I'm sure you both would have quite enjoyed that."
The hidden meaning was clearly lost on the senator, but perhaps not totally on the Count. Gunnar spoke up. "Mistress Logan, I'm sure what the senator means is that we're all quite anxious to get the matter that brought us here resolved. None of us like being away from our home, especially at a critical time like this."
Mistress Logan sat back and crossed her legs. She was wearing a deep blue skirt suit with silver crystal highlighted heels, a white blouse, and had her hair styled up in an intricate bun. She was at ease in her lair, and exuded confidence. "I understand, my dear boy, it must be nerve wracking to be away at a time like this. But the decisions of importance are being made here. It will be up to you all to return and implement them. But don't worry, I'm sure we'll get all the details hammered out before the day is done. Once our dear Freyja arrives, we can start discussing it all."
The senator started to say something, but the double doors that had been closed swung open. "My apologies, Mistress, I hadn't intended on sleeping so late, I was going to wake up and sneak back to...." Freyja's voice drifted off as she emerged, barefoot and wearing only a puffy white robe. Her eyes dashed between the three people seated at the table. Gunnar's jaw was open, the senator looked as if he had seen a ghost, and Mistress Claire smiled almost gleefully. "Oh. I think I've come at a bad time. I can go."
Freyja started to retreat, but Claire stood up. "Nonsense. Your timing was wonderful last night, just as it is now. The boys here were getting anxious to discuss politics, but I told them we couldn't start without you. Have a seat dear, the maid will bring your food in shortly now that you've joined us."
Freyja stood awkwardly for a moment, before seeming to shake herself of doubt and strode over to the table and sat down. Gunnar stood as she took her seat, before returning to his, but Senator Ghant merely stared. Mistress Logan sat down last and picked up her cup of tea. "Shall we get started then?"
The senator put his fork down and laid his palms on the table. "Is this....appropriate, Mistress? I mean, we are dealing with serious matters here."
Claire looked confused. "Of that we are all aware. But what are you talking about? Is what appropriate?"
He flailed his hands. "This. We are talking about solidifying power on our world, and she's just strutted out of your bedchamber like some plaything. We're supposed to negotiate while she's just come out after having...well it appears to be a conflict of interest, or at least most distressing. Her links to the Count here are well known. Am I to believe you're dealing honestly with me here while he very well had a spy in your bed last night?"
Mistress Logan was quiet for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. "My dear senator, you are quite amusing. First, I believe the word you're looking for in regards to what dear Freyja and I were doing last night is 'fucking'. I'm the ruler of this world, and I will fuck who I please, so long as it pleases them. And I assure you, it pleased her to no end."
Freyja sat back and tried in vain not to blush. Gunnar blinked in astonishment. The senator remained flabbergasted.
Mistress Logan continued. "Second. You make the mistake of assuming that there are only two players at this game of power for your world. In doing so, you overlook the fact that there are four, and furthermore, you ignore the two who are most important. The first is me. You dismiss me as some fortune dispensing figurehead who is going to be manipulated by having a pretty thing in my bed? And the second is Freyja, who you would be wrong to dismiss as just a pretty thing. In fact, as a citizen of Lummatii, you should get used to addressing this woman with her proper title and respect."
Senator Ghant finally found his voice. "Mistress, you mistake my intentions, I would never think so little of you. But as for miss Freyja, she is a soldier and a former slave. Even if you should foolishly allow her to retain control of her military forces, those forces will be subject to the Planetary government, which is what we are here to form. You can't seriously be considering the playboy of a Count here for the role of ruler. I am the logical choice. I am the choice of the people."
Mistress Logan suppressed another laugh. "You won an election 12 years ago by making promises about securing investment from my government, and you've simply gone along for the ride with that because the people are too lazy to vote you out. That and you bribe and intimidate your potential opponents. But you are not a leader, you are a weasel. And the people will have as their ruler the person who I, the head of the realm, choose to place there. And it just so happens, that the person I choose to place there is someone that is actually loved and respected by the people. So I suggest you get used to addressing the young lady here with proper deference, as Lady Freyja McCarron, Duchess of Lummatii."
No one spoke. Freyja smiled slightly. Gunnar looked back and forth in disbelief between the two women. And the senator's face turned red.
He finally managed to speak. "You can't be serious. This will not stand. I will bring this before the senate and you will be censured for this, Mistress. You may be the ruler of this realm, but the people still have a voice in the senate. And the senate will not stand for you undermining our authority by putting her on a throne, a slave girl, a slut. It won't stand."
With that, Gunnar Logan leaped to his feet. "With the utmost respect senator, you will be quiet, and you will be quiet now. I will not have you speaking to a lady like that, especially a lady who happens to be a hero of our planet and is going to be the mother of my child."
The senator leaned back. "Wait? Your child? You bastard, you would try to play that card wouldn't you. You see what's happening and you try to jump on the bandwagon of power simply because you've been sleeping with the Mistress' choice of puppet. I wonder how many bastard children you've sired already, yet you leap to claim this one? How convenient. I won't be cowed by you, Logan.
"Enough!" Freyja shouted. The room fell silent. Freyja and Claire locked gazes. This too was a test. Mistress Logan was getting ready to hand over a lot of power, and she wanted to see how her vassal would handle it. The Freyja of years or even days before might have hesitated. But she was different now. Maybe she had found herself, maybe she was just still riding the high of the previous night. Whatever the reason, she was not going to disappoint her Mistress.
"Gunnar Logan, I don't need you to protect me. I'm going to be the mother of your child, but I'm also going to be your Duchess. You will be my vassal, don't forget that just because we've shared a bed. And you, senator, I have little use for you. In our little arrangement, I rule at the pleasure of the Grand Mistress. I do not answer in any way to you or your senate. You have a problem, take it up with her. But don't for a second think that you have the people at your back. You are nothing. I have put my life on the line for them, and they will be MY subjects. I've been on the receiving end of periphery justice, so if you ever fail to treat me with respect again, I know exactly what to have done with you, do you understand?"
The senator gritted his teeth. "Yes, my lady."
Grand Mistress Logan spread her hands wide. "Shall we get back to breakfast, everyone?"
Lordinax
Lothian League
Marian Hegemony
The Periphery
27 February, 3150
Gunnar Logan tried not to appear worried as he sat at the square breakfast table in what seemed to be the Grand Mistress' private room. There was a large closed set of doors that he only could guess led to her bedroom, and another open set on the opposite wall that led into a library or study. He had to admit to being a little intrigued at being so close to the Grand Mistress' bedroom. The lady had something of a reputation for her appetite, and had been flirtatious as hell during their meeting the day before. And of course it didn't hurt that she was both powerful and beautiful. But Gunnar had been unable to seal the deal, finally realizing that the Grand Mistress was all tease, and had ended up returning to his room with nothing but frustration.
It hadn't helped that he had no word or contact from Freyja. He had made several discreet inquiries, but it wasn't as if he could go barging around another noble's palace looking for her. Discretion was the better part of valor, and he had finally drifted off to sleep. He had received an invitation to a group breakfast with the Grand Mistress, which is where he found himself now.
Seated across from him was Senator Ghant, pecking away at a piece of potato with his fork in an irritated manner. The man was short on both patience and manners. Seated to his left was Grand Mistress Logan, looking poised as ever, sipping a cup of tea and eyeing each of the two men in turn. To his right was an empty place setting where Freyja should be sitting, but she was notably absent.
"I trust you gentlemen slept well?" she asked.
The senator nodded and made some kind of sound. Gunnar looked at the Grand Mistress. "I slept adequately, but there is a lot on my mind. Starting with where Freyja is. I thought she would be joining us, but I haven't seen or spoken with her since yesterday."
Claire waved her hand dismissively, "She's fine, I assure you. She's probably still asleep. I'm afraid I kept the poor girl up quite late last night going over details of my plans. Plus she needs her rest, with her condition and all. I'm sure she will be joining us soon."
Gunnars mind raced. Was the Grand Mistress fishing for information? Surely Freyja would not have let slip word of her pregnancy. And why would Mistress Claire have dropped that in his lap. The woman had a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.
Senator Ghant looked even more pale than usual. "Why would you have been discussing plans with her, Mistress? We should all be involved."
Claire flashed a devilish smile. "Oh I'm sure you both would have quite enjoyed that."
The hidden meaning was clearly lost on the senator, but perhaps not totally on the Count. Gunnar spoke up. "Mistress Logan, I'm sure what the senator means is that we're all quite anxious to get the matter that brought us here resolved. None of us like being away from our home, especially at a critical time like this."
Mistress Logan sat back and crossed her legs. She was wearing a deep blue skirt suit with silver crystal highlighted heels, a white blouse, and had her hair styled up in an intricate bun. She was at ease in her lair, and exuded confidence. "I understand, my dear boy, it must be nerve wracking to be away at a time like this. But the decisions of importance are being made here. It will be up to you all to return and implement them. But don't worry, I'm sure we'll get all the details hammered out before the day is done. Once our dear Freyja arrives, we can start discussing it all."
The senator started to say something, but the double doors that had been closed swung open. "My apologies, Mistress, I hadn't intended on sleeping so late, I was going to wake up and sneak back to...." Freyja's voice drifted off as she emerged, barefoot and wearing only a puffy white robe. Her eyes dashed between the three people seated at the table. Gunnar's jaw was open, the senator looked as if he had seen a ghost, and Mistress Claire smiled almost gleefully. "Oh. I think I've come at a bad time. I can go."
Freyja started to retreat, but Claire stood up. "Nonsense. Your timing was wonderful last night, just as it is now. The boys here were getting anxious to discuss politics, but I told them we couldn't start without you. Have a seat dear, the maid will bring your food in shortly now that you've joined us."
Freyja stood awkwardly for a moment, before seeming to shake herself of doubt and strode over to the table and sat down. Gunnar stood as she took her seat, before returning to his, but Senator Ghant merely stared. Mistress Logan sat down last and picked up her cup of tea. "Shall we get started then?"
The senator put his fork down and laid his palms on the table. "Is this....appropriate, Mistress? I mean, we are dealing with serious matters here."
Claire looked confused. "Of that we are all aware. But what are you talking about? Is what appropriate?"
He flailed his hands. "This. We are talking about solidifying power on our world, and she's just strutted out of your bedchamber like some plaything. We're supposed to negotiate while she's just come out after having...well it appears to be a conflict of interest, or at least most distressing. Her links to the Count here are well known. Am I to believe you're dealing honestly with me here while he very well had a spy in your bed last night?"
Mistress Logan was quiet for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. "My dear senator, you are quite amusing. First, I believe the word you're looking for in regards to what dear Freyja and I were doing last night is 'fucking'. I'm the ruler of this world, and I will fuck who I please, so long as it pleases them. And I assure you, it pleased her to no end."
Freyja sat back and tried in vain not to blush. Gunnar blinked in astonishment. The senator remained flabbergasted.
Mistress Logan continued. "Second. You make the mistake of assuming that there are only two players at this game of power for your world. In doing so, you overlook the fact that there are four, and furthermore, you ignore the two who are most important. The first is me. You dismiss me as some fortune dispensing figurehead who is going to be manipulated by having a pretty thing in my bed? And the second is Freyja, who you would be wrong to dismiss as just a pretty thing. In fact, as a citizen of Lummatii, you should get used to addressing this woman with her proper title and respect."
Senator Ghant finally found his voice. "Mistress, you mistake my intentions, I would never think so little of you. But as for miss Freyja, she is a soldier and a former slave. Even if you should foolishly allow her to retain control of her military forces, those forces will be subject to the Planetary government, which is what we are here to form. You can't seriously be considering the playboy of a Count here for the role of ruler. I am the logical choice. I am the choice of the people."
Mistress Logan suppressed another laugh. "You won an election 12 years ago by making promises about securing investment from my government, and you've simply gone along for the ride with that because the people are too lazy to vote you out. That and you bribe and intimidate your potential opponents. But you are not a leader, you are a weasel. And the people will have as their ruler the person who I, the head of the realm, choose to place there. And it just so happens, that the person I choose to place there is someone that is actually loved and respected by the people. So I suggest you get used to addressing the young lady here with proper deference, as Lady Freyja McCarron, Duchess of Lummatii."
No one spoke. Freyja smiled slightly. Gunnar looked back and forth in disbelief between the two women. And the senator's face turned red.
He finally managed to speak. "You can't be serious. This will not stand. I will bring this before the senate and you will be censured for this, Mistress. You may be the ruler of this realm, but the people still have a voice in the senate. And the senate will not stand for you undermining our authority by putting her on a throne, a slave girl, a slut. It won't stand."
With that, Gunnar Logan leaped to his feet. "With the utmost respect senator, you will be quiet, and you will be quiet now. I will not have you speaking to a lady like that, especially a lady who happens to be a hero of our planet and is going to be the mother of my child."
The senator leaned back. "Wait? Your child? You bastard, you would try to play that card wouldn't you. You see what's happening and you try to jump on the bandwagon of power simply because you've been sleeping with the Mistress' choice of puppet. I wonder how many bastard children you've sired already, yet you leap to claim this one? How convenient. I won't be cowed by you, Logan.
"Enough!" Freyja shouted. The room fell silent. Freyja and Claire locked gazes. This too was a test. Mistress Logan was getting ready to hand over a lot of power, and she wanted to see how her vassal would handle it. The Freyja of years or even days before might have hesitated. But she was different now. Maybe she had found herself, maybe she was just still riding the high of the previous night. Whatever the reason, she was not going to disappoint her Mistress.
"Gunnar Logan, I don't need you to protect me. I'm going to be the mother of your child, but I'm also going to be your Duchess. You will be my vassal, don't forget that just because we've shared a bed. And you, senator, I have little use for you. In our little arrangement, I rule at the pleasure of the Grand Mistress. I do not answer in any way to you or your senate. You have a problem, take it up with her. But don't for a second think that you have the people at your back. You are nothing. I have put my life on the line for them, and they will be MY subjects. I've been on the receiving end of periphery justice, so if you ever fail to treat me with respect again, I know exactly what to have done with you, do you understand?"
The senator gritted his teeth. "Yes, my lady."
Grand Mistress Logan spread her hands wide. "Shall we get back to breakfast, everyone?"
Forging Freyja - Chapter 13.4
Royal Palace
Lordinax
Lothian League
Marian Hegemony
The Periphery
Lordinax
Lothian League
Marian Hegemony
The Periphery
27 February, 3150
Freyja lay flat on her back on the bed, her eyes closed as her breathing steadied and her pulse slowly returned to a resting rate. Grand Mistress Claire sat beside her, leaning back against a pillow, her legs toward Freyja's head and her right hand gently stroking Freyja's belly.
"Are you going to recover, my dear?"she said playfully.
Freyja waited a few seconds before responding, her eyes still closed. "From that? I'm not entirely sure I want to recover, my lady."
Claire laughed softly. "Good to know I've not lost my touch, then."
Freyja opened one eye and looked at the other woman. "I would hardly think you lack for opportunities to practice, my lady.
Claire patted her belly gently and feigned a look of indignation. "How sharper than a serpent's tooth, my dear. I may be in high demand, but nearly all my potential partners either want something from me, or else are so eager to please me that it's....how shall I say, off putting. It's quite rare to find someone where we both know what we want and what we're getting. Even rarer to find it in a woman."
Freyja stared at the beautiful crystalline patterns in the ceiling. "I'd never been with a woman before. It was more....liberating than I imagined. But I also don't think I've ever felt so...I don't know....safe."
Mistress Logan chuckled. "I forget that you're such a young thing, dear god, I'm old enough to be your mother just about. And you are safe here, my dear. That feeling of safety and security, it comes from the intersection and understanding of each of our powers. Sex is just like life, it's so much better with an understanding of control and the needs and desires of those around you. You'll learn that as you get older."
Freyja glanced down at Claire. "Do you have any children, Mistress?"
She nodded. "Yes. I have a daughter about your age, and a son a few years older. They're both off serving in the Marian Legions at the moment."
Freyja looked puzzled. "You don't have them here, grooming them to lead?"
Claire shook her head. "No. They're both warriors, and our military here is far too small for the kind of advancement and training they want. Plus it partially helps keep the Marians off our backs. My son, I'm not sure he has what it takes to be a real leader. And my daughter, she has too much ambition. Hopefully that will temper with time."
Freyja raised an eyebrow. "And yet you're taking quite a risk with me, handing me so much power so close to you, and you hardly know me."
The Grand Mistress smiled coyly. "Not really. I told you, I read people quite well. I know you better than you think. You're drawn to power, you like power, and yet you are smart enough to realize that I am a focus for your power. Without me, you have no way to exercise it, to live in it, to revel in it. And I, in turn, am made all the more powerful by having you as a powerful vassal. Our power each grows and sustains the other. And we both know it."
Freyja smiled. "You make it sound like I crave power, like some megalomaniac. I don't, you know. I never wanted this, it wasn't what I set out for."
Claire looked thoughtfully at her. "Perhaps you didn't seek it out, and aren't yet willing to admit you want it. But it is as natural for you as walking, drinking, or breathing. I know how you feel." She paused for a moment. "There is one thing about you I don't understand, though. Do you mind if I ask something personal?"
Freyja laughed. "Mistress, I think we're well past worrying about asking personal questions. Ask whatever you like."
"The Pirate. Why did you kill him? And the way that you did. It...surprises me."
Freyja's smile faded, and she sat up on her elbows. "Should I not have? You think I did the wrong thing?"
Mistress Claire raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say that. He was a nuisance and a trouble maker, he deserved to die. But the other pirates you either shipped off or threw in jail. But the leader you killed, up close and personal, in front of thousands of people. It's not your style, it doesn't fit your pattern. It perplexes me."
Freyja sat up and stared at her hands in silence for a moment, before looking up. "It was personal. It was revenge. I killed him because he raped me."
Mistress Logan was silent for a moment, before putting a hand on Freyja's shoulder. "I'm sorry, dear. You don't have to talk about it. I didn't know or I wouldn't have asked."
Freyja shook her head. "No, it's alright. And yes, I do have to talk about it. I haven't really been able. But like I told you, I feel safe here."
Claire laid back and pulled Freyja into her, placing her head against her chest and holding her. Freyja clutched back like a friend holding on for dear life.
"It was shortly after Christmas. Raiden Trogg had appeared at the Bakker's estate and invited himself to dinner to share the news of his increased extortion demands. After dinner, he sort of just assumed he could have me, like I was just some piece of the Bakker's property to share, like a chair or a bed. Ned tried to object, which of course made it even worse. It made it personal for Trogg. He was going to mark his territory. At that point, he was either going to take me or hurt someone else, maybe the lady of the house, maybe the children. So I agreed. I went with him. I was stupid and arrogant, it was my fault I suppose."
Mistress Logan stopped Freyja and stared into her eyes. "You must never believe that. He was a monster, and ultimately, you put him down for it."
Freyja continued. "I thought I could talk him out of it, or outwit him, or escape or something. But once he got me cornered, it was only a matter of time. He was bigger, stronger, faster. Once he got hold of me, it was over. He shot me up with some cocktail of drugs that messed with my mind, set my senses on fire. Most of it was a blur. I blanked it all out. I don't actually know what happened, not really. But I knew enough. When I finally woke up with him gone, I hurt so bad, I felt as though I was dead. Like the devil himself had just had me for his whore."
Claire stroked Freyja's hair. "There's not a soul in the galaxy who blames you for killing him, my dear."
"That's the thing, my lady. I could have killed him and I didn't at first. I could have killed him in battle, put my hatchet through his cockpit. I could have had him shot. But even when I was standing there next to him, I still wasn't going to kill him."
Claire looked down at Freyja. "What changed, dear?"
The anger returned to Freyja's eyes for an instant. "Even bound and defeated, he wasn't repentant. He mocked me. Told me how I cried and begged during the whole thing. That's when I snapped. It was like I realized he was still claiming power over me. I had beaten him and taken him prisoner, and he still laid claim to me. And I was not going to have that. So I lost it, and killed him."
Claire was quiet for a few moments. "I told you I was good at reading people, that I understood you. And I do. It makes sense now. He was trying to hold power over you. You're not one to let that happen. Especially at that time in your life. You must already have been near a breaking point, having to live as a slave. That you kept yourself under control is a testament to your will. Don't ever forget that."
They lay in silence for several minutes before Claire spoke. "Thank you for trusting me with that, Freyja. Who else knows what happened?"
"Just the Bakkers and Gunnar. I suppose some of the pirates might know as well, but that's not really of much consequence."
Claire kissed Freyja gently on the head. "Before you say yes definitively to my proposal, I want to make sure you understand two conditions I'm putting asking in return, beyond swearing fealty to me. First, you mustn't be an absentee lord. You're smart, and I trust you, but you are also new at this game. I want you close, so that I can guide you and protect you, at least in the beginning. I'm not saying you're to be a prisoner on Lummatii, but I don't want you running off back home to fight battles or chase glory."
Freyja nodded. "I understand. It will take some time to get settled anyway. I'll have to find somewhere to live of my own, and I'll be raising a child as well."
Mistress Claire smiled. "The second one, I'm not entirely sure how hard it will be for you. You are going to have to trust me on this. Sometime after I announce that you are to be made Duchess of Lummattii but before you give birth to your child, Gunnar Logan will ask for your hand in marriage. You must refuse him."
Freyja looked puzzled. "I don't understand. How would you know what he will do, and why is it so important that I say no if it happens?"
The Grand Mistress sighed softly. "You are going to be an empowered noble soon. You must start to think like one. The moment I grant you a title, you become instantly more powerful than Gunnar Logan. The moment your child is born, he or she also instantly becomes more powerful than Gunnar Logan, as your heir. If anything were to happen to you, your status and power transfers to your child. Gunnar might try to insert himself as Regent or something, but that's as far as he would get, and he would have to real claim to power. If you two marry, he won't become heir to your title, but he would have significantly more power both as your husband and as the father of your child. You I trust with power. Him I do not."
Freyja frowned. "That seems awfully Machiavellian for him. I don't see him as that kind of person. He wouldn't do anything to harm me just to gain status or power."
Claire traced a finger along Freyja's jaw, then down to her collarbone. "Don't be blinded by love or lust, dear. People can also change. How will he react, for example, if your child grows up and doesn't have Gunnar's deliciously chiseled features. I can do math, dear. Have you prepared for the possibility that your child is not Gunnar's? No matter what, the child will always be yours, but
it may not be his."
Freyja nodded pensively. "I know. I want to believe it won't matter to him. But I suppose I have to be prepared for the fact that it might."
Claire nodded. "It's not just that either. With power, you'll find open many liaisons, as tonight has shown. How do you think he will take it when you decide to have your way with some strapping young palace guard, or walks in on one of your lady servants making sure you're quite relaxed before a long day at court, or your Grand Mistress decides to come for a state visit and tie you to the bed to reassert her place of dominance? Or are you going to swear off all that and be chaste except for your loyal husband?" She chuckled. "As if he could control himself. You should have seen the poor boy yesterday, practically begging for me. I hope I'm not making you jealous, dear."
Freyja knew enough by now to know she was being tested. "He should be the jealous one, Mistress. He's the one that missed out."
Claire smiled coyly. "And what if I wanted a taste of him before you all leave for home?"
Freyja stuck her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. "I might pout if you didn't invite me as well, but I would get over it."
Claire laughed playfully. "Don't give me ideas, dear. Are you sure you're not Canopian?"
Freyja laughed back. "Capellan by birth and citizenship, half Republic by blood."
The Grand Mistress looked at her quizzically. "Your father, I take it?"
Freyja nodded. "He was, well, he is still I suppose, a Republic Knight and a diplomat. My brother and I were both born during a rare period of detente where someone thought it was a good idea to send a liason to the Republic Armed Forces to soothe Capellan/Republic relations, and then someone was silly enough to take my mother's name, Temperance, literally and thought she'd be good for the post. She and my father got on well enough, but there was no way it was ever going to work long term. They were both too patriotic for that."
Claire rubbed Freyja's shoulder. "I'm sorry dear, I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."
Freyja smiled. "It's alright. It wasn't nasty, and neither my brother or I resented it. My parents were both smart enough to realize it wouldn't work. From there, they just decided it was better if we both grew up in the Confederation. I never really saw him much after they split. It was after the blackout, I was maybe five or so. When I decided to set off on my own, I thought about trying to find him again, but by that time, the walls of Fortress Republic were long since up."
"Word is out now that the walls are down. Of course, who knows if there even is a Republic anymore, or if it's some Clan ruling the shots. Or even the Capellans. Maybe your mother has crossed the border to give him a good ass kicking. You never know."
Freyja shook her head. "God, I wonder what my mother would say now. Never mind my brother. Sold into slavery, pregnant without firm knowledge of the father, and consorting lustfully with strange women."
Claire laughed again. "I resent that last part. But in all seriousness, If she is anything like what I think she is, she must be proud. You've struck out on your own, won victory in battle, earned yourself a title that should rival hers, and you'll soon give her a grandchild. We mothers should all be so lucky."
"Well, I doubt I'll be seeing either of them for some time, so it doesn't matter. There's just the here and now."
Grand Mistress Logan held Freyja tight to her. "Rest for now, dear. We can have fun springing this news on the boys in the morning."
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