Battletech Shattered Sphere: The Arcadian Free March

[Big Steve]

Free March Military Headquarters
Near Gerroldville, Trellisane
Arcadian Free March
29 June 3034

Given the weeks of heavy combat, Lieutenant General Sir Eleutherios Louganis was not surprised to see the weariness in the eyes of the commanders of the invading units. In the company of Rear Admiral Carmen Richards, a Latin woman from Launum and the Executive Officer of OpForce Thunderhawk, he waited for Brigadiers Nathan Mackensen, Mark Waters, and Lawrence Adkins to settle into their seats. Mackensen, a Concord-born man commanding the 2nd Free March BattleMech Regiment and its attached support units, was particularly dour; his unit had suffered the worse losses, with his 2nd Battalion and the 11th Free March Infantry rendered hors d'combat by the defenders of Trellisane.

"It's been a hard campaign, gentlemen," Louganis said to open the discussion. "The Trellisaniards fought like lions for their independence."

"Like a number of other worlds have," noted Adkins. His 4th, considered an untried unit a mere nineteen months ago, were now the veterans of four planetary campaigns, including the heavy fighting on Amity, Pingree, and now Trellisane, and six months fighting the crazed cultists and fanatical Lifeguard of Drosendorf. Adkins himself was from Togwotee, the son of an officer in the Cherokee Tribal Defense Regiment killed in the fighting against the Alcaza Regime before its overthrow by the Free March in 3006. Like many of his people, he used an English, Christian name in place of his tribal name, at least in official capacities as an officer of the AFFM. "Military intelligence was correct that the few remaining neutral worlds around us were arming up."

"Not that there are many of them left," pointed out Waters. He was from Bondurant and the Steuben-Hill District there. "Once Alula Borealis and Bella are taken, there are no more worlds we can access without stretching our line of communication beyond reason. Our march ends this year, assuming we can take both worlds before January."

"If they're as well-armed as the Trellisaniards, we're in for a rough time," Mackensen growled. "We're going to need reinforcements to keep advancing. As things are, I wouldn't put the 2nd into another fight if I could help it."

"We'll need a garrison for Trellisane as it is, there's no insurgency but it's best to keep some troops on hand. Just in case."

"So is my recommendation to the Command Staff," Louganis said. "The 2nd will be our garrison for Trellisane until relief, the 3rd and the 4th will be campaigning again. We can employ the Concord Borderers on the next campaign. The reports from Brigadier Tapping are that the final insurgent camps are being rooted out even now."

"About damn time," Adkins sighed.



Mt. Isarog, Legazpi District
Philippine Islands
Pingree
Arcadian Free March
30 June 3034


The months were not kind to Ramon Medrano and the others in Captain Rivera's outfit after the loss of Aparri. While in the initial weeks they encountered widespread support for the Pingree Filipino Republic Restoration Army, as their forces called themselves, that was diminishing as the months passed. With the legitimate government on the side of the conquerors and talk of the New Philippine and Vermont Republics being accepted as noble-less member states of the Free March (albeit with a rotating membership on the Ducal Council), more and more of their people were coming around to the Free March as an acceptable alternative to their former independence. Ramon and his comrades could only watch, utterly distraught, as their support started to wither away.

Even worse was that their hopes for taking the enemy outside of their war machines proved not so easy as expected. While they inflicted some losses in the opening months, bombing popular leave spots, the violence soured local business owners and shopkeepers who were reliant on Arcadian money to improve their own status. Some of their more fanatical allies committed gruesome killings on collaborators, real and suspected, that likewise hurt them. And when the news came from Bolan, the footage of what the Marians were doing to the Bolanese, and the Free March's troops fighting to save the Bolanese from the slave cages… well, the people responded positively. "Better the Arcadians than slaver Marians" was the growing sentiment, along with the uncomfortable reminder that the Marians' allies in the Kashmarka Antisuyu were just a jump away.

Through it all, Ramon stayed loyal. He had to. For Luis. For all of their comrades who died with "Independence Forever!" on their lips. The New Philippines had to remain independent, or it was all for nothing.

So he endured the hunger from low rations. The guard details. The terror and tension of the occasional foray into the towns of Legazpi for supplies, knowing that local authorities were looking to cut them off. It was worth it for the memory of the fallen.

He was on guard duty, enduring the tropical humidity and the biting insects and everything else, when he felt the first tremor. His senses, sharpened by the darkness, felt the repeated heavy thumps through the ground. BattleMechs! Was it a patrol, or had the camp been found? Should he raise the alarm and risk detection?

The tremors ceased briefly. When they resumed, they got weaker. He sighed in relief. Just a patrol. They didn't find us. He returned his attention, such as he could, to the night.

There was another tremor. Softer, weaker, and rapid. His heart raced as recognition dawned: the advance of battle armor. Soldiers in one ton armor suits, and getting stronger. They found us! I have to warn the others, I have to…

There was a light whistle in the air and a soft thud. Something fell beside him. Ramon instinctively turned away, but he had no time to jump. The grenade, launched from an Arcadian Grenadier suit's shoulder-mounted launcher, went off with a roar that deafened him. He screamed in agony at the shrapnel that ripped through him, cutting cloth, flesh, and bone until it either came out the other end or became embedded in his body. He writhed on the ground, unable to move for the damage to his joints and the sheer hurt of his pains, calling out to the others.

They heard it, and they started to rally, but the tremors came through the wood again, even louder, while battle armor soared through the air to land in their midst. Machine guns and flamers went off and more human screams filled Ramon's ears as he struggled in vain to move.

"Everyone, to the vehicles! We must evacuate!" Captain Kian Rivera's voice filled the night. "Any of you that can get away, do so!" In the growing flames of the night, joined by the hunting beams of light from the Arcadian battle armor's searchlights, Ramon saw him appear, firing a rifle at passing enemies and shouting orders. "For our people! For independence! Keep up the—"

Accompanied by the loud roar of jump jets, a humanoid BattleMech descended and landed right on top of Rivera. Ramon screamed in horror at the death of his leader.

By now a cold weakness crawled over him. Ramon choked on blood welling up within his throat and knew, right then and there, that he was dying.

No, not just him. Everything was dying. The dream of their independence restored, that was dying. Their Republic was chained to an interstellar power yet again, and only God knew when they might again know the restoration of independence.

"Luis… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

His life ebbed in time with the thumping in the ground. He looked up into the open faceplate of a battle armor-clad Arcadian soldier. The young man… he could have easily have passed for one of them, for a Filipino. His brown eyes shined down at Ramon with sadness. "Sorry we can't save you," he said. His Spanish was good, although spoken differently than Ramon's.

"Why?" Ramon croaked. "Why couldn't you just…" He choked up more blood. His body yearned for breath, but no matter what, he couldn't get enough. "...just have left us alone? Why can't we be free?"

"Above my pay grade." He knelt down. Unlike many of the other suits his had an armored glove hand, not a clawed one. He used it to pick up Ramon's dog tags and read them. All Ramon could do was choke on more blood in reply. "Ramon Medrano. Your mother's in Tagaytay?"

Ramon's throat was such that he couldn't speak, only nod.

"I'll find her," the Arcadian soldier promised. "I'll tell her you died quickly, and I'll say a prayer for your soul with her."

With all his energy, Ramon managed one last croak. "But you can't give us back our independ—" The word broke up in another spray of crimson from his red-spattered lips. "—dependence," he managed.

That was the end of his endurance. The Arcadian man's face darkened in his sight, and he could speak no more. All he could manage was his final thoughts.

I'm sorry Luis. I'm sorry Captain Rivera. I'm sorry… it's just not fair. Not fair. Not… fair…

And with that, Ramon Medrano's life ended, flickering out in the dying embers of the last of the Pingree Filipino Republic Restoration Army.

 

[Big Steve]

DropPort District, Tharkad City
Tharkad
ComStar Autonomous Zone
14 April 3034


After all the months since her last leave, Princess Melissa felt warm delight at getting to see an actual planet again, to breathe atmospheric air and not the filtered, reprocessed atmosphere that kept the Ranger's pilots and crew alive.

Granted, the air itself was not so warm.

Tharkad was in the middle of a cold snap that reminded Melissa of the time she and the other children spent a winter at the family estate in New Salem. The air was frigid but brought no more than a slight discomfort to her breathing. A down-filled jacket and thermal pants purchased from the DropPort commissariat sufficed to keep her warm while she toured the fallen capital of the Lyran Commonwealth.

Tharkad City fit every story she'd ever heard of, with the monuments to the past Archons and military heroes of the Commonwealth her homeworld once belonged to. The people here kept a certain pride befitting the fallen splendor. ComStar may be their protector and effective rulers now, but they Remembered.

After a couple hours of walking through the winter air and seeing the memorial parks and plazas, Melissa drifted back to the DropPort. She had a room registered in the DropPort's visitor's lodge and two nights before she had to report to the shuttle and return to the Ranger, now sitting in far orbit. Given this would likely be her last leave until their trade fleet brought them around to Donegal proper, she meant to enjoy every moment.

After seeing to her rooms, she ventured back out and found what she was looking for: an authentic Tharkadische Beerhaus. She entered and took a seat at the bar, surrounded by other visiting spacers and pilots. A wad of C-Bills won the bartender's attention. "Let's start with a bock," she asked, eying some of the amber bottles. "Tharkadian brand." Her German, once rusty, was starting to get back to school shape now that they were on the extended visit to the heart of the former Commonwealth.

The bartender took her money and provided the bottle, or rather, poured it into an authentic German beer stein. She quaffed it and savored the rich taste. "Your German is Anglo," he said in a thick accent. "From Skye?"

"No, I'm Arcadian."

"Ah, Arcadian. Good." He grinned. "Skye broke the Commonwealth, so to Hell with them. Your people suffered for it, and now you stand as the guardian of our border with the Mariks. You, we are happy with."

"Your border?" Melissa asked with some puzzlement.

"The old Commonwealth border, fraulein. The Free March, so appropriately named, guards the border with the damned Mariks. And now you work with the New Commonwealth, as it should be." He poured himself a stein and raised his voice. "A toast to the Archon on Coventry, and her Arcadian allies!"

Some of the voices in the beerhaus echoed approval, others with less energy or none at all. Melissa diplomatically joined them - Archon Katrina was their ally now - and took another drink.

"You forget a toast to Her Majesty Queen Raquel," another German-accented voice called out. "The Queen of Donegal is the rightful ruler."

"They abandoned Tharkad!" another voice roared.

"So did the 'Archon''s ancestors!" the Donegal supporter retorted. "And then they betrayed Donegal to the Radicals from Sudeten, all to protect Hesperus!"

There was more shouting, enough that Melissa worried it might become a bar brawl. The bartender pulled a cudgel from beneath his bar and slammed it on the hardwood. "Now, everyone quiet! I won't have another incident like last month, the ComGuards fined me for it! Donegal or Coventry, what matters is that the dream of restoration doesn't die, and that we give respect to our neighbors holding back the Mariks and those damned Periphery bandits from Alphard. Another toast, to the heroes of Bolan this time!"

"The Heroes of Bolan!"

Melissa joined, but despite herself there was no mistaking the pained look on her face. "Something wrong, miss?" the bartender asked.

"Bolan." Melissa wiped the tear forming from her eye. "My brothers were there. One of them was badly hurt. I'm still waiting to hear how the surgeries went."

"Ah. Well, our best, then. He and your other brother, and all of the Free Marchers who landed on Bolan… you did us proud here on Tharkad. It was about time someone stood up to this invasion of the old Commonwealth."

"Yeah." While she agreed, she was seized by the worry that she might never see her twin brother alive again. And if he died… what would happen? Would they give her time to get to the funeral, arrange a command circuit or something?

When she'd had enough, she left to return to her room. With Mark on her mind, all of her plans to tour Tharkad City suddenly lost their allure. All she wanted to do was get a real-time channel to Arcadia open and make sure he was alive, to hear him speak again… to be reassured it would be okay. That mattered more than this city of fallen splendor and faded glory, with residents still pining for the past to return.

I'll sleep on it. Maybe tomorrow I'll be in a better mood, she decided.



Dr. Nancy Corey Military Hospital
Laughlin Capital District, Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
24 April 3034


The darkness finally receded, and as it did, pain came. Just a general, body-wide agony, with itching that couldn't be satiated, and a weariness that made movement feel impossible.

Such was the way Prince Mark Proctor returned to consciousness.

He opened his eyes to a dimly-lit hospital room, and even that bit of light was almost too much for him. It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust. He tried to move his right hand, but strangely, the limb wouldn't respond. Even though he could swear he felt it, it seemed completely asleep.

His left arm responded, somewhat, and it gave him just enough leverage to sit up…

...and realize his left leg was gone.

It was from surprise more than horror that he cried out. Which, as it turned out, alerted the nurses that he was awake.



Half an hour later, Mark looked up at the opening door to see his parents rush in. His mother, defying all the regal dignity demanded of her in public, rushed to his side and threw her arms around him. "Mark, you're awake. You're awake, thank the Lord!"

"Mum…" With his left arm in a splint and his right arm missing at the shoulder, he couldn't return the embrace. "Mum, I… my arm and leg are gone. And I can't use the ones left either, they just… they just won't…"

"I know," she said, tears running down her face. She moved enough for Mark's father to give his son a gentler embrace. It was clear Consort-Prince Thomas was struggling with his emotions, trying to maintain the proper Fordian "stiff upper lip" inherited from their English ancestors on Terra. And it wasn't entirely working. "The doctors say it will take time and therapy to regain the use of your remaining limbs. As for the others, we will see about prosthetics."

"Prosthetics." Mark drew in a breath. It was finally hitting home. He was a cripple. His body was broken by what happened to him. He may never ride a 'Mech again, never fight again. He'd never make Captain or Major, never rise like he wanted, never prove himself…

His control failed. He started to weep.

"It's going to be okay, Mark," Sara-Marie insisted, trying to console him. Her hand wiped the tears flowing from his eyes.

"I just wanted to show you I was a Proctor," he wept. "To show everyone… that I could be as good as Thomas… as special as Melissa… now I'm just a cripple…"

As his crying intensified, Sara-Marie's arms drew him closer. "No, God no, you needn't prove anything to us, Mark. We love you, it's as simple as that, and we're going to get through this. Have faith in that."

He wanted to. To have faith in the future he faced, a chance to be something more than the prince everyone would pity. But for the moment, all he could do was weep over his shattered body, the price of the glory he'd sought so readily.

 

[Big Steve]

APN Studios
Sannazaro, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
28 May 3034



Dani didn't want to admit she was starting to get a little user to the perks of fame, but she couldn't lie to herself on the matter. In her time back on Arcadia she'd shaken hands with half the Assembly, it seemed, spent four days shooting recruitment commercials, and another four having professional photographers take pictures for more recruiting posters and pamphlets. She'd even had a sit-down with popular Launaum actress Elena Alazar, who was being cast to play her in the rescue operation docudrama. As much as she was fighting letting it go to her head, it felt good to know she had the looks to make these people see her as an icon.

Assuming they weren't just kissing her ass, of course.

The Arcadian Planetary Network studios were nearly the same as the ComStar News Network facilities in Roslyn and the Free March Broadcasting Corporation's studios in Jonesborough. Each had the same atmosphere in its halls, among its staff, and the studio was set up for trivid and holovid recording of several formats. Today she was set to be interviewed, live, by the Grand Old Man of Arcadian Broadcasting, seventy-six year old Jonathan Conkrite. Fifty years ago he'd made his name as the first and only reporter to get an in-depth, multi-part interview with the nearly-passed March-Princess Sara. Now he was one of the most respected reporters in the Free March, or so people said to her.

He did the standard introduction well enough, and the questions were more of the same concerning the battle. Yet she had a feeling he was building up to something, and soon, it came.

"You've said you didn't intend to become a 'Mech pilot when you attended Ayrshire. What was your desired occupation?"

"Engineering," she replied. "I intended to go into the Engineering Corps. My neuro-aptitude scores changed that."

"You saw them and decided to switch to MechWarrior courses?"

"After a while," she said, smiling and trying not to feel like she was fibbing.

"Well, it's certainly led to good things," Conkrite said. "Do you ever wonder how your life would be if you'd remained an engineer?"

"I wouldn't have met someone who is the love of my life," Dani admitted. "And I wouldn't have been there to fight alongside my comrades and hold the road."

"Well spoken, Captain Verdes, well spoken." He checked something off set. "It appears it is time for the call-in section of the show. We'll be taking calls for the next ten minutes, and as usual I ask my viewers to limit themselves to no more than two questions."

Dani kept the pleasant grin on her face, and the first few callers she fielded easily. It was more of the same questions about 'Mech combat and what things were like on Bolan.

The fourth call began with a voice from her past, and Dani felt her blood go cold.

"Danielle, it is good to see you are still healthy," said Agnes Verdes.

"And you are, ma'am?" Mr. Cronkite asked, clearly not flustered by the caller's sudden remark and not an introduction.

"Agnes Verdes, living in Roslyn. And I am Danielle's mother."

Cronkrite raised his eyebrows while Dani wished the world would explode. She kept the grin on her face with sheer will and said, "Thanks, Mama. They keep us healthy in the AFFM."

"And you say you're with someone? It's about time you got out of that phase you had as a teenager and found a good husband. Is he Confirmed?"

Oh God oh God, why me? Dani shook her head slowly. "No, Mom. She is Jewish." Her lips pursed as she imagined her mother's face paling with anger.

"Oh." That simply syllabyle had a lot of bite to it. "So you're still living that life. Still breaking God's laws. When will you stop risking your soul, Danielle? When will you grow up?"

"This isn't about growing up, it's about who I am!" Dani shouted, forgetting her poise for a moment. "Dad accepted it, but you never could!" Even as she spoke that line she regretted it. What have I done? Oh Dad, I'm so sorry…

"Can't you think of us, what this means for us? How you punish your loving parents by the knowledge our little girl will burn in Hell for eternity?"

It was the fury in her emerald eyes that must have finally prompted Conkrite to step in. "I'm sorry, Miss Verdes, but your time is up. Next call, please."

"Don't you dare, I'm trying to save my daugh-"

The call ended and another caller chimed in with more of the usual. Dani forced herself not to cry as she gave the answers, and as the final remarks were made. From what she could tell, Cronkite ended the show about thirty seconds early. Once the lights went down, he gave her a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry. My editor wouldn't have realized… You have our sincerest apologies, Captain. I won't say a word if you have something to get off your chest."

She didn't. She simply thanked him and left, and went to her military pool aircar, and there and only there did she break down crying.

All of these years, and it was still the same. Still the same…



Fort Dunmore
County Dunmore, Erin
McAffe
Arcadian Free March
2 June 3034


Alex drew in a breath and waited for the green light on his indicator to show. The deck beneath the Paladin at his control swayed only slightly due to the skill of the DropShip's piloting crew. Granted, they're not actually getting shot at this time, he thought.

The light went green. The bay ahead of him opened, revealing the verdant hills of Fort Dunmore's practice range. Another breath and he brought the machine into a jog before jumping from the bay.

This was a mid-range drop, so he was about thirty meters over the rated jump height of his machine. He had to use the jets in jolts, hitting the foot pedals over and over to keep his fall from gaining too much momentum before, in the final ninety meters, using all of his remaining thrust to come to a safe landing.

A perfect drop was when your last burst of thrust put you on the ground. His… was not so perfect. At about the twelve meter mark his jets exhausted their thrust. He hit the ground harder than he expected and fought to keep the machine upright, but managed it well enough. Move! Move! His mental command coincided with the call from the drop coordinator on the ship above him. His feet pressed on the pedals to bring the Paladin into a run while his hands moved the crosshairs. A simulated target appeared and he hit the trigger, striking it dead center. He kept going at a run, striking the simulated targets and dodging, or attempting to at least, simulated return fire. After he'd run a kilometer he approached Pierce's modified Axeman. "Nice score, Major," his superior said.

"Thank you, sir." Alex turned his machine around and waited to see the pilot following.

The machine that landed was a rare one, a Taranis, another fast heavy with an extended range PPC and an LB cluster-shot model autocannon joined by an SRM-4 launcher. As a heavy its weapon selection was a little on the light side, but as with all the 'Mech designs selected for this role, it was built for speed and protection as well as some punch. He watched as the pilot moved methodically through the course, taking even fewer hits than he did and landing almost as many in the process. When the 'Mech stomped up Pierce spoke. "Well done, Lieutenant. You're a natural."

"Thank you, sir," replied a woman's voice, her English accented with Launum Spanish.

"Alright, that's everyone in the command company. Now that we've done the combat drop course, let's move on. We've got a lot to do in the next several months to meet Brigadier Sinclair's expectations." With that announcement Pierce led them on.



With the day's training over and his 'Mech secure in its bay, Alex clambered down from his 'Mech and felt the ferrocrete under his feet. The training regiment Pierce was subjecting them too felt grueling, as mastery of Combat Drop tactics and mechanics was utterly necessary to fulfill the regiment's role.

Pierce approached him, prompting an exchange in salutes. A combat arms officer through his entire career, he had yet to really warm up to Alex as his XO, although he didn't object to him either.. "You've got some work to do on the drop, Major, although your course runs are otherwise excellent."

"I ran out of jet thrust just before landing," Alex said. "I misjudged my descent."

"That's because you're using it too early."

The voice was that of the Taranis pilot. Alex followed the sound of her voice to an approaching figure… and it was quite a figure. She was younger, apparently in her mid to late twenties, and the cooling suit she wore, while not skin-tight, flattered the fine curves. Her dark hair was pulled into a pony-tail at the back of her head and dark brown eyes looked him over. Her skin was a light olive tone, her face oval-shaped and her nose a little wide.

"Lieutenant Rachel Vallejo y Galvariz," she introduced herself, her English finely accented. "I'm your battalion's SigInt specialist." Her hand came up in a salute.

"And one of the serving MechWarriors," Alex noted, returning the salute with Pierce.

"I went through the courses at Ayrshire after my neuro-aptitude scores came in high, but we need signal intelligence officers as much as we need 'Mech pilots," Vallejo answered. "So I followed both tracks."

"That must have been a lot of studying."

"It was, but the language courses were easier for me than most. Between all of my grandparents I was speaking Italian, Greek, Spanish, and English before my eighth birthday," she explained. "As for your landing, you fell into a trap a lot of pilots do. You act as if you must immediately decelerate with full jet power. You're better off easing it on as you approach your 'Mech's rated jump height, only going to full power in the final thirty or so meters. The last burst of thrust will get you to the ground without exhausting your jets."

"You've trained in combat dropping?" Alex asked.

She shook her head. "It's physics, really. I'm taking virtual courses in metallurgy, and physics is a basic requirement."

Beautiful and incredibly intelligent. Ugh, now I'm in Leah's shoes, aren't I? He forced his thoughts on his former CO from his head, especially their last night together. "Impressive, Lieutenant. I'll remember that."

"I'm impressed myself, Lieutenant, and I'm glad to have you join the command," Pierce added. "Alright, we've got a post-exercise debrief to get to. Let's not keep the others waiting."

 

[Big Steve]

Battle Site, near Tambov
Rosice
Arcadian Free March
12 May 3034


Corporal Danesh Marya, of the newly-formed 1st Bolan Irregulars, raced his patched-up Jenner alongside his other comrades in the light battalions of the regiment. "Confirmed, heat signatures from 'Mechs", a voice said over the comms. "Looks like Marian raiders."

"Do we have permission to engage?" asked one of Danesh's comrades.

"Yes," was the immediate answer. The idea of not engaging the enemies that took their homes and threatened to enslave their families was unthinkable to Danesh and so many of his comrades.

Indeed, with permission granted, the entire unit started dashing into range of the marauding Marian 'Mechs. They bore the colors and insignia of the Gladiators, presumably the survivors of the trouncing inflicted on them on Bolan itself. Danesh centered his crosshairs on a Marian Stinger and triggered the four medium lasers that acted as his machine's primary weapons. It was a rash attack given that at least one of his heat sinks wasn't functioning, but he wanted to put the Marian down.

Unfortunately his shots were not connecting. Only one of the four made any kind of hit, a glancing one that sheared some armor off an arm. The Stinger kept maneuvering, evading missiles from a Locust and a Javelin as it did. A beam of ruby red energy sizzled through the air and sheared armor and metal bone from the Locust's leg. The Stinger followed up the strike by dashing close and colliding with the light 'Mech, toppling it. Its arm-mounted weapon came up to deliver a killing shot to the Locust's cockpit.

Danesh fired, triggering a wave of heat and warning klaxons from his 'Mech's systems as he did. Four laser beams of the same color lashed out, catching the Stinger this time and melting copious amounts of armor off the light machine. With his comrade rescued, Danesh shouted in pure anger and fired once more, two beams connecting this time. His systems threatened to shut down.

He didn't have to fire again, though. Instead his overheating 'Mech slammed into the Marian machine. It lacked any arms to use for grappling, so Danesh brought the left leg up and delivered a kick that broke through half-molten, shoddy armor and into the 'Mech's fusion plant. The Stinger's power died from the critical wound.

Danesh exulted in victory, but it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough to make up for the loss of his homeworld Biloela. Not enough to meet his need to avenge the family he may have lost forever, still trapped in Marian territory. Like many of his escaped comrades, he had a passion to fight against those that took everything from him.

We'll fight for a hundred years if we must, Bolan, and Biloela, will be ours again!



Jagow Mountains
Drosendorf
Arcadian Free March


Legatus Virgil Rowsdower was given the task of providing arms to the anti-Arcadian insurgents still holding out in the Jagow mountains. These troops, the most fanatical of Duke Welser's Lifeguard Regiment, were mostly on their last legs, with the populace increasingly accepting Arcadian rule. It would remain to be seen if the weapons and equipment brought to aid these guerrillas would change their fate. At least I don't have to deal with the Blake worshippers, he thought to himself.

A man in a sky blue uniform that had seen better days saluted with enthusiasm. "Legatus, I am Colonel Wilhelm von Jaffenburg, commander of the 2nd regiment of Duke Welser's Lifeguards." When Virgil returned the salute the man started gushing. "We are pleased to hear that our plight has come to the attention of as august a figure as your Imperator. We welcome him as an ally, whatever the cowards in the towns say."

"Oh? What do they say?"

Von Jaffenburg's face burned red. "That the Arcadians are worthy to rule us if they dare to fight your people. That you take slaves and that makes you worthy of hatred. Pah, commoner sentimentality, Arcadia is our one and true enemy. We will not let our Duke, the latest in a line of great rulers stretching out before the Lyran Commonwealth came to be, be reduced to a mere vassal of the offspring of that whore Proctor! We will drive the enemy off our world and restore the dignity of the Welser line!"

I doubt it. The thought was naturally not communicated to Jaffenburg, nor the sentiment that the Hegemony would eventually replace the Arcadians as rulers of this world. As things were, this would be what the Imperator undoubtedly expected it to be: an annoyance to the Arcadians to punish them for the attack on Bolan, tying down troops to keep the likes of von Jaffenburg from seizing the planet. So why discourage them from doing so?

"Victory belongs to those with the strength and dedication to see it through," he said aloud. "On Bolan the Arcadians proved they lacked these qualities when they fled to avoid our reinforcements. Prove it again, Colonel, by outlasting them. Then your world will be restored."

 

[Big Steve]

Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
28 June 3034


Taking time away from Mark's recovery always gave Sara-Marie guilt. Her son needed her, clearly, and his emotional state was still fragile. But her responsibilities to their people could not be avoided.

Today was an important meeting in particular. The Marian attacks on Drosendorf and Rosice were over and done with, but the leaders of the Free March had to decide on how to proceed. She had to decide. So she called a meeting of her realm's foremost planners and experts. The Dukes of Togwotee and Dar-es-Salaam were present, as was Lord Prestwick and Sir James Bronson of SIS. Lord Alexander and his sister Lady Tabitha appeared with General Harding and the Duchess of Hyde, the leader of the Navy.

"The Marians have given a shot in the arm to the insurgents on Drosendorf," Tabitha reported in a bitter tone. "Their new surfeit of weapons is bringing them volunteers, or in some cases forced conscripts I'd say. Toyama's cult is becoming particularly aggressive. We're going to need a larger garrison than the 1st Regiment, and another year minimum to put them down."

Her brother went next. "The action at Rosice cost some damage as well, but the 1st Bolan Irregulars kept it from being worse. For all the unit's poor equipment and inexperience, they made up for it with spirit."

"So the question is how we respond," said Duke Abdulla Rayhan. Here he was dressed in Arcadian style business attire, unlike the robes he'd wear back on his homeworld. "Another strike, perhaps? We could call off the planned attack on Alula Borealis. The Arcadian Rangers and Proctor Light Horse would make short work of these gladiator units, Inshallah."

"A reprisal attack is certainly to be considered," Alexander agreed. "Anything less and they will think we are afraid. I say gather our top units and hit them again, harder this time. Without the need to run a rescue mission we could wipe the floor with one of their legions."

"And have them retaliate in kind? A smaller demonstration, more in line with their actions, might be better," suggested Duke Simon Allen of Togwotee. "As Duke Abdullah suggested, we could launch a counter-raid. There are still some insurgent elements on Bolan we could arm."

"I suggest we do nothing."

Sir James' words spread silence through the room like an ink drop filling a vessel of water. Every set of eyes focused on the spymaster. Sara-Marie pre-empted her more bellicose advisors by asking, "You would have us do nothing?"

"These attacks are a relief for us, Serene Highness," Sir James said. "If the Imperator's forces could do more, they would. We anticipated a larger response, up to a full-scale assault on Gypsum. Instead they sent harassing raids. Word is they may deploy the Terror from the Deep mercenary unit against us as well, but so far, no indications show a more substantial campaign. This is a sop for Sean O'Reilly's reputation, nothing more. He has no means to prosecute a war against us at this time. Not with the damages taken fighting Bolan, or the costs fo resupply. This is how he can justify a lack of further attacks to his people."

"And if you're wrong, and he intends to attack?" Alexander asked pointedly.

"He's a child forced onto the throne, he is unlikely to hold back for misdirection." Sir James folded his hands on the table. "I suggest we send the Guardian and her battlegroup back toward the area. Commence naval patrols moving through all of our systems. If they send the mercs in, we might catch them. Either way, doing more would be foolhardy. We have stepped away with a lighter price for our deeds than we anticipated. Let's be thankful for that and move on with more pressing matters, like the renewal of the Skye War."

"We'll still have the Legions on our Anti-Spinward front," said Harding. "We can't ignore the problem."

"We won't, but we don't let obsession ruin our freedom of action. Sean will be facing other matters, I suspect, and we have time before he moves again. We have other matters that will demand our energies."

While many of the others were displeased, Sara-Marie thought the SIS Director's appraisal sounded authentic. "For the time being, we will follow Sir James' proposal. Our other operations will go as planned."

 

[Big Steve]

Dr. Nancy Corey Military Hospital
Laughlin Capital District, Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
19 July 3034


Given all he'd survived, Prince Mark's current challenge could seem pitifully small in comparison. But yet, it was proving harder than the fighting on the Marathi Ridge.

Walking on one reconstructed leg and one basic prosthetic was hard enough. Doing it with a reconstructed arm and another prosthetic arm approached insurmountable challenge. It took all of his will, all of his strength, to keep his repaired limbs and the numb fake ones moving in something like concord. Bit by bit, he slid his hands along the rails to his sides while his legs shuffled forward.

It must have taken him five minutes to go the ten meter distance, and he was sweating when he stepped down to the waiting arms of his mother. "Well done, Mark," she said, grinning. "You're already getting better."

"He's making progress." His physical therapist Anne-Marie Leveaux spoke English with a French accent, a Danais-style one at that. "But he has a lot of work to do as we prepare him for the new prosthetics."

Mark nodded. He could tell Sara-Marie wanted him walking and able again, but it wasn't going to happen any time soon. He had a lot of healing to go. Anne-Marie made that clear repeatedly during their sessions. "I'll get there in time." He let the two guide him to his seat. "Father's on Ford right? Attending his Earl's Court?"

"It's that terrible murder in Havershire, Lord Ghormley invoked feudal right and he has to preside over the case."

"Right." Mark shook his head. Ford had a particular set of laws governing their nobles and their obligations. "He'll still see justice be done. Father won't let him get away."

"No, he won't."

Their conversation continued on other matters.



After an orderly brought Mark off to another session he was due for, Sara-Marie remained to speak with the therapist. "Miss Leveaux?"

"Yes, Your Serene Highness?" The woman, almost the same age as Mark, gave Sara-Marie her undivided attention.

"My son. How is he doing, truly?"

"Without betraying patient confidence, his physical recovery is proceeding normally, his mental recovery is a harder journey. He is uncertain about his future," she said.

Poor darling, you took on such weight for yourself. Thinking you had to prove your worth to win our love… how could we have failed to make it clear? "Thank you," she said aloud. "I hope to show him that whether or not he pilots a 'Mech, he still has our love, and a chance for something better."

"Of course, Highness. He's going to need all of that to rebuild his life, and I'll do what I can to help," Anne-Marie promised.



William Corey Memorial DropPort
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
10 July 3034


Dani was waiting with a happy smile when Becca stepped through the terminal. After a journey of two months, and given the entire Free March knew about them now, she was quick to give her lover the passionate kiss they yearned for. When they'd had enough she pulled back. "So, are you enjoying the celebrity life?"

"Yes and no," Dani replied. They took one another's hand and walked together towards the concourse. "The perks are good. Captain's pay is a nice increase."

"And you're going to be knighted," Becca added, grinning.

"Yeah. Granted, it also means crazies over the web harass me with nasty messages. Mostly some combination of lewd and hateful." She didn't bother remarking on the threats of corrective rape she'd turned over to MCIS agents for study. "And I get a lot of fan mail too at least."

"You'll have to read me the fan mail." Becca leaned against her.

"I will. So, the others?"

"Prince Thomas wanted me to wish you well. His new Lance Lieutenant is Farouk al-Jabar, if you want to know."

"Ah, the mullah. Anything else?"

"Jealousy about me getting to leave and the attention you're getting, no matter how much you praise the unit on the vids people are still giving you all the credit and they don't like that."

"The AFFM's not doing us any favors there. So, your orders?"

"Combat drop training at Fort Defiance," Becca revealed. "And field testing a new heavy fire support 'Mech, the Katun. Some variant they're making for the new Strikers."

"They've got me doing the same, when I'm not in interviews or filming recruitment commercials."

"I liked that first one they did." Becca squeezed her hand and giggled. "You were very heroic looking."

"That's the idea," Dani laughed back. "I'm also supposed to spend a week on set for the Bolan Rescue Op docudrama they're filming over on Mull. Apparently I'm going to get a trailer like I'm one of the stars."

"Tell me more…"

 

[Big Steve]

Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
12 September 3034


The day's briefings were mostly on the resumed Skye War and the ever-expanding vortex that even now seemed unavoidable for Sara-Marie and her people. After discussing proposed plans and operations with her military and intelligence people, including contingencies for the collapse of the Kashmarka Antisuyu, she went on to meetings with her Officers of State.

While the standard items were the usual, Duke Allen kept them on once the day's main business was done. "Highness, I believe there is another matter we must concern ourselves with."

"Does this concern the issue of Alula Borealis' government?" She asked, considering that the newly-surrendered world was run by a communalist government with common property and no nobility. By all accounts they'd fielded a decent defense force, but their governing officer surrendered rather than fight the overwhelming force that the Free March dispatched to the system. "I imagined similar accommodations could be made to them as were done for Rexburg, Pingree, and Radostov?"

"Such is being arranged. But with the Free March having doubled in size, we must acknowledge that the system itself may need reform," Allen said. "Before, we were a small enough state that planets by themselves were suitable as political divisions. But with forty four worlds, perhaps forty five or more, a more federalized structure may be necessary."

"And we are certainly more than a March these days," noted Dame Karla Lockwell, the Secretary of Justice. "While a number of our neighbors are still larger, should we gain at the expense of the collapsing Kashmarka, we will ourselves become a power of appreciable size. It is time we begin discussion of reorganizing the entire realm, Your Serene Highness."

Sara-Marie pursed her lips and put her hands together. "You are discussing changing the fundamental nature of our government, of our very place in the lives of our people. This cannot be done lightly."

"Agreed, but it must be considered, and if the need presents itself, acted upon," Allen said.

That, she couldn't disagree with, as much as she wished to. So many worlds are in the Free March now, so many rulers answer to me. It is starting to become overwhelming, remembering all of these dukes and their families, the worlds and their systems…

But this was the result of the choice she made nearly two years ago, when the facts were shown to her, the choice of whether to expand or not, and she selected expansion over death. This is the fruit of that choice. I have changed the Free March forever...

 

[Big Steve]

Castle Poznek, Pokorný Continent
Zvolen
Arcadian Free March
8 July 3034


Castle Poznek, an old redoubt that provided the planetary troops their one foothold on the untamed mountains of Pokorný, now served as the home and nerve center of Free Bolan. Princess Gita and her household, family and servants, were settled here, and the nearby settlements of Bolanese refugees were already forming communities, towns, and soon cities.

Gita saw the Duchess Jozefina's representative from the room. Their status was a complicated one, but Jozefina was committed to establishing New Bolan City and the other planned communities on this difficult continent. Gita found it a taste of home, but given the rest of the planet it was easy to see why the mountainous barrens of the continent were seen as only marginally habitable.

But that would change. The Umayr fortune that survived the fall of Bolan, safely put away in Terran banks, and the fortunes of many others would finance the new city and other settlements. Mineral wealth would be shared with the Duchess' holding companies and government, but it would provide for the restoration of the Salvageworks or any other company that the Umayrs decided to field.

Gita returned to her paperwork and was ready for the arrival of her daughter and heiress. Amita wore the AFFM uniform with exactitude, returning her mother's short salute with precision. "Highness," Amita said. "What do you need?"

"Many things, Amita. But from you, I need cooperation. Are you ready to commit to the Free March service?"

Amita nodded. "I have completed the provided training course, yes. I look forward to restoring your regiment among the new Heavy Guards."

"I'm sure you do, but you will not be in the Guards."

That brought an uncertain expression to the younger Umayr. "Then… one of the regiments we're forming?"

"No." Gita shook her head. "My ceremonial command of the Free Bolan Corps and Dev as commander of the Heavy Guards will serve our needs in that quarter. For you, I have decided to make a gesture towards our new suzerains. You are being assigned to the Arcadian Guards."

Amita's face fell. "But… why? They are a great unit and I am honored, but we have so much work to do here!"

"We do, but your job will be to show March-Princess Sara-Marie and her children that we take this seriously. You will be fighting alongside the Heir to the Arcadian throne, Amita. I trust you understand the importance?"

"I'll safeguard his life," Amita promised, still bristling inwardly. The Heavy Guards were formed from the survivors of Bolan itself in many cases. They were her people. She should be serving alongside them!

"I am glad to hear it. Your DropShip departs in two days for Pingree, where you will await the Guards' arrival." Gita took Amita's hand. "This is for your future, my daughter. All our futures. I trust you will see it that way."

Amita gave an obedient nod.

They talked for a short time afterward. As expected, Jagdish would be in the Heavy Guards while Rama was off to the Ayrshire Military Sciences Academy on Arcadia. Their other family members to escape Bolan were discussed, as were the resettlement plans, before Gita had her depart.

It was only when Amita returned to her quarters that her mind started working over what her mother said. About the importance of working alongside Prince Thomas, the Arcadian Heir, and what it meant for their future. Her future.

Mother… oh mother, is this what you want of me? she wondered. Are you seriously asking me to seduce Prince Thomas to become his wife? To make the Umayrs part of the ruling dynasty of Arcadia?

She was always conscious of the fact she would marry for political purposes, not any kind of attachment. At best, she'd have a spouse whom she could enjoy married life with. Prince Thomas is at least a fellow warrior. He would understand what I feel.

Either way, we will fight alongside one another in the coming years. I will serve our family proudly at his side, and we will see if Mother's desires will come to fruition.

 

[Big Steve]

Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
18 July 3034


Given the many ceremonial roles served by the inhabitant of Arcadia's Ducal Palace, the builders included a number of waiting rooms and preparatory rooms for those involved in said ceremonies. Dani and Becca were alone in one, a dressing room where the two women busied themselves with getting into their dress uniforms. The red jacket was a more elaborate version of the formal and duty uniform, embellished by epaulettes of gold and the double-looped silver-braided aiguillettes on each shoulder for MechWarriors, plus blue trim on the cuffs and seam lines. A blue sash went over the left shoulder down to the right side, marked with the Free March hawk in white up near the left breast. Their campaign and service ribbons were joined by the physical medals they'd each earned in their career, including - now - a Silver Wing and the Order of the Liberator.

The latter was already secure on their necks - Dani thought it ironic that an award for rescuing captives and slaves could feel almost as tight as a slave collar - and Becca aided her in fixing the clasp on the Silver Wing. "There," Becca said. She looked radiant today, her hair brushed back and pulled into a regulation bun. "You're ready."

"No, I don't think I am," Dani admitted. "This… this wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to be an engineer, not a knight."

"'The ways of the Lord are mysterious, but He always places us where He needs us to be'," Becca quoted.

"Your rabbi again?"

"No, my grandfather, the one who decided not to be a rabbi."

There was a knock at the door. "Five minutes," said a voice from the other side.

"I'll be in the gallery watching," Becca promised, taking Dani's hands in her own. Her smile made Dani's heart flutter. "You've always been my knight in shining armor." With that remark she brought her lips up to give Dani a warm kiss. It lasted for several moments, although neither could too tightly embrace the other for the risk of crumpling their fine uniforms. "Now you're one to the whole realm."

"As long as I'm yours." The smile Dani felt form on her face wasn't forced, not this time.




The basics of the ceremony were ageless, written into the historical and cultural memory of many nations of Mankind over the millennia. Whatever particulars might change, the core was the same.

Dani entered the Throne Room from the main double doors. The galleries above were packed with vid-recorders, attending politicians and VIPs, and some AFFM personnel. On the ground floor, the soldiers of the Ducal Lifeguards stood at attention in their ceremonial uniforms of blue and red. Two bid her to step forward to the lines of waiting men and women. They were all in AFFM uniform, a combination of MechWarriors, aerospace pilots, even vehicle and infantry branches, and all looked older than she was. All wore medals that included the Knight or Knight-Commander of the Order of St. Michael.

Recalling what the Chamberlain and the Sergeant-at-Arms had told her, Dani walked in slow, measured steps, not quite a march but a martial walk at least. As she passed between the lines of uniformed officers, they drew ceremonial swords and held them at high 45 degree angles toward the air above her head.

Once she was past them she approached the throne. The March-Princess, Sara-Marie, almost reminded her of her mother, when Agnes was capable of genuine warmth and not control. While the ceremony was not meant for warmth, there was a radiance in her blue eyes that Dani found comforting. Far from wearing a regal gown of sorts, she was in an AFFM dress uniform as well.

Dani stopped at three paces from the throne and went down to a knee before the March-Princess.

Sara-Marie didn't move an inch. "Captain Verdes, you have, through your actions, proven yourself a worthy soul in the service of my House and the Free March. Not just with your courage on the battlefield, but the willful act of placing yourself in danger to guard innocent civilians fleeing for their lives."

By accident, flashed through Dani's mind, but she said nothing.

The monarch stood. She took up a ceremonial sword and approached Dani in measured steps. "For your service to the Free March, and your commitment to the values that bind all of our peoples together—" she pressed the flat of the blade to Dani's left shoulder, and then her right "—I name you, Danielle Bethania Verdes, a Knight of the March. Rise, Dame Danielle."

Danielle did so. A court page stepped forward and presented her a new ceremonial sword in a scabbard marked with the Free March hawk. She accepted it and bowed to Sara-Marie. "You are hereby elevated to the grade of Knight of the Order of St. Michael," Sara-Marie continued, while two more pages approached. One presented her with the medal in question, a neck order that Sara-Marie reached up (a bit much given Danielle was fairly tall) to put around her. It had a long ribbon instead of being a necklet like the visible Order of the Liberator, depicting a white disc on a silver starburst with a sword-bearing archangel on the disc. The second presented a metal with a silver hawk bearing a sword in its talons, its wings spread over a Greek cross. "And for your service to the ideals of House Proctor and the Free March, I present you with the Order of the Sword and the Hawk." She attached the medal onto Dani's uniform in the appropriate place, giving it higher precedence to those she already had. "We are all proud of you, Dame Danielle."

"Thank you, Your Serene Highness," Dani answered. She bowed her head and waist before straightening up. She walked over to the lines that greeted her, now arrayed in columns, and under their raised swords started her careful ceremonial exit. I wonder how Mother will take it… she thought to herself as, behind her, the ceremony came to an end.

Either way, her time as a living recruitment prop was almost at an end. In a month she and Becca would be heading for McAffe and their new assignment, as officers of the 8th Striker Regiment.

 

[Big Steve]

Eastern District
Abha, Suleiman Continent
Dar-es-Salaam
Arcadian Free March
12 June 3034


Lieutenant Ali al-Khalid walked the streets of the Eastern District enjoying the sights and smells of home. It was good to be back after being called to battle with the 1st Dar-es-Salaam Cavalry, a campaign that took his unit to three different worlds, the final being Bolan and their greatest test in decades. It was still a weight on his heart that so many friends and comrades died there fighting the Marians.

He stepped up to the stall his father and uncle ran, selling cloth that his family specially dyed. His cousin Rashid was at the counter and turned to face him when Ali stepped up. Ali watched his eyes widened in shock. "Ali?" he asked.

"We just got back yesterday, and I qualified for leave," Ali answered. Noticing his cousin's continued surprise he added, "What is it? What is wrong?"

Instead of answering, Ali jumped over the stall, knocking over a roll of fine blue and green fabric as he did. He embraced Ali as if they'd not seen each other in years. "You're alive!" he cried. "Praise to God, you're alive!"

Now Ali was incredibly confused. He had no time to speak as Rashid grabbed him and pulled him to the side of the building and the family entrance. He pushed the door open. Inside Ali's parents, Abdullah and Fatima, his sister Faiza, younger brother Hakeem, and uncle Halim were all at work. One by one they looked toward them as Rashid called out "Ali is home! He's alive!"

Stunned, paling faces greeted Ali. Fatima rose and approached him, tears forming in her eyes. She pressed her hands to his cheeks as if he were a lost child come home. "You're alive!" she finally called out before embracing him. "Allahu ackbah! Allahu ackbah! The Merciful One has given me my son back!"

The rest of the family joined in with cheers and prayers of thankfulness, and it took Ali the better part of fifteen minutes to get them calm enough to explain. The explanation came by way of Uncle Halim handing him a letter. It was bordered with gold filigree, and the Arabic calligraphy was a work of art. He read his name and went onward into the flowery, colorful language describing him as a martyr of the Faith who died in battle against the "pagans of the Periphery" with his unit.

"But I survived," he said. "Over half of the unit got back to the DropShips, save those who joined Colonel Hadi's last stand!"

"We have heard he was martyred protecting the ships while they prepared to launch," Abdullah said. "But it was reported you all died there. Your entire battalion."

"Then… all this time, you believed I was dead?" As he spoke the words Ali felt deep guilt fill him. I could have sent them a message. I should have. I just… I assumed… I wanted to surprise them… "I am sorry."

"It is fine." His father smiled at him. "You are home. That is all that matters."

 

[Big Steve]

Fort Dunmore
County Dunmore, Erin
McAffe
Arcadian Free March
14 October 3034


Nineteen days after departing Roslyn, Dani and Becca made it to the city of Dublin on McAffe, and following a night of sleep they took an AFFM-provided aircar out through the countryside to Fort Dunmore. Passing through the verdant hills and fields, Dani did the driving while Becca took in the sights. "It's a lovely world," Becca said. "A lot more green than Gienah. Maybe even greener than Arcadia."

"Yeah. I was stationed here with the 2nd after graduation," Dani recalled. "Although my battalion was assigned to Fort McQuiston over in Caledonia. This place is a bit greener."

The rest of the trip was quiet. They'd said everything they might say to one another during the trip to McAffe, after all. Another hour of driving through open fields and pleasant little towns covered in Gaelic and English signs brought them to the western gates for Fort Dunmore. Local MPs let them in on inspection of their ID. They dropped the aircar off at the Fort motorpool and were given a wheeled vehicle for on-base travel with directions to the offices of the 8th Strikers' command staff. At arrival they were directed to a small conference room. Waiting for them were a handful of officers. They saluted immediately. "Colonel Jason Andrews, 8th Strikers XO," the lead man said, an Afro-Gienahite by his accent, leading the reply salute. He indicated two men of light complexion. "Welcome to the Sunhawks, Captain Verdes, Lieutenant Shameel. We may not be the Arcadian Guards, but I think you'll find the outfit worthy of your skill. These are your battalion CO and XO, Lieutenant Colonel Scott Pierce and Major Alexander Penton."

"Ladies." Pierce nodded to them, as did Major Penton. "I'm told you completed combat drop training while on Arcadia doing PR work, Captain?"

"We did," Danielle affirmed. She felt some quiet gratitude that Pierce wasn't calling her "Dame Danielle", as she was being addressed elsewhere so often.

"Good. We'll slot you into our final months of exercises as a refresher, and to help you get used to your new machines and acquaint yourselves with your pilots. Given Captain Proctor's reports on your success as his Lance Lieutenant and effective company XO, I'm placing you in tactical command of my personal command company, Captain, with Lieutenant Shameel as your Lance Lieutenant."

Dani fought to keep disappointment from showing. So there it is. He made Becca my subordinate. We can fight together, eat together, do everything together but be together. "Understood. I'll keep your command unit going, Colonel."

It was clear she'd failed to show her emotional reaction, or that Becca had likewise done so. Sympathy showed on Alex Penton's face, although not a hint of it from Andrews or Pierce. "Good to hear. Major Penton will show you to the 'Mech bay and officer's quarters, and an orderly will be assigned to you. Tomorrow at ten hundred local is a battalion staff meeting, it'll give you a chance to meet your peers, Captain. That is all."

With a final salute Pierce and Andrew left, leaving Alex with them. "Well, that's that, I guess," he said, looking fairly awkward.

"It is," Becca said in a quiet, resigned voice. She pulled her hand away from Dani's and stiffened her lip.

Every second brought a bit more anger to Dani. This wasn't a coincidence. This was intentional, and everyone present knew it.

"No point in holding it off, I suppose," he said. "This way."

He brought them through the office corridors, out to a covered concourse, and to the tall gray building that acted as bay for an entire battalion of 'Mechs. Dani noted the designs were regular Free March-produced models, but with clear and obvious modifications.

They approached a pair of bays, each with a bird-legged 'Mech set in the harnesses. One reminded her of a Catapult-K2 - the variant with PPCs on the shoulders instead of box-shaped missile launchers - with its main body, but the arms looked like smaller versions of a Marauder's arms. The other had something of the shape of an Archer, save the cockpit was located at the top of the torso, and the arms were handless with a side-by-side twin barrel mount beyond the elbow. Without the cockpit being in the middle of the torso and with its chicken leg design it looked distinctly avian.

"New designs," said Becca.

"Right. Variants too, to meet Striker speed requirements." He indicated the Catapult-like one first. "Apparently the designers at Selassie took to the look of a mixed design, because they've designated it a Mad Cat, since it's got a Marauder's mass. The main variant has missile launchers, but this one is all-energy to accommodate the Striker mission profile. 86 km/h running speed, the Striker minimum, and the required jump jet capability. Shoulder PPCs, extended range models, and extended range medium lasers on the arms."

"Runs hotter than a Marauder, I'd bet."

"Ten tons of double-capacity heat sinks help with that, I'm told," Alex answered. "That's your new machine, Captain. Lieutenant, the other one's yours. It's a variant Selassie made of that Rayhan Arsenal Katun design they've been building for the Guards, but with the necessary speed and jump jets. Medium lasers, extended range, and 20-salvo LRM launchers with Artemis Fire Control systems. They're calling it the Strider Hawk."

"Another fire support 'Mech. At least they're playing to my strengths," Becca said.

"The MechTechs are ready to help you through the neural pattern familiarization exercises. Your first combat drop exercise is in five days."

Next he brought them to their quarters. Dani would be bunked in her own room as a Captain while Becca was in the next hall with the other senior Lieutenants. He let them be at that point, standing alone in Dani's new quarters.

"So it finally happened," Becca said. "Fraternization regs are strict. You and I can't… we can't be together anymore."

"I should protest," Dani said bitterly. "You saw Pierce. He damn well know what he was doing."

"It's part of the service, and at least we're in the same unit, the same company. We can watch one another's backs," Becca pointed out. "And maybe I'll end up promoted too, eventually. We should be grateful we're even in the same unit, Dani."

"I know, but it just feels…" Dani couldn't finish the sentence. Like he's singling us out. Making a statement. "Let's just get our things. In the end, we still love each other, and this will change one day." Especially when our years are up. I'm looking forward to putting in for my militia reserve status then so I can just muster out, if you will too…

"That's the best way to approach it." Becca drew close to her and planted a chaste kiss on Dani's lips. "I'll be waiting when that day comes."

"It can't come soon enough."

 

[Big Steve]

Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
2 October 3034


The Command Staff and the Privy Council commenced the meeting at Sara-Marie's request. The intelligence from their allies was remarked upon, including various estimates, as were the state's finances and military status.

And in the end, it was General Harding who presented the recommendation, with Duke Allen's quiet acquiescence.

"The planned operation to secure Bella I should be scrubbed," he said succinctly. "We believe we have an opening to enter the war decisively on the side of the Commonwealth and DefHes."

"I see." She showed no emotion at such a weighty proposal. "Then the plans you were proposing…"

"Overtaken by events, if our intelligence is correct," Lady Tabitha said.

Sir James was quick to add, "Which I am fairly certain in, although I would prefer a stronger source if asked for absolute certainty."

Tabitha's eyes reflected her exasperation at the spymaster. "Whether or not the information is true, we have an opportunity to catch Marik by surprise."

"It would delay any operation to secure the worlds of the Kashamarka if their collapse comes about, wouldn't it?" Sara-Marie asked the question knowing the answer already.

Alexander nodded. "If it happens, then yes, it would reduce our commitment. Although with the New Year I believe our new Bolan Corps can cut its teeth rather well on securing those worlds, especially if we hire mercenary support. Or not, if the war effort demands otherwise. As matters stand, the rebuilt Free March Cavalry and Dar-es-Salaam Cavalry, as well as the 8th Strikers, can be employed offensively with our other units after the New Year's, although rotating the 1st or 3rd Regiment back to Arcadia as a defensive garrison is a consideration as well."

"You seem to be uncertain as to specifics."

"War is uncertainty, Serene Highness. The other side gets to pick what it does, after all, all we can do is prepare our plans and try to anticipate," Alexander replied.

"So the question finally comes to me." She drew in a sigh. The weight of the decision was brutal, but it couldn't be avoided. She, and she alone, would make the choice, just as she had for the expansion, just as she had for Bolan. One son has been maimed by my choices. Will my other children fare poorly too?

"Highness?"

They were all awaiting her choice. "I am reminded of my father's words to me in his final years. Of the awesome responsibility of the throne, and the terrible nature of this power of war and peace," she said. "He spoke of old histories on Terra, and Terran writers speaking of war and violence as 'Ultima Regio Regnum'. 'The Last Argument of Kings'."

Alexander nodded quietly. "The March-Prince knew the price well. I know he would have preferred you not make it."

Sara-Marie smiled sardonically at that. "Now now, cousin, you and I both know he would prefer my asserting our authority and expanding our strength, even with a war."

That brought an almost sheepish look to the older man. "True. Thoughtless sentimentalism on my part, there."

"It is forgiven." With her soul shuddering under its burden, Sara-Marie steeled herself for the choice. "It is settled then. We will not remain out of this war for Skye. And if the Lord of Hosts so blesses us, our BattleMechs will march on Atreus itself."



Planetary Assembly Hall
Zephyrburg
Autumn Wind
Arcadian Free March
19 November 3034


Prince Thomas joined the other commanders of the Arcadian Guards to receive the surrender of Autumn Wind's authorities. He felt a slight fatigue after two days of fighting defiant but hopelessly outmatched Marik militia. With the survivors' surrender, all that remained was this step.

The planet's current leader greeted them with a sigh. Arlington Rcher was the Moderator of the Assembly, basically like the Free March Assembly's Speaker. "I'm getting tired of surrendering to you," he grumbled. "Will you at least stay this time?"

For a moment Thomas wondered what he meant, but then he recalled the campaign of eighteen months ago. Arcadian troops secured the surrender of Autumn Wind just to evacuate the planet in an exchange with the Marik Commonwealth. "Matters were different then," he noted.

"So long as you don't change your minds again."

The ceremony got underway. After it was over, the last Marik flag descended, the purple eagle of the Mariks replaced by the white and gold hawk of the Free March.

This war has only just begun, Thomas thought. We still have a lot of work to do, and a lot of fighting to survive.

 

[Big Steve]

AFMS Liberator, Open Space
Campbelton System
Marik Commonwealth (Disputed)
19 November 3034


The most stressful day in the life of Vice Admiral Julia Andros was ending with a whimper, entirely unlike the hours of painful tension that followed days of uncertainty. For the first time in her career, she'd actually commanded in a battle between full-scale WarShips, leading the Liberator and her battlegroup against the Marik ships Guardian and Protector with their attached escorts.

Had it just been the two forces - Guardian hadn't shown with her group as was originally planned - it's entirely possible she'd have lost her flagship, or at least suffered greater damage. But their allies in the New Commonwealth and Consolidant turned about to engage as well, catching the Mariks between two fires. The advanced Star League corvettes fought tenaciously, and with such vigor she hadn't dared an attempt to board either, but they couldn't overcome the great edge in aerospace power that the two forces enjoyed. Now the wrecked hulks of the two relics remained visible on some of the screens in the CIC. S&R teams were surveying them in the dismal hope of finding survivors. Ejected pilots were likewise being recovered, as were surviving crew from the ruined Marik "pocket WarShips".

And yet, victory comes at a cost. While the three regiments in her force burned in to join the DefHes and Commonwealth regiments moving to eliminate the Marik regiment on Campbelton, under the cover of their aerospace power, the Liberator and Harrier were licking their wounds. From her seat she watched Captain Campbell receive the reports from across the ship. A holotank display, a very sophisticated one speaking to Liberator's origins as a Star League-era ship, reflected the vacuum-exposed sections of the ship in angry crimson while other damaged areas had sickly yellow. It could be worse. We're still combat capable, and an enemy DropShip would regret running into us. But she's spending half a year in a repair yard, that's for sure.

After looking over the tablet provided by one of his subordinates, Captain Campbell approached her and saluted. "Admiral, at your request, the final casualty reports." He handed it to her. "Thirty-one fighters gone, including the entirety of the 15th Wing, and twenty confirmed fatalities among them. Harrier reports twenty-one casualties, ten fatalities. Our losses are at seventy-three casualties, currently twenty casualties, possibly higher depending on how things go with our worse cases."

She nodded. "Thank you, Captain."

"I would suggest you get rest, ma'am. I'll be standing down shortly myself."

"I will, but I have a report to finish up first," she said, the weight in her voice unmistakable. They were at war, and while the reports were clear that Harsefeld and Oriente were on a major offensive, there was a lot that could happen in the uncertainties of conflict.

The only thing certain in any war is death. Every one of our crew, every one of them, has family and friends who will mourn them. We just have to make it worth it.



Proctor Family Estate
New Salem, Plymouth Peninsula
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
24 November 3034


By the traditions of the Proctor family, and their neighbors, the final weeks of November were dominated by Thanksgiving Day, a thousand year old tradition dating back to their ancestors in New England.

Standing against his crutch and looking out at the beautiful fall colors of the trees on the family estate, Prince Mark quietly pondered that he had much to feel thankful for. He was alive, unlike Lieutenant Vickers. He hadn't been captured by the Marians. He'd come home to his family, and it felt like the first time in his life his parents were noting his existence.

Or rather, it was the first time in his life that he noticed his parents noting his existence.

Anne-Marie stepped up beside him. At the request of hhis mother she'd been assigned to be his personal therapist, working every day to get full motion in his limbs back. "It's getting cooler," she said. "You should come inside, Highness, before you catch a chill."

"Right." He took up the crutch, which helped him balance his weight on the false leg. His prosthetic arm held open the door long enough for Anne-Marie to enter. Inside they walked from the patio foyer to the living area. A holovid set to the Arcadian News Service showed an older Fusilier in the colors of the 3rd Free March Regiment stomping across a wheatfield, the caption reading "Midkiff". It's autocannon blazed to life, spitting shells offscreen. The camera operator turned until the target, a Bulldog tank, became visible, still intact despite the visible damage. The turreted gun fired a burst of shells as well, but whatever effect they had on the Fusilier, it wasn't enough. Twin emerald beams converged on the vehicle and detonated it immediately.

"I can see the twinkle in your eyes," she said. "The longing. You miss it."

"I do," he admitted.

"You don't have to be a MechWarrior anymore. You don't have to fight," she reminded him. "You've done your part."

"It's not just that, Anne. It's… piloting a BattleMech, really piloting one, over and over again, for weeks, months, it gets to you. The bond of man and machine, the sensation of bounding your machine over the open ground. It's… it's a sensation that can't be described, only experienced. It's why even the highest ranked generals will still pilot 'Mechs for training, because losing that… it's like losing one of these." He used his prosthetic hand to tap against his flesh-and-blood hand. "Losing it all over. An itch you have to scratch and can't, not until you're back in the machine, feeling it out and keeping it standing."

"If only they weren't used to kill," she complained. "All of this war… I hate it so."

"You wouldn't be the only one," he assured her. "We can only pray my mother and her advisors bring it to an end quickly, and keep our realm safe."

 

[Big Steve]

Fort Dunmore
County Dunmore, Erin
McAffe
Arcadian Free March
1 January 3035


Angelina Proctor-Grimke looked on at her command - Alpha Company, 8th Striker Regiment 1st Battalion - with pride. The twelve BattleMechs, all of sixty tons or greater, were lined up in pristine order, McAffe's golden sun reflecting the red and gold paint scheme that served as the 8th Striker's official parade colors. Each pilot stood in front of their machine, spines straight and arms at their side. They represented a combination of tried veterans, bright-eyed and skilled graduates of AMSA, and the scrappiest militia pilots to complete OCS (Officer Commissioning School) and LBOS (Line BattleMech Operations School). Over the year she'd put them through their paces, and they were ready for action.

The same could be said for the rest of the regiment. They were all lined up, pilots and assigned machines, a hundred and forty-four in total arranged in rows of twelve in three columns and the regimental command company at the front. The 1st Battalion's column was largest given its extra company of assault and heavy 'Mechs. On the other ends of the wide fields, the support regiments and battalions had their personnel in formal uniform with their vehicles and equipment. Hauser's regiment of battle armor were in full armor as well, faceplates opened. Given it was New Year's Day, many were still working off the effects of the local McAffe beer and fine drinks that they'd enjoyed as part of their celebrations for the coming of 3035.

For Angelina, the special part of the occasion was the presence of her father as the official representative of the March-Princess. With Count O'Brien and Duke Wallace, the governors of Erin and all of McAffe respectively, and Lieutenant General Sir Peter MacReady, CO of McAffe Planetary Defense Command, Lord Alexander approached the saluting form of Brigadier Sinclair. Speaker systems ensured everyone on the field could hear their exchange.

"Brigadier Charles Sinclair, on behalf of Her Serene Highness the March-Princess Sara-Marie, I have come to inspect the 8th Striker Regiment. Are your people ready?"

"We are, General Proctor," Sinclair answered firmly. "The 8th Striker Regiment is ready for duty."

"Then we shall review your troops."

Given the size of the field and unit, an open-topped personal-vehicle was ready for Lord Alexander and the entourage. With Brigadier Sinclair aboard, they drove down every row and column, inspecting each company and battalion as required by the mustering ceremony. During the vehicle's pass Angelina's eyes met her father's. He nodded only slightly, and in the ten seconds she had a good look at him, she could see the pride there. It gratified her to see that. She'd taken up this career to see that look whenever she could.

It took some time for them to review every unit, but eventually they returned to their starting point. Lord Alexander's group and Brigadier Sinclair stepped back up to the viewing platform. Her father's voice rang out again. "Brigadier, I have surveyed your unit with immense satisfaction. In the name of the Her Serene Highness Sara-Marie, March-Princess and Commanding Officer of the Armed Forces of the Free March, I welcome the 8th Striker BattleMech Regiment and the 8th Striker Brigade into the service. Good work."

"Thank you, General. We await our first orders."

"You'll have them by the end of the day."

With that, the ceremony ended. Sinclair gave them the order to fall out. Angelina directed her pilots back into their machines. She returned to her own once they were all loading.

She was about to ascend the elevator when her father called out, "Captain!" She turned and saluted him, to which he replied with a responding salute and a firm "At ease". Once their hands came down a warm smile came to his face. "Do us proud, my little Angel," he said. "Like you always do."

"I will, Father," she answered warmly.

 

[Big Steve]

Arlington Mansion
Douglass City, Washington Continent
Dixie
15 January 3035


From the moment he left the Douglass City DropPort, Harold Wise was confronted with a planet in the middle of a celebration. Everywhere the sun emblem of the Kashamarka Antisuyu was being torn from buildings. The local garrison, far from resisting this, actually seemed to be joining in. The planetary broadcasts were full of celebrations of Dixie asserting its independence after over two years of rule from the increasingly-absentee government on Cajamarca.

Ordinarily, the Concord-born man would find this invigorating, The Antisuyu had been a barely-functional authoritarian state from what he'd seen, devoted to ideological fixations against BattleMechs and the rulers' personal obsessions. Any world that wanted to be free of such was welcome to that freedom. At the same time, however, it might pose a danger to his own purpose here.

Harold Wise wasn't a tourist, after all, nor a traveling businessman. He was a diplomatic specialist with the Foreign Office of the Arcadian Free March, and he one purpose here on Dixie: convince the ruler and his government to voluntarily join the Free March.

They have freed themselves from the tyranny and neglect of one centralizing government, now I must convince them that they should submit to another off-world government.

Twenty years in the Free March Foreign Office did not provide much in the way of experience. Merely some passed down knowledge from the last decades of the 30th Century, when the Free March was expanding by diplomacy throughout the region. By comparison most of the worlds to join since did so either on some duress or as a result of the victory over Dar-es-Salaam. Even the last voluntary admission, Hollabrunn, was done as a result of violence, with the Cutter Brigade's vicious annihilation of the Landgrave of Hollabrunn's forces and the AFFM's victory over them. And for two years the Free March had expanded with military force, not diplomatic initiative. Wise was one of many unhappy with how the AFFM had swayed the March-Princess against diplomatic expansion, even if the example of Andurien's fate made it obvious why it was dangerous to do so. He felt it undermined Arcadia's moral position to be engaged in violent expansion.

And if I fail here, that's what'll happen. The AFFM generals will convince the March-Princess to send the troops in, and before Dixie can bulk up the garrison that the Kashmarka kept here.

The aircar came to a stop at the front doors of the Mansion, the traditional home of the Dukes of Dixie. Liveried servants of brown coloration, wearing butternut gray uniforms, let him inside. They spoke with a drawl not unlike his own Appalachian Concordian, but with a distinct twang to it not quite like his own. A protocol officer in a gray overcoat and suit brought him to a private room, more of a study than a conference room, where he was plied with a fine whiskey and other offers of hospitality. He accepted them and waited in a nice seat, taking in the paintings and sculptures in the room as well as the leather-jacketed books along the shelves. One wall was dominated by the planet's flag, a set of five red and white bars with a circle of stars on field of blue along the upper hoist side. The color scheme was similar to Concord's own flag.

He was considering checking what volumes were on the shelves when the far door opened. The man who entered wore a uniform of light gray, more military than civil, with a hat of white brim. He was dark-skinned and gray-haired, his hair finely combed and cut, with his beard of black and gray trimmed down to respectable length. The wrinkles of his light brown eyes formed crow's feet, speaking of age and burdens, but otherwise the man was vital for his age. He looked every inch the fine Dixie gentleman. Harold stood and bowed his head. "Your Grace," he said politely. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"It's no trouble, Mister Wise," the Duke of Dixie answered, his drawl a gentle one. "You've had a long trip, and a man needs time to settle his bones after weeks on a DropShip."

Wise nodded in agreement and continued reflecting on the sight. Duke Robert Edward Lee was the latest of the Lee family, one of the Afro-American First Families who initially settled the planet centuries ago. Under the Lyran Commonwealth they'd been ennobled as Counts of Arlington, rising to the Dukedom after the collapse of the Commonwealth.

The planet, like many in the Inner Sphere, had some variety in population. The equatoreal islands of the Western Hemisphere were settled by Tamil and Malagasy, for instance, and several small towns and cities in the far north of Benton Continent were inhabited by Sami and Finns from Scandinavia. But moreso than other worlds, Dixie was dominated by one nationality, the American settlers of Afro-American and Caucasian-American ancestry who established Dixie so long ago. They'd made the world into a network of small cities and towns with an emphasis on rural and semi-rural agriculture and land use, with the industries primarily limited to the planet's main metropoli on each continent. Douglass City was the largest of the world's cities left after Marik forces used nuclear weapons on the former capital at New Richmond in 2810.

Despite that, their recovery was such that Dixie was a fairly wealthy world, one that would prove a jewel for the Free March if it was attained.

Duke Lee took a seat. A servant provided him a tumbler and poured him some of the whiskey in a bottle. "I'm sure we'll get to specifics shortly, sir. And I know why you're here. I imagine if not for the war with the Mariks you'd have not come, and I'd be preparing our forces to fight the BattleMech regiments of the Free March. No, no need to say otherwise, sir, I am no fool, and I am no sentimentalist. Nor are my people. We value our liberties greater than life, and the fools on Cajamarca would've learned that the hard way if they hadn't proven their ineptitude so spectacularly. We're well aware of our position, and that if you don't conquer us, the Marians will eventually come. My ancestors served as slaves for nearly two centuries, Mister Wise, and we're not ready for a repeat performance."

It can't be this easy.

"That's not to say we'll just submit to you, though. I am not an absolute ruler, and among my people, among my best, there are those who out of pride or just sheer stubbornness would fight like the devil to retain our restored independence. I will not play favorites, sir, that is not what we do here. You will have to go to our Senate, to our House, and to the people of this world, and convince them that their prosperity and future lies with Arcadia. That your people can protect them and defend their rights, indeed, that you understand those rights. And I'll warn you now, don't bother with bribery, no promises about investments or what have you. A man of Dixie will remain poor and free before accepting a fortune. Speak squarely with us, and if you persuade the people, I will gladly confirm their decision to join the Free March. Do you understand, Mister Wise?"

He nodded. "Yes, Your Grace, I think I do."

"Well now, since I've gotten that out of the way, I think a good whiskey will about get some color back into you, sir. And I've got a heck of a meal being prepared, far better than the swill on even a luxury DropShip…"

 

[Big Steve]

AFMS Axalon
Zenith Point, Sheridan System
Arcadian Free March
13 January 3035


While there were many things Alex had to grow accustomed to now that he was a combat services officer, he was pleased that this one was new to more than him. Even some of the combat services personnel were new to line unit service, and thus, were new to dealing with the zero-G living between jumps. Zero-G training was part of the curriculum at Ayrshire, of course, but when you spent your time mostly assigned planetside, the training faded. Only in the last couple years, as the Free March's rapid expansion set its line units on quarterly jaunts across the length and breadth of its expanding holdings, were even the hardened veterans getting used to spending weeks, months, at a time in zero-G.

Everything was different. The way you drank and ate, the way you saw to hygiene, the way you moved, even the way you slept. And, of course, the way you read.

A transmission from the AFFM Personnel Office's facilities on Sheridan brought with it messages, letters, for the officers and personnel of the 8th Strikers. Alex received letters from his family, including the happy notification that his sister Anita was the proud mother of a baby girl named for their mother Jean, and was surprised to see another letter.

Alex, you deserve to know the truth. I've reconciled with my husband. Connor and I are trying again, and I'm already carrying another baby. I… what we had was real, and I don't regret it, and II don't want you to. But I owe it to my children to try again, and I can't let us get in the way of that. I hope you find someone for yourself, and whatever else, don't ever regret it.

My promise still stands. When you get tired of being shot at, I'll do everything I can to get you back into JAG.

Sincerely,
Leah

He tapped a key on his noteputer to save the letter. Then he almost wondered why he'd bother. She'd made her choice. It was, well, it was the right choice, wasn't it? To reconcile with her husband, to try to be a family, for their children if anything. He didn't want to be in the way of that.

And yet… why did he feel like he was being thrown away? That she'd had her fun with him and that was it?

"No regrets," he breathed to himself. "No regrets."



In her shared quarters on the Axalon, Lt. Rachel Vallejo y Galvariz looked over the letter from her grandfather Rafael. It was an accounting of life back home in Vallejo, the health of her cousins and aunts and uncles and grandmother Zoe, and the usual grandfatherly admonitions to be careful and stay alive.

She hadn't mentioned it to the others, but she was of noble descent. Rafael was Count Rafael of Vallejo, just as her other grandfather Jorge was the Count of Galvariz, another fiefdom on Launum. One was married to a woman from the Greco-Arcadian nobility, her grandmother Zoe, and the other was married to the Baroness Dona Maria Aghliesi, Baroness of Torino in Launum's Italian enclave.

Despite that ancestry, Rachel was not legally a full noble. Her late parents were younger children both, and as the child of younger children she wasn't even entitled to be addressed as Lady, not that she minded. And while her parents' deaths ensured she grew up a dependent of her grandparents, she'd not had the typical noble household childhood in the Inner Sphere. Far from it, her grandparents took a direct hand in her raising, cherishing the infant granddaughter whose survival of the aircar crash seemed nothing less than divine providence. She didn't have the early life of nannies and governesses and tutors like most noble children, but was rather raised more or less personally by those beloved grandparents. They shaped her life in a way more akin to commoner families than nobles.

I hope I am doing you proud, she thought after completing the letter. Inwardly she felt a constant tension of terror at the thought of what was to come in the following weeks, once the 8th Strikers made it to their destination. Some thought they'd be hitting a Marik world while rumors were wild that their target was a planet in the collapsing Kashamarka Antisuyu. Either way, they would be facing a real firefight soon enough, and she would have to face combat. Will I freeze up? Will I fail? She wasn't sure, all she could do was hope the training would see her through.




For Dani, Captaincy earned her a set of quarters of her own. Becca was off with the other Lieutenants, likely already in her bunk, while Dani had some paperwork to see to. Not only did she command eleven other MechWarriors, she had something on the order of eighty enlisted personnel to oversee as well, mostly MechTechs and a couple corpsmen, under the immediate command of the Company's color sergeant, an Arcadian man named Kevin Douglas.

Receiving mail wasn't new for her, given her comrades and friends from prior units or back in AMSA. That it came from her family, well… she only opened it after a few minutes of thought.

It would have been so much easier if it was another screed from her mother. Instead, her father Raphael sent her a short, simple message.

I am so proud of you, my little knight. Never forget that I love you.

No condemnation, no smart remarks, just simple love. It encapsulated everything Dani appreciated about her father. He accepted her as she was, Agnes would only accept what she wanted Dani to be.

And yet… she couldn't have one in her life without the other. Whatever her problems with her mother, Raphael still loved Agnes. Still wanted to be her husband. Dani couldn't be around him wiithout being around her mother, an impossible deed these days.

Despite that, she could still make him proud. She still had that.



AFMS Galatine
Zenith Point, Corsicana System
Arcadian Free March


In the months since she'd joined the Arcadian Guards, Princess Amita found herself enjoying the company of Prince Thomas more and more. He was a consummate professional, a capable MechWarrior, and a leader, and given his words and deeds, she saw him as not just a comrade, but a fellow kshatriya. That made it all the more painful for her to consider her mother's earlier words, repeated in the letter now showing on her screen.

Thomas entered the officer's wardroom as she read, engrossed in his own letter and moving through the zero-G like it was second nature to him by now.. He nodded amiably to her before fixing himself in a chair by hooking his feet on the bars beneath the seat. "Captain."

"Captain." She set her noteputer aside. "How is your brother?"

"Therapy's going well, and the experts are being consulted on better prosthetics." Thomas smiled. "Father told me there is a new class of prosthetics that would let him pilot a 'Mech again."

"That is good." It was a point of honor for Amita that Thomas' brother Mark given the respect earned by battlefield valor, especially in the cause of helping her people. "Your other family?"

"Melissa's carrier will be deploying with another force now that they're back from the Donegal trade mission. Abigail's attending university." There was a hint of disapproval in his voice. Amita was familiar with reports that Princess Abigail was eschewing military service in favor of civil service. It reminded her of the cultural differences here. The Proctors were clearly a warrior family, yet one of their own was refusing that heritage. I can't imagine how Mother would have taken it had Rama or I or any other refused to serve in the army. Disowning us would be a light punishment.

"And your youngest sibling?"

"Willy? He turned eighteen. This spring he begins his first year at Ayrshire."

"Then he will join the rest of us in uniform. Good. I suppose your younger sister's… peculiar decision is made up for by that."

"Mother's always been soft on Abby, and that's left Abby soft," Thomas murmured. "It might be for the best, not that I approve."

Amita thought back to things her mother, and Lalitha, said about the Proctors. That they were sovereigns with "commoner" sentimentality, including raising their own children despite the needs of their position. And yet this family has shown steel many times in the past century.

"Word is we're heading for Cajamarca itself," noted Thomas. "The capital of the collapsing Kingdom. That means we may be facing heavier resistance than we did on Autumn Wind."

"I am prepared," she promised. She'd already adjusted to the heavier Black Knight that the Proctors gifted her, a product of their Lostech factories on Arcadia. "We will serve House Proctor with the same faith we once served House Marik with, that I promise you."

"I never doubted it," Thomas replied, grinning at her.

Amita clamped down her willpower on the sensation of heat she felt form in her cheeks. Damn you, mother. I do like him, but your instructions make this feel wrong!

 

[Big Steve]

The March Esplanade
Laughlin Capital District, Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
4 January 3035


Officially, Claire Westin wasn't even with the Foreign Office. On paper she was a mid-level civil servant, a researcher for the Office of Protocol, whose duties often took her to other star systems to look into issues involving ceremonial power in the Free March. Since that involved foreign travel, and since the Foreign Office and Protocol Office cooperated on a number of respects, it gave her plenty of reason to cross the Esplanade and enter the Foreign Office's main administrative complex.

It was an excellent cover, all things told.

With her light brown hair cut almost boyishly short, Claire was on the slim side, wiry with runner's muscle, and under the mask of being a mousey researcher she was one of SIS's best field operators. Her skill in prior operations was such that whatever the internal structure of the SIS, the Director himself often had a hand in her operations.

Sir James was waiting in his office, eating the remnants of a slice of baklava. He noted her entry with a nod and she politely let him finish his mouthful before speaking. "Field Agent Claire Westin reporting, sir." Given her upbringing and her parents, she had a number of accents to choose from, but she went with something like her mother's McAffe Irish brogue.

"Excellent work on the training exercises," he noted. "I will get down to business. We're sending you on a long-term operation, Agent Westin. Local assets have arranged a suitable cover identity and background. Research materials will be provided for you to study on the trip."

"Very well. Long-term?"

"In all probability, a year, perhaps two if matters require it. There will be the usual risks, of course, although we will arrange booking on a Terran liner. Given the preference shown to them by JumpShip captains, you should arrive at your destination in two to three months instead of the normal time."

"Expensive, but fitting if there are time constraints. Local support?"

"There are a few assets, mostly observational or diplomatic. You'll be an illegal, you understand, and your cover must be kept far from the embassy."

"So dead-drops with approved assets, no contact with the legals," Claire said. She didn't hide the slight apprehension that gave her. "Legals" were agents who worked under diplomatic cover, typically holding positions at embassies or consulates. But since their names and faces were known to the host government, they could be easily monitored by local counter-intelligence and state security if their intelligence links were suspected, so their usefulness in some respects was limited. The trade-off was that if caught, their diplomatic credentials protected them from repercussions beyond being declared persona non grata and ordered off-world.

An illegal didn't have that cover. Contact with their own side was by nature sporadic and carefully managed to avoid discovery. Dead-drops, meeting by proxy, coded messages, those were the means of communication, and an illegal had no recourse from the force of the law in their target. So while you were less likely to be immediately noticed by the other side's security people, if they did catch on to you, your options were limited.

"I'll pack the usual and be ready."

"Liner Hyacantha leaves the Roslyn DropPort in two days. Your ticket and cover." He offered her a secured noteputer and a folder. She accepted them and checked both. Inside the folder were paper identification documents and a physical copy of her liner ticket. The noteputer would have electronic copies, plus bank information for her cover's finances and her orders.

"I'll get reading immediately," she said.

"Of course." As she turned to leave Sir James spoke up again. 'My best to Michael and Fi, by the way."

She sighed at the mention of her parents. "If they ask, remind them I made the choice. That I'd never take it back."

"I will, for all the good it will do," Sir James said. "Stay alive. I don't want your mother planting a bomb on my aircar if something happens to you."

Claire smiled softly at that before leaving. She had quite a head for explosives too thanks to her mom. Her explosives instructor at the Boarding House - the nickname for the SIS' Field Operative Academy - was flabbergasted at her proficiency with them from the first day. Not everyone has an Erin Republican Army fighter for your mum, she thought to herself, remembering all the times her mother showed her the ropes of creating impromptu devices and IEDs in the (admittedly unlikely) event someone from her parents' past ever came for them, or pirates raided or some such thing. Mum probably regrets it now, doesn't she?

Maybe it's a curse of the family, she pondered as she made her way down the halls of the Foreign Office.

 

[Big Steve]

Royal Palace
Cusco, Atahuelpa Continent
Cajamarca
Arcadian Free March
6 March 3035


The office of the former ruler of the Kingdom of Cajamarca - "Kashamarka Antisuyu" as he'd insisted on calling it - allowed Thomas to gaze out at the assembled crowd. Brigadier van Reitman and Lieutenant General Louganis stood nearby, looking over a piece of Incan art kept in a glass case. "The Yupanqui had a fascination with their ancestors, I suppose," Louganis remarked quietly.

"Alleged ancestors," van Reitman noted idly, a faint Dutch accent to his words. "For all their talk of humanitarianism, their 'Kingdom' was an authoritarian mess, and it finally came back to bite them."

Thomas took in a breath and, with effort, kept the grimace from his face. Despite the efforts of the palace's custodial staff, the room still stank of death. Depending on who you believed, Inka Rodrigo Yupanqui's body was left alone here for days before someone got around to burying it. Whether he was murdered or committed suicide as his family's kingdom collapsed around him, that might never be known. "Look at them," he said quietly. The office was not so high up that he couldn't note, with some effort, the looks on the crowd. The people of Cusco seemed to be in something of a daze. Their entire world had collapsed, their economy was falling apart, and the fighting between the contingents of the planet's aristocracy - fighting that ceased the moment the Arcadian Rangers dropped in - had already devastated several industrial districts. The old Kong Interstellar factory here, which produced Lightning fighters for the SLDF back in the day, was a pile of blasted rubble with no surviving machinery, much to the regret of the AFFM planners who'd hoped it could be rebuilt. The same was true for the Cajamarca Officer's Academy.

We can stabilize things, but it will be a long while before this world regains the wealth it once enjoyed. And its people will have to accept going from being the capitol world of a Successor State to being a major regional world of another. But once they're over their shock, I think they'll do us well.

"Hopefully Marik will not take advantage of this diversion," Thomas said quietly.

"They are more likely to hit Harsefeld, but with the 1st and 4th Regiments on Campbelton, we'll have time to launch a counterattack if it comes down to it."

"Given the reports of well-geared 'Mech battalions raised this past year on Atreus, it may be better if they did try something. It will make our eventual descent on Atreus easier."

"We've still got a year of campaigning ahead before that begins, in all likelihood," van Reitman reminded him. "The remaining approaches to Atreus will need to be cleared. Stewart still remains to be secured, the same with Loric and the worlds of the Dixie pocket. And we'll need everything for Atreus."

Assuming Harsefeld and Oriente don't take it first. Thomas felt frustration at the idea. They've tilted this war more than we have, but if we could take Atreus… it would change everything for the Free March. With the resources there and in the rest of the Commonwealth still open to us, we would have the means to resist the Marians openly. We could lead the rest of the Lyran Alliance to liberate Bolan and beyond!

Outside the crowd murmured. A few looked away, disgusted, but there was some cheering. For the most part, however, people just watched quietly as their world hailed its new rulers.

"They're changing the flag now," Louganis said.

Thomas joined them in the ceremonial salute.



8th Striker Regiment Bivouac
Near Mulbagal, Deccan Continent
Shasta
Arcadian Free March
18 March 3035


For Alex, his first combat was nothing of the sort. The 8th Striker executed its first combat drop with only very sporadic fire from enemy armor and vehicles that did no damage before the demoralized militia torched their own vehicles and fled. The unit hadn't even had a fight to seize the planet, and now they and the 1st Free March Cavalry were waiting the deployment of a combat command from MOOK Security Enterprises to take over as garrison so they could embark and commence another operation, whatever the Defense Command back on Arcadia planned on.

Another day was passing. After seeing to the 1st Battalion's paperwork for the day he went to the officer's mess. As usual, a few of the other MechWarriors gave him the stinkeye. He was still "the lawyer staff weenie" to them, and would be until they'd actually gone into a fight. Odd that I'd want to see that, since it could kill me, or so many of the others. He went along the counter, accepted the offered grub - a combination of spiced curry chicken and noodles with various lentils, given the local cuisine - and found a table.

He'd finished half his meal when someone came up to him. "Dining alone?" Dani Verdes asked.

"How it usually goes for me," he said. "Dame."

"Don't. Just don't." She sighed and slid into the seat, eating much the same as he was. "I didn't want to be the AFFM poster girl, but they weren't taking 'no' for an answer." She shook her head. "If they did that, I wouldn't have been there."

"Oh?" he asked.

"I went into AMSA to join the Engineering Corps," Dani explained. "But my neuro-aptitude scores were high, and they cajoled and pushed and pleaded until I gave up and agreed to 'Mech officer courses alongside my Engineering courses. Then I found myself taking more of the former and less of the latter for time, and soon enough, I wasn't getting a degree in engineering, I was getting a field commission as a MechWarrior."

"Huh." Alex thought of the timing. "You're a few years younger than I am, I think?"

"I've been out of AMSA for almost six years," she answered, a sly grin forming. "Not polite to ask a lady her age, you know."

"I didn't," he replied, grinning. "Still, that means you started ten years ago. They didn't catch Kirkman until a few years back."

"Kirkman? Oh, right, that tester who faked results." She let out a laugh. "Oh, right. You're one of the 'Kirkmanned' pilots, right? Someone who tested high but had his results faked by Kirkman?"

"Pretty much. I guess he missed you?"

"Was probably on leave or out of touch when I was tested." Dani shrugged. "I suppose I should be jealous that you got to avoid all the pushiness that AMSA gives people who test high on neuro-aptitude. But if I hadn't become a MechWarrior I…" I wouldn't have met Becca.

"I get it. Your life would be wholly different. Just as mine would if Kirkman had missed me instead."

"Can't undo it, I suppose, we just keep moving forward."

"As best as we can," he agreed.

 

[Big Steve]

Presidential Palace
Johnson's Landing, Hadley Continent
Loric
Independent World (Former Kingdom of Cajamarca)
28 March 3035


Karl von Montberg entered the ballroom with his husband, Johann, on his arm. The two men made a striking pair in their dark suits and with their orders - Companions of the Order of St. Michael - hanging around their necks. Karl was a diplomat of the Free March Foreign Office and Johann an analyst from the Protocol Office; work was how the two men met and eventually hooked up, with some slight pushback from the more socially-conservative parts of officialdom.

They were announced by the master of ceremonies and brought into the midst of President Tom Blair's party, a celebration of his daughter and heiress Belinda's 22nd birthday. Loric was legally a republic, but in practice the President was a hereditary lifetime position held by the Blairs.

Tom Blair approached them with a wide grin on his face. "The emissaries von Montberg!" he bellowed. He was a big man, stocky-shouldered, with a growing pot belly. His new wife Samantha was on his arm, closer to his daughter in age than to him. "Gentlemen, thank you for attending. A good work-pleasure balance is important!"

"So it is, Mister President," Karl said. "Johann and I hope to try this Loric sea cow dish you spoke off earlier."

"Oh, right this way," he insisted. "It is stupendous…!"



After the eating and drinking and jokes and all the other bits of camaraderie, the party died down. A haze of insobriety muddled Karl's thoughts but a little, courtesy of the Loric-native spirits Blair plied them with. Their host was likewise inebriated. "I was of the impression the Proctors were a bunch of stuffy, holier-than-thou Puritans," Blair guffawed before puffing on a cigar-sized joint. He placed the joint on a tray and took to another drink of bourbon whiskey. "I'm surprised they let men such as yourself into their service."

"They recognize that not everyone shares their personal views," Karl answered delicately. "For what it's worth, Her Serene Highness is not her father, I am told he was rather less accepting."

"Ah, that old battler." Blair took another swig. "He was a piece of work, March-Prince William. Threatened to send the Arcadian Guards once if my Daddy didn't cut sales to Duke Rashid. Back then, that was a major threat. Not so much now."

Karl showed no reaction, but he could see this wasn't just drunken reminiscing. Blair was making a point. He didn't feel as threatened by the prospect of a regiment dropping on his planet. But we have more regiments ourselves these days, he pondered. "True. Although if March-Prince William had the forces we today enjoy, he might have sent five regiments, not just one, even his best. He didn't believe in half-measures, I'm assured."

Blair caught the hint. "No, I suppose he didn't. So, let's get down to business. At the start of the decade, my world was independent. Then Hesperus sent their forces, and I had to bend the knee. Then Cajamarca sent their troops and I had to bend the knee to them, and give up some lucrative investments I'll add. Now you're here. I'm guessing that I get a choice of bending the knee before your 'Mechs show up and start shooting my world up too?"

"We have wider plans than just bringing Loric into the fold," Karl replied. "The change sweeping the Inner Sphere means we can't remain as we were. The Free March is evolving into something new, and you have the potential to be a part of it."

"Ah. A subordinate part."

"You'd be under a higher ruler, yes, but that's going to happen anyway. Even if Arcadia pulled back and took nothing else, the Marians will move into this area at some point. And they do more than get you to bend the knee. Ask Princess Gita."

"I don't need to," Blair remarked darkly, looking perturbed. He looked longingly at his drink before setting it aside. It was time to talk business. "You're aware that I still have to get the College of Electors to sign off on this?"

"I'm sure that will be no problem with your people skills, Mister President," Karl said, also well aware of how strong the Blair Family's grip was on Loric's electoral college, not to mention the other means of appealing to the populace. "I'll gladly help settle any concerns or issues."

 

[Big Steve]

Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
10 March 3035

Preparations continued for this year's Liberation Day festivities. It would be a martial affair, certainly, even if yet again the local militia brigade was the primary force involved. The Free March was at war, after all, even if for the last couple months forces were diverted from the front to the collapsing Cajamarcan kingdom.

March-Princess Sara-Marie wrapped up another meeting with her senior advisors on the Privy Council. Duke Simon Allen of Togwotee and Duke Abdulla Rayhan of Dar-es-Salaam approached her instead of leaving. "How is His Highness Prince Mark?" Abdulla asked.

Given the year her poor son had just gone through, Sara-Marie was happy to provide the reply, "Physical therapy has gone well. The new prosthetics are ordered, although they are months from delivery."

"Allah has been merciful, then, and fittingly so," the younger man replied. "And Prince Thomas?"

"On Cajamarca," she answered. "With his unit. Your Graces, may I ask…?"

"His Highness the Count of Roslyn is nearing his thirtieth birthday," said Allen. "And while I hope to predecease you, Highness, I would be remiss in my duties if I didn't encourage that your heir be prepared for his eventual taking of the crown. Especially as we continue to make progress with the proposal for Federation."

"You wish for me to have Thomas end his military service and devote himself to civic duties, then?" she asked.

"Ending his service is not necessary, I think," Rayhan offered. "But perhaps a posting that would train him for civic duties? The AFFM has media relations officers, after all, or perhaps he could work with a diplomatic mission?"

Sara-Marie considered what they were asking. Thomas preferred the military. The last two years had been, at least going by his correspondence, the happiest of his life. He is so much like father in that respect. But is that a good thing? For all she loved her father, March-Prince William's military bent had not always worked for his family or the people as a whole. Can I convince my son to change? Should I? Will he resent such a posting?

Perhaps, if it is the right one… "Perhaps a tour of duty on Coventry or Skye?" she proposed. "As part of the staff exchange with the Commonwealth and Consolidant."

"That sounds appropriate, Highness."

"Then I will speak to General Harding on the matter. Please, Your Graces, have a pleasant day."