BattleTech: Scorched Earth #1

Tides of Fire

by:

Steve Garrett Jr.

 

 

Prologue

 

 

     For centuries, mankind has advanced itself, going from the power of organic muscle to steam, combustion, atomic, solar, and even fusion power, the power of the stars themselves.  From sailing vessels to nuclear-powered warships, and finally, to vessels that moved through the vacuum of space itself.  As advancement continued and humanity shed the superstition that had caused it so much grief in the past, more questions were asked about the nature of the universe, it's origins, and even it's eventual demise.  Scientists have even asked themselves if it was possible for more than one universe to exist.  Could one travel between such alternate universes?  Would you have different ones in existence?  Ones where the flow of time was altered by one singular event?  Or multiple events?

     The year is 3064.  The star-spanning Federated Commonwealth has descended into a civil war sparked by greed, ambition, and murder.  The resurgent Capellan Confederation, buttressed by it's Trinity Alliance with the Periphery nations of the Taurian Concordat and Magistracy of Canopus, has it's own ideas for the future.  The Draconis Combine and Clan Ghost Bear have bloodied each other.  The Wolves of Vlad Ward are planning a new war.  On the Periphery and in their halls on Terra, the techno-theist Word of Blake has begun planning the destruction of the Inner Sphere as we know it.  The wheels of fate are turning, inexorably, toward a Cataclysm.

     But what if this could be prevented?  What if we could return to a previous point in the timeline and change the flow of time to a different course?  Perhaps by adding a new player into the game we could avoid the approaching Cataclysm?  Or alter it?  Could we preserve that which we have known?  Or will we unleash an even greater Cataclysm upon the Inner Sphere?

     We shall see that for ourselves...

 

 

Chapter 1

Drawing the Lines

 

      "Turning and turning in the widening gyre..." - William Butler Yeats, "The Second Coming"

 

 

 

DropShip Wolf's Claw, Outbound

Arc-Royal System, Arc-Royal Defense Cordon, Lyran Alliance

31 July 3058

 

     The infinite blackness of space filled the cold eyes of Daphne Vickers, the newly appointed Loremaster of the Wolf Clan, while she stared out through a porthole.  She focused, trying to think if any of the distant stars she saw could be the one she had lived under, a thousand light years away in the home territory of the Clans.

     Returning to Morges, she thought glumly, recalling the havoc of the battlefield where the Wolves and the Kell Hounds had demolished two Falcon Galaxies.  Myself and my fellow Wolves have lost our homes.  If not for ilKhan Ulric's call for us to maintain the defense of the Inner Sphere, as is demanded by the Kerenskys' original writings, we may have had a mutiny by now.

     The chaos of the Refusal War was still settling itself down, even after all these months.  The Wolves, her Wolves, had broken from the rest of the Clans.  They had remained true to the ideals of Aleksandr Kerensky, that the Star League Defense Force and it's descendants should be the guardians of the Inner Sphere, not the bringers of it's destruction in the name of that Star League.  Ulric Kerensky and Natasha Kerensky were among the dead, having given their lives for the Warden cause.  And their blood and the blood of other Wolf warriors had bought the Wardens what was a victory within defeat.  The Jade Falcons had technically won the Trial of Refusal, but it had mauled them severely.  Severely enough that even though the Truce of Tukkayid had been abrogated, the Falcons were in no position to take advantage of it.  Their losses had been so total that they had to make their recent invasion of the Lyran Alliance to bloody new units of trainee warriors rushed into deployment to recover their crippling losses.  They had even turned to freeborn warriors to fill out their numbers, something almost unheard of in such a conservative Clan.  The Falcons were now desperate, and by all indications they would at least be threatened with Absorption once they returned to the Homeworlds to elect a new ilKhan.  This would buy the Inner Sphere and the Wolves time.  Time in which they could prepare their own attack, to stem the Clan tide before it rushed forward again.  The Whitting Conference on Tharkad would be a start.  It prompted her heart to beat rapidly as she thought that greatest of dreams, the resurrection of the one thing that she had been taught to adore since she could remember: the Star League.  In her mind's eye she could see her uniform adorned with the Cameron's Star and it made her soul warm, exciting every sense in her body with a feeling far more profound than anything that could be done to her physically.  The Star League, the legacy of the Camerons, reborn from common cause which would hopefully bond the Houses of the Inner Sphere in such a way that they would finally stop their bickering and warring.  It was going to be a long struggle, nearly three hundred years had passed since the beginning of the Succession Wars, and hatreds ran strong between the Houses.  Just as the hatred that ran between her Clan and the Falcons, an enmity born from competition in the Pentagon campaign and Falcon jealousy that the Wolves had been chosen by Nicholas Kerensky to bear his legacy.

     The kind of hatred that refused to die.

     Daphne clenched her fists and thought of the Falcons with bitter anger.  She hated them, despised those tradition-bound fools with every fiber of her being.  She wanted to avenge her Clan's losses upon them, make them realize...

     It only occurred for a moment, but a flash of blue and green light played through the porthole, in stark contrast to the infinite darkness she had been viewing a moment ago.  The swirling colors pierced her vision and drew her attention instantly.  Daphne blinked and looked outside the porthole to get a better view.  What she saw made her gasp.

     It was huge, looking large enough to engulf even a McKenna.  Blue and green light pervaded the color of the thing outside the window, which swirled and surged with otherworldly power she did not comprehend.  The DropShip's speed was such that it could not stop before it entered the opened maw.  Just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.

     Daphne quickly climbed up two ladders and into the bridge of the Wolf's Claw, where chaos had set in.  Bridge crew members went over their control panels frantically, trying to find out what was going on.  Finally, someone brought up a view of the visible planets on the bridge's holotank.  The planet of Arc-Royal, and all of the orbital facilities and ships that had been present in the solar system, were gone.  The planets presented were different, arrayed in different orbital paths and locations within the solar system, and the star had changed to one with a more yellowish tint.  Daphne stepped down, looking at it with the bridge watch officer.  His jaw dropped, and Daphne soon understood when she realized the significance of the size and positioning of the planets of the solar system.  Every schoolchild in the Clans could recognize this system, and the jewel within it.  The shining jewel that every Clan wanted to take, the jewel that would give them control over the entirety of the other Clans.  "This, is this... Terra?", Daphne stuttered to her ship's Captain, a lanky freeborn technician-turned-warrior Star Captain named Renard.

     "It appears so, Star Colonel," Renard answered, his own pale blue eyes glittering uncharacteristically from the view they were beholding on the holotank.  The grin that was forming on his face told of his internal joy, and indeed, the joy that all of the crew would soon share when they gazed upon Blessed Terra, Cradle of Humanity.  The planet of the Great Father Aleksandr Kerensky and his son Nicholas, founder of the Clans and Clan Wolf's greatest hero.  The planet of the honored Camerons, leaders of the great Star League.

     And it was now within reach.

     She twirled around to the sensor officer, a female Star Commander who, like Renard, had at one time been a technician.  "Quick!  Are you picking up aerospace fighters inbound?!"  Daphne's eyes narrowed.  The violent ComStar fanatics known as the Word of Blake had taken over the Cradle of Humanity earlier in the year.  Their reaction to the presence of a Clan DropShip would likely be swift and violent, and their reaction to whatever phenomena of space had brought them here...

     "None."  The officer's face looked up, twisted in a bewildered and surprised fashion.  Her cerulean eyes were widened from whatever shock she had just received.  A lock of her auburn hair had fallen down to the side of her mouth by the sharpness of her neck's turn and was kept in position by the lack of gravity to pull it down.  "I am not even detecting any orbital stations, or lunar stations.  Nothing in the outer system or at Venus and Mars either."

     "Impossible!"  Daphne rubbed her forehead.  She had heard the reports, ComStar operated the Titan Shipyards of old, and maintained the Venus and Mars colonies that the Terran Hegemony had formed.  It was impossible, impossible for there not to be one trace of them.  And impossible for us to be thrown nearly two hundred light years from Arc-Royal, she added mentally.  Her mind threatened to be overwhelmed by all of the changes she was seeing.  "Is there anything?"

     "A multitude of orbital satellites," the sensor officer answered.  "And the remains of what appears to be a low technology orbital space station.  Star Colonel, this technology is centuries behind us.  Early 21st Century.  Trying to read identifier beacons now."

     Daphne found a seat and began trying to sift through the possibilities despite the chaos that had grabbed her mind.  Could we have traveled back in time?  What kind of trick is this?  "Identifiers?"

     "The date stamp on the satellite is October 11, 2015," the officer reported.  "The transmission language is coded but the computers are beginning to crack it.  The identifier states it is an American satellite."

     "American?  As in one of the continents of the Western Hemisphere?"

     "No.  Distinct national identity.  'Property of the United States Air Force.'"

     "The United States of America, Star Colonel," Renard stated.  "An old Terran political entity, the last superpower on Earth.  It was one of the founding nations of the Terran Alliance if I can remember the old history books correctly."

     "Yes, I have heard some of this in my studies when I was young, but the Western Alliance as it was first called was formed in 2014, so shouldn't they have Western Alliance identifiers?"  Daphne couldn't put her finger on it, but something very strange and wonderful was at her fingertips and she wanted to find out what it was.  "Other satellites, I want to know what they state."

     "Yes Star Colonel."  The officer went back to work.  "Now we have a satellite belonging to an entity called the United Nations."

     "United Nations?"  Renard and Daphne exchanged glances.  "They fell apart after the Second Soviet Civil War, I thought?"

     "Could this..."  Daphne felt her head begun to ache with dull agony and inhibit her thinking.  This was something that simply refused to make sense.  "Begin burning toward Terra," she finally ordered.  "I wish to know what is going on here."

     "We will be in position for orbital entry in two hours," the ship's navigation officer stated.

     Daphne nodded slowly and caused her hair to float freely in the zero-G.  "Before we go on, send a shuttle back to begin transmitting the coordinates for this... this thing to Khan Phelan, so that he may send us reinforcements."

     "Reinforcements, Star Colonel?"

     Daphne did not give the ship's commander the benefit of a glance.  "Yes, Captain.  We do not know what we will find when we get there.  I prefer to take no risks."

     "Aff, Star Colonel."

     Four hours would be spent by Daphne as she tried to reason what she was seeing.  This was something beyond her, something wonderful in the truest sense of the word, a mystery of the universe that beckoned to her yet would not reveal itself.  An alternate universe, perhaps?  A place where time flowed differently, or events had not been the same as her own universe?  What awesome force had created this bridge, as it were?  At the half way point of their course a sharp jolt effected her as the ship's engines were turned off long enough for it to be maneuvered in the opposite direction to begin deceleration.  After an indeterminable amount of time, Daphne looked over at Renard.  "This may be the most important day in human history since the first K-F drive jump," she said.

     "I agree.  I wonder, though, how much of a difference one little world can do to humanity of our time, where we have spread out to hundreds of planets?"  Renard shook his head and looked at the holotank in awe.  "I never thought I would see it in my lifetime.  It is such a beautiful planet."

     "For us, at least.  Terra, the Cradle.  Maybe not our Terra, but does it matter?"  Daphne stood from the chair.  "Are we close enough to view the surface?"

     "Yes."  The sensor officer blinked twice.  "Kerensky's name..."

     "What?"

     "I... Well, I zoomed in on the eastern portion of the Eurasian landmass, and found several areas where there should be cities for this time frame, but all that I can find is... rubble.  I will continue scans."

     "Focus on North America."

     "I am doing so."  Her head looked back over.  "This just is not right.  The Arabian Peninsula is also heavily damaged."  She keyed something on her console and a close-in view of the area around one of the cities in Arabia appeared on the holotank, with level indicators to show the structural damage to various buildings in the area.  "It's almost as... if..."

     "Nuclear weapons," Daphne murmured.  Her face was aghast as she could make out the obvious effects of a nuclear detonation, the expanding circles of destruction from what had obviously been ground zero.  "What in..."

     "Intercepting some comm messages," the communications officer interrupted.  "Coming from the center of the continent, very faint, and unencrypted.  I think we're tapping into battle communications."

     "Triangulate source."  Daphne took in a breath before walking toward the ladder down from the bridge.  "Have my Command Star suit up.  I want answers, and I'm going down there to find out just what in Kerensky's name has happened to this Terra."

 

 

Site of First Contact

17 kilometers southeast of Topeka, Kansas, United States

11 October 2015 S.E.C.

31 July 3058 I.S.C.

 

     The rumbling of UN tanks made the nerves of a company of Kansas National Guardsmen rattle.  Some no older than seventeen, they continued to prepare to defend their position from the approaching UN force.  They had to succeed, a UN breakthrough could put the front along the entire state in danger.  The captain leading the company directed his men to keep their anti-tank weapons ready, but nobody held any doubts as to who the victor would be.  Tanks versus infantry, in open terrain, was usually a death sentence for the grunts.

     An explosion ripped through the air, killing a handful of men nearby with heated debris that the HEAT round had created with it's impact.  The first UN main battle tanks, Russian-made T-99Ds, were rumbling into range.  A second shell was fired and took out another squad worth of men.  The riflemen and machine gunners of the company returned fire, concentrating on the tanks' infantry "escort", some hitting the ground to avoid the incoming bullets and give cover fire while the others took cover with their tanks and continued firing.  Their own riflemen and machine gunners countered with a volley of fire.  One anti-tank squad picked up a missile launcher with an anti-tank missile inside and locked it onto the nearest tank.  They fired at the T-99D.  The warhead, which was raised slightly to strike the vulnerable top armor when it struck, hit the turret and killed the man firing it's machine gun before he could get out of the way.  Before they could load another missile, the sound of rotors chopping through air echoed over the battlefield, heralding the arrival of the UN's helicopter support.  The Russian-built Hokum and Havocs, three overall, opened fire on the company from long range with their rockets and mounted guns.  A dozen men died in the first volley from the choppers, whittling down the company's numbers even more.  Those fighting the UN forces knew they were out of time, and out of luck, yet they opted against surrender or retreat.  Instead, they prepared their grenades for what would be a suicide charge, hoping to take out enough of the enemy tanks that the UN would be forced to withdraw to regroup.  The first men went "over the top", so to speak, into a hail of gunfire.  They did not flinch, and for a foreign observer, it was a scene of moving yet futile courage.  The tanks' machine gunners and the helicopters opened fire into the troops, killing many of them.

     That was when lightning struck one of the Havocs.

     At first it astounded those of the Guardsmen who had remained in their position.  There were no weather predictions of thunderstorms, and there was not a cloud in the sky.  It was impossible for a lightning strike to have destroyed one of the attacking choppers.  Then their minds registered the fact that the lightning had come from a downward angle, thus meaning it was... was...

     Eyes turned to the north, and on both sides, stunned silence ended the battle.  There was something there.  Something neither side had seen before.  It was tall, well over 10 meters in height.  Bird-legs supported it's torso, a cockpit-like structure jutting out of the body.  A pair of muzzles were beneath the cockpit, and a pair of what appeared to be missile launchers were attached to the shoulders.  Twin arms, each a hexagonal shape, sported a muzzle on each, with one of them smoking.

     Beside it stood another walking thing.  Also possessing bird-legs, it's torso reminded them of a great vulture, with a pair of large missile launchers, one on each side of the head pointing forward with a cockpit in it.  Each arm had a pair of muzzles, one smaller than the other.  A third was a tall, human-looking form, with a giant missile launcher on the left shoulder and the apparent "cockpit" on the right.  The left arm had a cannon attached to the side of the arm, and the other was another hexagonal shape.  A bolt of cerulean energy came out of the arm and sliced a UN Hokum in half, causing it to explode.  A fourth object approached from behind the armor, a small, squat form with six-muzzle arms.  Beside it was a smaller one with bird-legs, a stunted torso, and arms.  The fourth one opened fire, sending three red beams into the last helicopter as it jinked away from a stream of green bolts coming from one of the arms of the vulture-like things.  The armor fired on their new enemy, causing some slight armor damage but failing to get any penetration of the armor.  This brought the full wrath of the newcomers upon them.  Energy beams, streams of energy darts, and an occasional "lightning" bolt tore into the ranks of the enemy armor.  They quickly decided to withdraw.  As they fled the strange walking war machines kept the distance tight.  One after another the UN tanks and APCs fell to the red and green fury of the walkers, exploding as their armor failed and the gas tanks or magazine was hit.  Tank crews jumped out of their tanks and threw their hands up in the air, terrified of the enemy facing them.

     A minute after the battle began anew, the battlefield was littered with the wreckage of the enemy armored force, and not one vehicle remained.  The National Guardsmen looked upon their saviors with curiosity.  Finally, the captain stepped forward from the others toward the apparent leader of their rescuers.  He pointed toward the assorted tank crews to prompt some of his men to take them prisoner before turning to the lead war machine.  "Hello?  I am Captain Michael Holling of the Kansas National Guard.  Thanks for the help."

     "You are welcome, Captain," a female voice answered from within the lead one, the one with the twin missile launchers on the shoulders.  "My warriors and I could not bring ourselves to stand aside and let your people be slaughtered.  Your bravery against armor was commendable."

     "Thank you, ma'am.  Um, who might you be?"

     "I am Star Colonel Daphne Vickers of the Wolf Clan," the woman answered candidly.  "And I would like to speak to your commanders."

     "Well, um, Colonel Vickers," the confused Captain Holling began, "I'm sure that can be arranged immediately..."

 

 

Presidential Office, State Capital

Salt Lake City, Utah, United States

Scorched Earth

11 October 2015 S.E.C.

31 July 3058 I.S.C.

 

     The former office of the Governor of Utah until April 2015, the Presidential Office was lined with maps of North America and the world, with large swaths of territory in Africa, Europe, Asia, and North America marked in the light blue of the UN.  Only South America and Australia were unblemished by the seemingly benign color, but that color held within it a sinister truth.

     The free nations of the world were losing this war.

     President Jason Andrews could only feel sick as he pondered the war.  It was a sickness brought on by desperation, by despair, over the situation that his beloved nation was put in.  Andrews was only in his sixties, with grayed black hair and shining brown eyes, but the shine in his eyes had dulled after years of having watched the free world collapse underneath the weight of the onrushing UN Army, and his hair had only gotten grayer with each passing day and with it, the knowledge that even as thousands of Americans fought desperately to hold the nation's heartland, millions more suffered the oppression of a foreign enemy in the Occupation Zones.  He had been elected in a landslide, the nation's first black President, and had spent every day since his inauguration trying to fix the damage done by his incompetent and egotistical predecessor, Denise Saunders.  Years in which he had worked hard to rebuild his nation's defense industries, unite in a full alliance with all of the other nations of the Western Hemisphere, and try to hold off the UN advance wherever possible.  His place was guaranteed in history, as Saunders' had been, but Andrews' only concern for history was whether his nation would get to have any more history written.

     Four years, that was all it had taken.  In four years, Russia had fallen, then Japan, then China, then Britain, and now, just eleven months after having taken Newfoundland and parts of Nova Scotia and eight months after landing on the shores of New England, the forces under the banner of the once peaceful United Nations held most of the Eastern half of North America.  His brown eyes traced the red front line, which traveled from the coast of the Gulf of Mexico on the northern tip of Matagorda Bay to a salient near Austin, and north through the rest of Texas to Oklahoma, Kansas, Nebraska, the Dakotas, and into Canada, where it skirted the eastern side of Winnipeg and the eastern shore of Lake Winnipeg, up to the Nelson River and the battle-torn city of York Factory on the large Hudson Bay.  Eight damn months.  Where is Giuseppe getting all of his troops and equipment?  The very nature of the "new" United Nations of "Chairman" Armand Giuseppe quickly answered Andrews, as dictated by the organization's new emblem.  Where there had once been olive branches surrounding the white outline of Earth on a blue background, now two crossed swords of ornate design were set over the globe, with a phrase in Latin stating "Unity Over All."  Unity at the point of a gun is no unity at all.  Unfortunately, it seems that Giuseppe is far too mad to see that.

     The door opened and an aide entered, seeming quite frantic.  Andrews clenched his fists and wondered what news he would be delivering.  Had the UN broken through the line to take Florida?  Or had they entered Austin?  Maybe launched an offensive through the weakened line in Kansas and broken into the American heartland?  Andrews had become accustomed to reports that continued to doom his nation and their allies, and he still wondered morbidly if one of these days it would give him a heart attack.  "Yes, son?", he asked wearily.

     The young man did not answer before Andrews saw someone enter behind him.  The woman now before him looked relatively young, likely in her thirties or perhaps early forties, with a gray camo uniform that held a flowing red cape over the back, a uniform Andrews had never seen before.  Her rank insignia, three red stars on a brown square, added to the exotic appearance the cold-eyed woman gave as she took a handful of bold steps to his desk.  "And you are, ma'am?", he asked bluntly.

     "I am Star Colonel Daphne Vickers, Loremaster of the Wolf Clan," came the prompt reply.

     Andrews blinked as his mind took in the information.  "Wolf Clan?"

     "Sir," his aide cut in, "I should tell you, Colonel Vickers' forces just trashed a company of UN armor in Kansas."

     Really?  Well, at least these people seem to be on our side.  "Then, I thank you, Colonel."

     Daphne considered the older man for a moment.  The aide continued after swallowing in.  "Sir, these people are from, well, they appear to be from outer space..."

     Andrews really wasn't sure why, but the dead seriousness in which his aide spoke of the woman's origin made him laugh.  Outer space?!  Really, some people have overactive imaginations!

     At that moment he felt a tremor go through the building.  The roar grew louder and caused him to turn to look out at the helipads in the open courtyard of the capitol.  His eyes widened as a massive egg-shaped craft settled itself squarely in the middle of the courtyard, with scattered observers on the ground staring at it's size and alienesque appearance.  The emblem on the side, that of a red wolf, matched an emblem on Daphne's uniform.  No, is this happening?  Can these people be...

     One of the large bay doors of the craft opened, becoming a ramp.  Through the 20 by 5 meter door a shadow appeared.  From within a large machine stepped out of the ship and onto the ramp.  The gigantic humanoid form, with a shoulder-mounted missile launcher and weapon muzzles at the end of arms, moved steadily out of the craft.  It was followed by another machine, sleeker, with an avian appearance.  Andrews' heart threatened to beat out of his chest as the sheer impossibility of the situation continued to assault his mind.  This has to be a dream, an illusion, something other than what I'm seeing!

     "The lead machine is a Summoner OmniMech, the one behind it is a Mad Dog OmniMech," Daphne explained curtly.  She smirked slightly at the abject shock on Andrews' face.

     "These... these things, are walking tanks?!"

     "Yes, and no.  They are a weapon system all their own, made with myomer muscle bundles, endo steel skeletons, and powered by fusion plants."  Daphne looked out the window as a Nova emerged next.  "And they are generally known as BattleMechs."

     "Looks like we have a lot to learn," Andrews croaked.

     "We both do, President," Daphne answered.  "For instance, this enemy you are fighting, who are they?"  Her gaze went over to the map on his wall.

     Andrews sighed deeply with his gaze kept on the wonder of watching the hulking war machines move out into the courtyard.  After turning back he clenched a fist and sat down.  He motioned toward a chair, indicating she should sit, and Daphne responded by giving the chair a disdainful look.  "Where to begin, where to begin..."

 

 

DropShip Wolf's Claw, Outbound

Scorched Earth

12 October 2015 S.E.C.

1 August 3058 I.S.C.

 

     The "new Terra" twirled softly below them as the DropShip reached orbit and began accelerating.  Daphne peered at it on the holotank viewer.  Renard stepped up beside her and Daphne saw the blue colors of Earth merge with the color of his blond hair to make it look green.  "It is strange, quiaff?"  Renard intently watched the Earth.  "This is our home, the Cradle of Humanity, but yet it is not.  What strange tricks the universe plays on us?"

     "I know, Captain."  Daphne reached a hand toward the world.  Her heart quivered from the impact of knowing that such a beautiful world could suffer such grievous injuries.  From orbit and with the records that the Americans had given her, she had seen the grievous damage done to Humanity's Cradle by the war being fought.  She had seen the nuclear wastelands, the bombed out cities and towns, the dead civilians, and her heart railed against the blasphemies that had scorched this world.  "This Armand Giuseppe seeks to unify this world under his rule, to bring unity where there is none.  Is this not the cause of the foolhardy Crusaders, who wish to trample the people our ancestors swore to protect to restore the Star League?  My Warden heart calls out for us to do something to end this madness, Renard."

     "As does mine."  Renard nodded solemnly.  "Do you think the Khan will take well our news of this scorched Earth?"

     "I am not sure, my freeborn friend," Daphne replied, grinning at him.  "But I can say this, those who have brought war to this beautiful world will not be happy with our response.  Now, let me introduce you to our passenger."  Daphne pointed him over to the middle-aged woman standing on the bridge's outer deck, taking in the sights of a ship carrying technology a millennia ahead of her own.  She held onto the rail even after the ship's acceleration created the illusion of gravity and caused her long and frail brown hair to settle on her shoulders in a somewhat uneven manner.  She turned her gray eyes to Daphne just as Daphne stated, "This is the American Secretary of State, Janice Kalick.  She has been sent by her superior to speak with the Khan and his father."

     "Greetings, Secretary Janice," Renard said to the woman, offering his hand in the traditional gesture of friendship.

     "Thank you, Captain..."

     Renard recognized that her long pause was his opening to introduce himself, so he finished her sentence for her.  "Star Captain Renard."

     "Renard?  Just Renard?"

     "Yes.  I have no Bloodname."  He saw the quizzical expression on Kalick's face.  "Ah, you have not had the Bloodnames explained to you yet, quineg?"

     "Neg, she has not," Daphne answered for Kalick.  "Please, Secretary, do not be offended if my officers and crew refer to you by your given name.  That is the Clan custom, as only a small handful of us are gifted with family names."

     "I... I see," Kalick said.

     "And, I will tell you know, "aff" means yes and "neg" means no.  If someone says "quineg" or "quiaff" at the end of a sentence, it is because they are posing a rhetorical question with an expected answer."  Daphne sympathized with Kalick when she saw the look in Kalick's eyes as one of the ship's marines, a robust and bald Elemental named Alistair, walked onto the bridge.  It was a strange mixture of awe and fear, the latter certainly being a condition of her anxiety over being sent into the unknown.  Indeed, it shows these people are truly desperate if they would so willingly entrust the fate of one of their leaders to us, complete strangers.  "Point Commander Alistair is an Elemental," she explained.  "He benefits from genetic engineering, that is why he is so large and his build is so muscular.  It is not always a blessing," Daphne paused the instant she heard a light clang and a quick spurt of swear from Alistair as he rubbed his bald crown and pulled his head under an exit way, then continued with a slight grin at the incompatibility of his height to the DropShip's various doorways, "as he just demonstrated."

     Kalick nodded slowly.  "Yes, I see."

     "Star Colonel!"

     Renard, Kalick, and Daphne turned from the holotank toward the junior sensor officer, a member of the Ch'in House and therefore possessing some attributes linked to Oriental descent from Terra.  The one contrasting feature that seemed out of place was the short blond hair on her head.  "Yes, Star Commander Chloe?"

     "Something has just appeared insystem."

     Her mind hampered by the completely lack of possibilities she had, Daphne asked, "They just jumped in?"

     "No, they are too close to the new Terra to have just jumped in, and I am not reading any JumpShips.  Just a DropShip, Overlord-class."

     "Who?  Can you pick up their identifying beacon?"

     Chloe looked it over, and it took a moment for her mind to process the data that appeared.  "The computer recognizes the IFF code.  One moment..."  Her head raised slowly.  "It's identifier code is that of a Smoke Jaguar DropShip."

     Daphne felt her heart plunge into her stomach.  And it was then that something occurred to her, something just as wonderful but with a frightening dread to go along with it.  There is another portal here, another bridge...

    

 

DropShip Bloodthirst, Outbound

Huntress System, Clan Space

12 October 2015 S.E.C.

1 August 3058 I.S.C.

 

     The holotank on the bridge of the Overlord-class DropShip was empty, displaying only the empty space with the native constellations of the Huntress star system.  With his cape of mottled gray fur settling over his shoulders, Russou Howell looked out upon the stars, and in his mind, he tried to imagine which ones were now shining their light on the forces of his Clan as the Smoke Jaguars prepared to again pounce on the Inner Sphere.  Khan Lincoln was returning with the others to elect a new ilKhan and vote on continuing the invasion, and when that vote came, the Jaguars would immediately attack to outrun the Ghost Bears and the other Clans in the race to Terra.  Howell regulated his breathing well, although he noticed the ship's air was a tad stale.  I will have to see about why the ship's technicians seem to not be on task.  Perhaps flogging one will persuade them to quicken their pace?  "Time to rendezvous with our JumpShip?"

     "Still at ten hours."

     "Very well.  And bring me your chief technician, I am growing tired of this..."

     The holotank flashed briefly with the appearance of a large whirlpool of blue and green color, drawing Howell's attention.  The display disappeared a few moments later, as the ship entered the maw of the whirlpool, and empty space appeared on the other side.  Howell blinked, almost believing that his eyes had played a trick on him.

     "Galaxy Commander, Huntress is gone!"

     Howell turned angrily to the sensor officer.  "What are you blabbering about?!"

     "The entire system is gone!  It is as if we have jumped by ourselves..."

     "Where are we then?"

     The sensor officer keyed several buttons and displays at his station, and the holotank brought up a view of the solar system they were in.  Eight planetary bodies, plus the distant field of ice bodies, revolved around a large yellow-orange star.  Howell's eyes widened as he tracked the planets one by one into the middle of the system, where his gaze settled on the blue and green third planet.  "Show me the third world, Star Commander," he rasped.  Howell's heart beat with ferocity as the planet grew larger, and he could make out the landmass of Eurasia.  "Terra!  We have reached Terra!"  With frenzied eyes he turned to the sensor officer.  "Are there any ComStar fighters or ships deploying to meet us?!"

     "Neg, Galaxy Commander, I am not picking up any ships or fighters in system.  In fact, I am not picking up anything.  There is merely the ruined remains of what appears to be a primitive space station and many satellites in Earth's orbit.  There are no space-bound facilities near Venus, Mars, or Titan, as we would know."

     "Could Terra have been so badly damaged by the Succession Wars?", Howell wondered aloud.

     "Wait, Galaxy Commander," the Star Commander stated, "I am now detecting a ship near Terra, it is burning on a course away from the planet."

     "Which jump point is it heading toward?"

     "None, Galaxy Commander."

     Howell's brow furrowed.  Nothing was making sense.  ComStar possessed Terra, yet such a techno-centric organization, with access to Star League technology, would never allow the defense stations and colonies on Mars and Venus to be destroyed.  Some had survived the retaking of Terra from Amaris, after all, and Howell could not see ComStar just letting them fall into disrepair or destruction.  And then there was that one ship...

     "We are reading the IFF code of the DropShip, Galaxy Commander.  It appears to be a Union-class.  DropShip Wolf's Claw of the Wolf Clan.  Sir," the Star Commander looked up, "the ship is listed as having been with Phelan Kell's forces when they left their Clan."

     "That ship is with Phelan Kell's traitors?"  Suddenly something began clicking in Howell's mind, something delightful.  If this is one of their ships, then, then there must be something here, something that connects the Inner Sphere to our homespace!  If that is true...  Howell realized just how remarkable the discovery he had just made could be.  A gateway from the Clan Homeworlds to the Inner Sphere, cutting a rough seven to nine month journey into a mere month at most.  The find that could, if used properly, bring victory to the Crusade!

     Howell knew what he had to do.

     "Begin burning in toward Terra!", he bellowed to the navigation and piloting officer, a light-skinned woman with dark brown hair.  He turned to the communications officer, who was of the Osis line and thus dark-skinned.  "Intercept all transmissions between that Wolf DropShip and Terra, and relay them here!"

     "Redirecting course now, Galaxy Commander," the navigation officer reported gruffly, sounding masculine despite her gender, "we will arrive in twelve hours."

     "Beginning comm sweep, Galaxy Commander."

     Howell turned back and watched Terra twirl enchantingly on the screen, with the small dot representing the Wolf ship moving away from it slowly.  He clenched his fist and his mind was filled with images of glory.  Even if this is not sacred Terra, if this is some vile trick by whatever deity that may exist, it still represents a bridge, a bridge with which the Clans will renew their assault on the Inner Sphere.  And while the Home Clans fight the Inner Sphere for control of this gateway, the Smoke Jaguars will leap past our opposition, and again we will be on the road to Terra.  The Jaguar smiled, relishing the coming victory.

 

 

United Nations Headquarters

Geneva, Swiss Confederation, United Nations

Scorched Earth

13 October 2015 S.E.C.

2 August 3058 I.S.C.

 

     For nine years, since the expulsion of the UN from the United States, Geneva had been the home of the United Nations' General Assembly and the center of their bureaucracy.  Following the outset of war in 2011, former Secretary-General and now Chairman Armand Giuseppe had ordered that the headquarters be expanded and fortified.  Now it was a fortress, with a barbed-wire fence protected by motion and thermal sensors rounding the facility, and armed guards with dogs on both sides of the fence on constant patrol.  A checkpoint on each quarter of the fence gave entrance to the outer square and courtyard area, and the buildings that housed the members of the General Assembly and Security Committee with their families.  A second wall, with barbed-wire at the top and motion sensors inside, protected the inner circle, which had all of the command facilities for the globe-spanning government.  T-100 MBTs were situated at key points in the inner circle, their 120mm guns pointed toward the checkpoints, giving them the ability to kill any intruding vehicle lucky enough to get through the first checkpoint.  SAM emplacements, anti-aircraft batteries, and watch towers enhanced the defensive capability of the inner circle.  The building that dwarfed all others with it's majesty was the main HQ, in which the UN High Command led the war effort against the nations of the world which opposed Giuseppe's plans for world unity.

     On top of this grand building was a golden emblem of the United Nations, a massive globe with crossed swords imposed over it, and Unitas Apprime on the outer edge.  Armed guards roamed the rooftop and manned the anti-aircraft guns that would prevent a helicopter attack on the facility.  Within the bowels of the upper floor laid the control center from which Giuseppe's Cabinet meted out orders to the rest of the world, and from which he could watch his armies advance.  His own office was adjacent to this control center, as was the three room suite that he lived and slept in.  Unlike previous European dictators, like Hitler, Giuseppe was a workaholic, always on the spot, observing his subordinates and making sure they worked toward his dream of a unified mankind.

     Heads turned across the courtyard of the magnificent UN Headquarters as the giant Bloodthirst approached to land.  Jaws began to drop even as a man in a light blue uniform stepped out of a vehicle that had just passed through the checkpoint into the inner circle.  His light blond hair, now showing just a tinge of gray on the outer edges, was combed to the side and seemed to shine in the morning sun.  Piercing blue eyes coldly gazed upon those who looked at him, even as those soldiers tried to maintain their discipline.  The five-globe insignia of a Field Marshall reflected light from his collar, and a small baton hung at his side, an old European tradition that had not yet been expunged due to the Euro-centric nature of the UN regime.  His honor guard stepped out, led by a VdO Kommandant, and fell into step beside him, holding firmly onto their assault rifles.

     From the DropShip, Russou Howell emerged with his own phalanx of honor guards, namely, a trio of unarmored Elementals holding pulse laser rifles.  The gigantic Elementals' footfalls were easily heard on the marble walkway as they strode up with Howell to the man.  Howell saw the other man's hand rise up a bit, and accepted the hand.  "I am Galaxy Commander Russou Howell," he began in a firm, proud voice, "of the Smoke Jaguar Clan, chosen of Kerensky."

     "Greetings, Galaxy Commander Howell," the man answered in a German accent.  "I am Feldmarschall Reinhard von Krager, commander of the Verteidiger der Ordnung.  Chairman Giuseppe awaits you in his office."

     Howell nodded, and allowed von Krager to lead him to the middle of an electric motor cart convoy.  The guards of both men stepped onto the rest of the carts, and they moved back through the checkpoint.

     The convoy took merely thirty-six seconds to get from the checkpoint to the Main HQ building.  Von Krager and Howell stepped out of their vehicle together and walked through a pair of bullet-proof glass double-doors into the front lobby of the main complex.  Four floors were visible from this area, and dozens of people milled around, sneaking peaks at the offworld visitors and hiding gasps of surprise at the size of the massive two meter high Elementals that served as Howell's bodyguards.  Without a word von Krager stepped up to an elevator and keyed it open.  The entourage crowded inside, and the elevator moved up through a glass tube into the upper floors of the building.  Once on the seventh floor, they got out and entered a series of corridors, some with internal offices and others completely empty.  With precision earned from two years of traveling these hallways, von Krager found the secure elevator to the upper floors, the "Inner Sanctum" as it was known, and opened it with a key card and retina scan.  Once inside the elevator they went up another three floors, and exited into a security checkpoint.  It was not a long walk after the checkpoint to arrive at the massive command center deep within the bowels of the building.  Three stories in height, it was dominated by a massive wall monitor showing the current status of their armies, updated every thirty minutes.  The majority of the troops were in North America, with some on Timor and New Guinea fighting the Australians and New Zealanders and others busy facing what was left of the PLA in China as well as the desert-based Middle Eastern Liberation Army.  Standing on the second floor, and thus looking at the monitor straight on, was Armand Giuseppe himself.  He was tall and well-built, with a shock of gray hair on his head with a few tinges of brown.  His powerful jaw was reminiscent of Benito Mussolini, and his green eyes burned with an inner fire fueled by his madness.  Von Krager led his guest up an electric lift to the platform where the tyrant was standing, and saluted his superior, in a way that Howell found to be somewhat mocking.  Their uniforms were very similar, with Giuseppe having a sixth globe on his rank collar.  "Chairman, may I present to you Galaxy Commander Russou Howell of the Smoke Jaguar Clan," von Krager stated.

     Howell stepped forward, appraising the burning madness within Giuseppe's eyes as they gave a tentative hand shake.  "I have heard that you had some difficulties with the dezgra Wolves lately?"

     "The Wolves are the ones who helped the Americans oppose my unity?", Giuseppe inquired.

     Howell nodded slightly, observing that the man before him was likely not in his right mind.  And therefore, he will be easy to manipulate.  It will not be long before this world is a Smoke Jaguar possession, and we will be able to use it to keep the Home Clans busy long enough for our own offensive to reach further into the Draconis Combine and eventually Terra.  "Yes, some time ago the Wolf Clan split into two factions.  One faction remained true to the Clans, but the other fled to be with our enemies in the Inner Sphere.  It was they who attacked you."

     "And you will help us crush them?"

     "Yes."  Howell nodded again, suppressing what would have been a wicked grin.  "Yes, we will."

     "If you will allow me, Chairman," von Krager began, "I will coordinate with Commander Howell on these matters."

     "Yes."  Howell turned briefly to look at the map, and found himself in awe of the fact that he was indeed standing on the sacred world of Terra, yet it was not their Terra.  The mysteries of the universe, indeed, of all reality, seemed expansive and incomprehensible.  But just as he began to consider this he pushed it out of his mind with the precision of a hardened Jaguar warrior.  Such considerations were for theorists of the scientist caste, not for warriors.  "If I am right, and the Wolves came from within the Inner Sphere, then your world is very important to our cause.  We of the Clans seek to restore the rightful Star League to it's proper place, by conquering those who destroyed it and reunifying mankind."

     "Then you seek the same goal as I!"  Giuseppe seemed to lose control for a moment, but a firm squeeze on his shoulder by von Krager prompted him to regain some of that control, enough to feign a bit of sanity.  "I feel we will be great allies."

     "Yes," Howell lied, "I agree."

     "I am pleased that this is settled," von Krager stated happily.  "Might we begin discussing our mutual cause?"

     Howell finished looking at the mad tyrant and found himself looking at Reinhard von Krager.  The man was different from his superior.  His cold eyes and firm posture showed him to be fully sane.  More importantly, Howell had seen how he controlled Giuseppe's madness.  Ruefully, he considered the possibility that Giuseppe was the Richard Cameron to von Krager's Stefan Amaris, and wondered that if it were true, what would von Krager do to help or hinder their new "alliance"?  He bears watching.  Close watching.  "I will need to report this to the rest of the Clans," he informed them.  "I would appreciate a representative from your people, otherwise they might consider me mad, and we would not want that, quiaff?"

     "Ja, indeed, we do not want that."  Von Krager eyed Howell with as much interest as Howell eyed him.  The two men continued to watch the other's reactions as the conversation continued.  "Chairman, I recommend that you send me."

     "Why you, Reinhard?", the Italian asked in a disapproving tone.  "I need you here, leading the VdO against our enemies."

     "A short absence will not harm our operations, Chairman, I assure you," von Krager responded in a placating manner.  "Kommandant Streicher is more than able to maintain my office while I am away, and Doctor Smiege has already assumed much of the direction of the Waldkraiburg HBRC and our Deprogramming Department."

     Howell's brow furrowed.  "Deprogramming?"

     "The method in which those who oppose me are re-educated and forced to see the truth," Giuseppe responded rabidly.

     The nod that Howell answered Giuseppe with hid his desire for a more comprehensive answer, although he took care in noticing that von Krager seemed amused at Giuseppe's description.  "Then, that would be your prerogative," Howell lied again, not really caring at the moment about it but not entirely sure his Clan could afford leaving Giuseppe and his government on a long leash.  It matters not, within a year we will own him and his world.  And deprogramming sounds like something we could use in the Inner Sphere, to subjugate the freeborn civilians and make them see the wisdom of the Clan way.  Yes, this world poses many interesting possibilities.  And I must have this man von Krager to make the other Clans realize this.  "So, will Feldmarschal von Krager be joining me?"

     Von Krager nodded silently and gave Giuseppe a pat on the shoulder.  Giuseppe did not acknowledge the touch.  "Yes, he will," Giuseppe answered.

     "I shall pack my things immediately, Commander Howell.  We can leave in twenty four hours, time in which you can learn all you need to know about our war effort."

     "Yes, that will do nicely."  Howell hid his grin.  Nicely indeed...  "Would you like me to drop off a Star of my BattleMechs in North America, the front where the Wolves have left their troops?  They could prevent any more embarrassments, and I will arrange for a second DropShip with more supplies and troops if the Wolves arrive in force."

     Giuseppe nodded enthusiastically.  "We are grateful, Galaxy Commander."

     "Yes.  However, this will be the limit of my abilities to aid you, the rest relies on the Grand Kurultai."  Howell's eyes grinned at the thought of what would happen when the Council approved intervention.  "Now, if you will excuse me, I will go tell my ship to prepare for departure."

     Giuseppe and von Krager nodded at him.  "Take the Galaxy Commander back to his ship," von Krager ordered a pair of uniformed soldiers.  The lead one nodded and they flanked him as he stepped onto the lift to go back down.

 

 

Old Connaught, Arc-Royal

Arc-Royal Defense Cordon, Lyran Alliance

15 October 2015 S.E.C.

4 August 3058 I.S.C.

 

     Secretary of State Janice Kalick swallowed hard and followed two armed guards into an office.  The inside of the office was decorated with various trappings of office and a few military items.  In the chair behind the desk sat the leader of Arc-Royal, Grand Duke Morgan Kell.  The man's beard and hair were dark gray, with a weathered expression from years of war.  His brown eyes were dulled, showing the fatigue that came with his burdens, past and present.  His right arm was mechanical, and Kalick did not bother wondering how he had lost that particular limb.  Standing to his side was a somewhat younger man, with contrasting blue eyes, and lighter-colored hair.  And on the other side was a man that Kalick estimated to be around thirty, with striking brown eyes and a robust physique well-displayed by the almost skin-tight leather uniform he had donned.  The insignia of the Wolf Clan was on his uniform, along with a five-star insignia that Kalick had not seen on any of the pictures of the other "Wolves" that had come to her world and brought her back here.  Morgan slowly stood from his chair and extended a hand.  "Secretary Kalick, isn't it?"

     "Yes, Grand Duke Kell," she answered, feeling awkward at her surroundings.  Her body still shook from the rigors of space travel with these people, and President Andrews' orders remained clear.  "Do whatever it takes, but we need these people to help us if we want to save ourselves," he had told her before Star Colonel Vickers had brought her aboard their "DropShip".  On the way the Star Colonel had told her some things about the "Clans", how there were seventeen out of twenty originally formed, and even helped her with watching her contractions, although Kalick found it highly unusual for the use of contractions to be so despised.  "You will forgive me for..."

     "It is natural for you to be so apprehensive," the one in the Wolf uniform stated.  "I must admit, I thought that Star Colonel Daphne had lost her mind when she told us of your world."

     "This is my son, Phelan," Morgan introduced.  "Phelan is the leader of the Wolves that came to your world."

     "Mister Kell?"

     "Khan Kell, please," Phelan corrected.

     "Thank you, Khan Kell."  Kalick shook the young man's hand.  "Your people saved a lot of lives.  If Giuseppe's forces had broken through that line..."

     "I believe we are getting ahead of ourselves," Morgan interrupted.  "Secretary Kalick, I would also like to introduce Colonel Daniel Allard, commander of the Kell Hounds."

     "Colonel," Kalick greeted, shaking Dan Allard's hand.  "Well, where shall I begin?"

     "Considering how we are unfamiliar with how your history has departed so sharply from our own," Morgan answered, "I think it is best if you begin with how the Soviet Union broke up."

     "The Soviet Union," Kalick began, "broke up in the early nineties.  In 1985, the Soviet Union elected a new leader to fix their faltering economy.  Mikhail Gorbachev initiated what was known as perestroika and glasnost.  He also overturned Leonid Brezhnev's policies toward Eastern Europe, and beginning in 1989, the Warsaw Pact fell apart.  By 1990, most of Eastern Europe was under new leadership.  Later in 1990, Germany was reunified.  During 1990 and 1991, the United States and Soviet Union both sided against Saddam Hussein when he invaded Kuwait, and the US led a coalition of Arab states to drive the Iraqis out.  At the end of the year, the member republics of the Soviet Union began to break away, until the USSR no longer existed.  In it's place were about a dozen member republics, the largest being the Russian Federation, Kazakhstan, and the Ukraine."

     "There's the first difference.  For us, the Soviet Union did not break up until the early 21st century," Phelan stated.  "And it's breakup brought the rise of the Western Alliance, which became the Terran Alliance, which counted most of the world by the end of that century."

     That brought a shiver to Kalick, which the others did not understand but were not willing to pursue.  "After the Soviet Union fell apart, the United States began reducing it's military strength.  Under President Clinton, the country spent most of the decade with a booming economy.  Clinton was succeeded by George W. Bush.  Bush at first made a big deal of domestic finances, but eventually his campaign drifted to military matters.  He increased the military's size and began planning for an anti-missile defense shield, and after a terrorist attack on the World Trade Center in New York City and the Pentagon in Washington D.C. he led our nation in the hunt to find the responsible terrorists, destroying the Taliban regime of Afghanistan and accidentally sparking a civil war in Pakistan in the process.  In 2005, war broke out with China over Taiwan.  The United Nations tried to intervene, but with all the controversy about the UN supposedly abusing it's power and our country not paying it's dues, the United States withdrew and made them leave their facilities in New York City.  If only we had known then what would happen..."

 

 

     Morgan Kell watched the tired Secretary Kalick leave his office, being led to a place to sleep by one of Dan Allard's aides, and took a moment to survey the expression on his son's face before speaking.  "Phelan, your people made this discovery, what do you think?"

     "The Smoke Jaguars have, by now, landed on that planet," Phelan answered.  "And the old rule of 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' will apply here."

     "In other words, you think the Jaguars will ally with Chairman Giuseppe's government?", Dan Allard stated.

     "More than that.  I think the Jaguars will bring in every other Home Clan."  Phelan clenched his right hand into a fist.  "The Home Clans are itching for a fight.  This world, being a bridge between the Inner Sphere and Clan Space, will give them that fight."

     "Whatever happens, we cannot let them have that world," Morgan sighed.  "And then, we get to the morality of allowing a genocidal madman run free.  We have the next Adolf Hitler, or Stefan Amaris, right here.  We have a moral obligation to oppose him in any way we can."

     "Unfortunately, Father, I've found that morality and politics don't always get along."  Phelan snarled, and added sarcastically, "And I'm sure dear cousin Kate will be willing to commit forces to protecting this world without asking for a single thing in return."

     "We will see what is said in two months, at the Whitting Conference.  In the meantime, send a packet to Victor and Precentor-Martial Focht on Coventry.  Let them know what we've found."  Morgan looked outside and his gaze pierced the sky, as if he were searching for the distant tear in the fabric of reality that now threatened his homeworld with destruction.

     Phelan slipped his finger onto Kalick's laptop computer, which she had left on Morgan's desk, and took out the compact disc that was inside.  He observed it for a moment, considering it's size and shape, and drew in a breath when he felt the exhilaration of holding what some would call a piece of history.  Even if what was on the disc made him sick in his stomach.  "The reactions this will garner on Tharkad will probably be enough to spur at least some support."

     "How much can be given is the important question, Phelan."  Morgan turned back and eyed his son wearily, his age showing in the wrinkled expression of his face.  "Victor has by now come up with a plan on dealing with the Clans, and I'm not entirely sure this will be enough to dissuade him from that plan."

     "Sympathy will go a long way, Father, and watching the horrors on this disk should generate plenty of sympathy for these people."  Phelan drew in a breath.  "I must go now, Father."

     "What are you going to be up to now, Phelan?"  Morgan leaned forward and set his organic arm on his desk.  "The Wolves are not ready for a protracted offensive campaign."

     "If I move now and behead Giuseppe's government then this will stop."

     Morgan shook his head.  "No, because you and I both know that the Wolves, even with the technology gap, simply do not have the numbers to win quickly.  It will take time, time that we need to prepare, and to gather our troops.  And, I have had an idea."

     "What kind of idea?"

     "A further extrapolation of Hanse Davion's Training Battalions," Morgan replied.  "I wish to discuss this with Doctor Pondsmith of Sakhara before the Whitting Conference, but it may help us overcome a lack of troops in holding this world from the Home Clans."

     Phelan nodded.  "I'm listening."

 

 

     The darkness of his bedroom was a blessing to Phelan's eyes as he stepped in the door and shut it closely behind him.  He slipped the lock on before beginning to remove the tight and restrictive leather uniform he was consigned by formality to wear.  In the corner of his eye he saw the light on in his bathroom.  He ignored it, putting his back to the door while placing his uniform in it's proper place in the closet.  The reflection of light appeared momentarily on the closet's surface, then a light click coincided with the light's disappearance.  Phelan stopped moving and stood, not having to wait long before he felt two arms move around his sides and embrace him.  "You seem tense," he heard a lovely voice say.

     "Probably because, in the space of one day, I have had my sense of reality blown to hell," Phelan responded.

     Ranna removed her arms to let Phelan remove his shirt, and sat on the bed with a towel covering her wet figure.  Phelan took a seat on the bed beside her, placing his arm around her waist to pull her closer.  Ranna put her right hand on his chin and turned his head so their eyes could meet.  "Yes, the entire Clan is in an uproar over Daphne's discovery.  I've heard that the scientist caste is already hard at work trying to rationalize it all."

     Phelan gave her a small kiss on the nose.  "You must watch the language," he teased, "considering that you will soon sit on the Clan Council."

     "You are assuming I will win Natasha's Bloodname despite the competition?"

     "Yes, I am," he admitted.

     "I certainly hope I do."  Ranna used her towel to wipe a droplet of water coming from her hair.  "I wish she had made it.  She would have been proud to see how you have handled yourself here."

     "I know.  Ranna, about this new world," Phelan drew in a quick breath before continuing to speak, "I have contemplated sending troops, just enough to help our new allies hold their positions and defend themselves should the Smoke Jaguars arrive.  Father wants me to be patient, so that he may discuss things with Victor and Focht."

     "You will understand if I agree with your father, Phelan.  He likely has his own plan in place, something that could be upset if you move alone."  Ranna swallowed.  "Is it really as bad as they say it is?  Daphne's officers have taken to calling this planet 'Scorched Earth' because of the devastation the found."

     "The records from the Wolf's Claw confirm what they've said.  Several cities have been destroyed, and there are many more that have been damaged in one way or another by warfare."  Phelan closed his eyes and remembered seeing the images that Kalick had shown them of Giuseppe's war machine pressing it's way across the globe, destroying anything and everything in it's path.  And what made him truly sick was just how much alike Giuseppe was to the Crusaders.  And the likelihood that the two would ally, although such an alliance would merely be a precursor to a Clan takeover of the new Terra, considering it's strategic location.  "It's like something out of the Succession Wars."

     "Perhaps it would be better for them if the Crusaders begin directing the enemy's war effort?  At least that way the Crusaders will keep collateral damage to a minimum."

     "Maybe, or maybe not.  The Smoke Jaguars are just as likely to burn cities to the ground in retaliation for the slightest offense."

     "That, we will have to wait and see about."  Ranna pulled the towel off and got under the covers, laying on her side to keep in eye contact with Phelan.  "Have faith, Phelan.  We will not fail Ulric.  And neither will we fail these people."

     Phelan looked off into the distance for a moment, still quite unable to remove the visions of destruction in his mind.  With a sigh, he turned his attention back to his love.  He put his legs under the sheet and cuddled up next to Ranna, with an arm over her hip and gently brushing up against her posterior.  Her glittering blue eyes shined even in the dim light.  He tried resisting the growing temptation to kiss her, and quickly failed, locking his lips to her mouth a moment later.

 

 

     Upon returning to Morgan Kell's office Janice Kalick noticed that the man and his associates and son were very ill-rested.  A couple even showed the same weary expressions that she knew she possessed, and it all indicated that they had spent the night pondering more than sleeping.  The seemingly magical portal linking their worlds, their universes, threatened to overwhelm their senses of reality.  Phelan and Dan Allard were flanking the desk, with one of the Clan Elementals, a large red-headed woman, and a smaller white-haired woman standing beside Phelan.  Daniel was joined by another woman with dark hair and a strong family resemblance to Phelan and Morgan.  "Grand Duke," Kalick nodded in respect to the man.  "You asked for me to come?"

     "Yes, Secretary Kalick.  First, I would like to introduce my daughter Caitlin, an advisor to the Kell Hounds, and two of my son's officers, Star Colonels Evantha Fetladral and Ranna."  Morgan let them shake hands before continuing, noting with amusement Kalick's apprehension of shaking hands with the much larger Evantha, almost as if in fear that the Elemental would crush her fingers with the hand shake.  "Last night, I dispatched a message to some of the assembling leaders of our nations on Coventry and Tharkad, informing them of the gravity of this situation."

     "You mean, the other apparent rift in our system?"

     "Yes.  The one that allowed a Smoke Jaguar ship, assigned to garrison duty in the Homeworlds, to approach as well.  I'm afraid, Secretary Kalick, that your system could become a battle ground."  He drew in a sigh.  "Normal travel between the Inner Sphere and the Clan Homeworlds takes more than a year, due to the limitations on K-F drives and the distance involved.  This distance is one of the things that makes the Clans' war here difficult, because of the immensity of their supply lines.  But this bridge..."  Morgan's eyes lowered.  "This bridge that your world has been placed on gives the Clans, all of the Clans, a tremendous opportunity to take the initiative.  They can strike into the Inner Sphere directly, moving supplies into position months faster than they could ordinarily.  And the Home Clans will be able to push for their inclusion into the war."

     "Yes.  With a position like this open, Clans like the Ice Hellions and the Hell's Horses will quickly take advantage to seize territory and put themselves in a position to attack the Inner Sphere," Phelan agreed.

     "So, your homeworld is in just as much danger as our world is," Kalick said.

     "Yes.  I am afraid your world is going to become a battleground, Madame Secretary," Morgan said.  "In all likelihood, the Clans will throw their lot in with Giuseppe.  He's insane, he's easily controlled, and his ideals are more compatible to them than yours."

     Kalick nodded but at the same time swallowed hard.  I wonder, though, if we would not be so desperate for victory as to accept Clan aid in defeating Giuseppe?  It's a good thing the pieces fell where they did.  "How much aid can you give us?  Right now?"

     "Right now?  A battalion worth of troops, gleaned from my son's Clan Wolf and my own forces," Morgan answered.  "Not a lot, I know, but I have a responsibility to defend the Cordon, and we must at least put on a show for the Jade Falcons while trying to arrange reinforcements for here."  He sat forward.  "Secretary Kalick, I would ask that I be allowed to see your President.  It is important that we begin cooperating as soon as we can, for I have the feeling that it will not be long before the Clans arrive in force on your world."

 

 

Presidential Command Center, Emergency Government Center

Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado, United States, Scorched Earth

17 October 2015 S.E.C.

9 August 3058 I.S.C.

 

     Deep within the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain, the most heavily guarded command post in the United States contained the President and all of Congress.  Security was rigidly tight to maintain the defense of the nation's leaders, which prompted the soldiers who served in the Mountain to call it a "prison".  On the outer shell of the mountain, several ABM and SAM launchers were arrayed about the center and several more on various locations of the actual mountain, ready to shoot down any enemy aircraft attacks or missiles, while the hardened bunkers were also protected by the steel armor plate several inches thick, and above the plate the natural mass of the mountain.  With the fall of Washington D.C. to the Giuseppian advance, Cheyenne Mountain now served as the heart of the country.

     Morgan Kell and his entourage had allowed their weapons to be temporarily confiscated at the first security checkpoint as a show of trust, equal to that shown by the Americans by Kalick's visit to Arc-Royal.  Morgan found himself looking into the eyes of each of the soldiers they passed on their way through.  Most of the soldiers showed signs of subdued optimism, but all were uniform in that their moods were full of gloom and resignation.  The enemy was only five hundred miles from the Mountain at their closest position and they were in all likelihood counting their final months of life before they would be called upon to give their lives to ensure the government could escape.  Morgan sympathized with them.  And the grim defiance he saw in their eyes hardened his own resolve, one way or the other, these people would get the help they needed to win their war.  He would see to it.  And he could see the same resolve in his son's face, and within the eyes of Dan Allard, Ranna, and Caitlin.  They all felt the same obligation to stop the horrible bloodshed and destruction that had descended upon this world.

     They were escorted into a large network of chambers before reaching a central office.  It was a kidney-shaped chamber, carpeted, with a wooden desk where Jason Andrews was seated.  Secret Service men armed with assault rifles stood on each side of the office, while the seats in front of Andrews were occupied by a pair of men, a tanned man with a moon face and another man, older than the first, with a fair complexion and graying brown hair.  Andrews looked up at them and stood, his dark skin standing out against the white paint within the office.  He stepped around the desk as Morgan approached and offered his right hand, so as to shake Morgan's natural left hand instead of the prosthetic hand.  "Grand Duke Morgan Kell, I presume?  I'm President Jason Andrews, pleased to make your acquaintance, Duke Kell."

     Morgan accepted the statesman's hand with a friendly grin and a nod.  "A pleasure, President Andrews.  This is my son, Khan Phelan Kell of the Wolf Clan, my daughter Caitlin, Colonel Dan Allard of the Kell Hounds, and Star Colonel Ranna of the Wolf Clan."

     Andrews accepted their hands while the other two men who had taken seats sat up.  He pointed toward the tanned man first.  "This is Representative Alberto Rodriguez of Florida..."  He moved on to the other as Rodriguez began shaking hands with Dan Allard.  "...and Senator James Nielson of Virginia.  The rest of Congress is in session at Salt Lake City, and they are here to act as my liaisons."  Andrews waited for them all to shake hands.  "My people are getting extra seats for you now.  Secretary Kalick said something about you wishing to speak with me?"

     "Yes, Mister President," Morgan answered.  "Your planet is in danger.  Not just the danger posed by Giuseppe's madness, but another danger.  We fear you may soon face an invasion by the other Clans."

     Andrews nodded stiffly.  "Yes, that's what we've been discussing.  Satellite reconnaissance tracked another ship that landed in Geneva about twelve hours after Vickers departed.  They left a couple of days ago after a stopover in occupied territory in Minnesota."

     "They may have left some of their own 'Mechs, then."  Phelan's jaw clenched.  "Mister President, with your permission, I'd like to take my Star up to Minnesota.  I have a very bad feeling that the Jaguars left more than just observers."

     Andrews saw the grim look on the junior leader's face.  He nodded stiffly.  "Do what you must.  You," he looked at a Secret Service agent, "show this man out.  Expedite his way through security as well."

     "Yes, Mister President."

     The agent led Phelan and Ranna out of the room.  When the door closed Morgan turned back to Andrews.  "Mister President, I have a proposition I would like you to consider."

     "Yes?"

     "Namely, we may not be able to get our own BattleMech units to this planet in sufficient force to fully make the difference, but, we should be able to supply enough BattleMechs to you and your allies, if you are willing to go along with setting up training camps."

     Nielson and Rodriguez did not show any reaction, while Andrews had one that showed his internal pondering.  "What will this entail?"

     "My Kell Hounds have some of the most advanced training equipment in the Inner Sphere, as do the Wolves," Morgan replied.  "Combined with instructors from our nations, and other Star League nations, we would be willing to train people from your world to pilot BattleMechs.  It will help maintain parity and give us time we need to prepare for our own actions against the Clans, which will benefit the front here."  He swallowed.  "I must warn you, in the Inner Sphere, MechWarriors spend up to three years training before they are even assigned to standard line units.  We can try and compact basic 'Mech piloting into as little as three months, but full skills..."

     Andrews cut him off with a nod.  "With all due respect, Duke Kell, the United States doesn't have three years.  Three months is probably stretching things.  We will do what is necessary."

     "You are aware that the Clans raise their warriors from birth to fight?  Their MechWarriors are genetically engineered to maximize their combat capabilities."  Morgan shook his head sorrowfully.  "You could be sending your people into a death trap."

     Andrews gave another nod, this one even more stiffly.  "I know.  Too many of my countrymen have died already, and many more will die to make sure the war is won.  But it is a price that must be paid.  The price of arrogance, I am afraid.  Our arrogance, Denise Saunders' arrogance, shot us in the foot before this war even began."  Andrews blinked uncomfortably.  "Thomas Jefferson said that the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.  I am afraid that this time, it will take the blood of many patriots to keep it alive, with very little tyrant blood to throw in."  He looked over and saw quizzical expressions on the faces of his guests.  "Wait, what year is it on your calendar?"

     "3058 AD."

     "Ah."  Andrews nodded and seemed to smile a bit.  "So you've never heard of Thomas Jefferson, I take it."

     "Thomas who?"  Caitlin blinked.

     "One of the founders of the American nation, if I'm correcting recalling the Old Earth history course I took at the Nagelring," Morgan answered her.

     Nielson snickered and Rodriguez suppressed a chuckle, both amused by the confusion.  The door to the office opened and a quartet of chairs were brought in by some Army personnel.  They saluted at Andrews when they sat down the chairs, and he responded with a curt "At ease" so that they could relax and leave the room.   "Now that you have some seats," Andrews went back to his seats as the others found seats, "we can sit down and get on with business.  This training system, for instance..."

 

 

Combat Zone, West Bank of the Red River of the North

10 kilometers south of Moorhead, Minnesota-North Dakota Border

 

     The sounds of battle ripped through the light fog and into the ears of the men and women of Bravo Platoon, Able Company, Rochester Battalion, 1st Minnesota (Volunteers) Infantry Regiment.  The thundering of tank and artillery cannon fire broke the still air and prompted the soldiers to brace themselves in their quickly dug foxholes, even as tanks and men appeared on the far side of the river.  Explosions rang their ears to each side as shells began to land about their position and the positions of the other units in the regiment, and the entire 1st Armored Division.  Opposing them was the 5th UN Armored Division, or so they had been told by their superiors.  The 5th was apparently a junior unit, so it wasn't as if they were facing an elite force like one of the Panzergrenadier Korps.  And they fought like a junior unit, their commander ineffectually probing the line to look for a place to cross the river into North Dakota.

     Standing with his platoon members was a tall and well-built Caucasian male with the single bar insignia of a Second Lieutenant.  Chris Hayal's black hair was barely regulation length, he preferred it long, and a filled out goatee and beard covered his face.  A fully-loaded M16 hung from his right shoulder on a nylon strap.  Range-finding binoculars were clutched firmly in his hands as he observed the UN APCs begin to move into the water with fixed floating attachments.  They would have to disembark within firing range for his platoon and he intended to make sure that every inch of ground the disembarking troops took was paid for with blood.  The woman on his right, Sergeant First Class Catherine Barton, pushed a lock of her light brown hair under her helmet and gave him a quick grin and a wink with her iceberg blue eyes before looking back at the APCs, which were almost halfway across.  The anti-armor platoon of the company opened fire with their Javelin anti-tank missiles.  The missiles crossed the kilometer distance swiftly.  Computerized anti-missile defenses mounted on the APCs opened fire with light rounds that destroyed two of the missiles in flight.  The other two missiles found their targets, slamming into the fronts of the APCs.  One barely survived, it's armor plate just thick and strong enough to resist the penetrator on the Javelin, and the other turned into a ball of fire and began taking on water.  The back hatch forced itself open and a dozen men leapt out in a panic to get away as the APC sunk to the bottom.

     "Get ready people!", Hayal shouted, looking through his binoculars.  He noticed something moving behind the enemy line, partially obscured in the fog, and homed in on it.  He looked over at his radiowoman, Corporal Delilah Danvers, and asked, "Ask the Captain if HQ's told him about any enemy armor in this sector."  He pulled the binoculars back up to his eyes and looked through them again.  "Tell Raulson and his tankers to kill..."  He stopped and strained his eyes, almost incapable of believing what he was seeing.  "What in the Hell is that?!"

 

 

     From a kilometer away, Star Colonel Ratache Osis's Summoner Prime stomped through the fog.  Flanking him was the Timber Wolf Prime of Star Captain Cameron, his immediate aide, and the Hellbringer B of Star Commander Beatrice.  Rounding them out was a Shadow Cat A piloted by MechWarrior Tobias and an Adder Prime piloted by MechWarrior Tabitha.  Ratache grinned ferally at the sight of his quarry reaching weapons range.  "Star Captain Cameron, fire when ready."

     Cameron's extended range large laser sent out a beam of green energy that lashed the trenches of Baker Company's position.  The green energy vaporized the head of the company's commanding officer and killed his XO and his radio officer with glancing blows.  The beam traveled north, scorching another squad of men and destroying the sandbags placed in front of their positions before it disappeared.

 

 

     Hayal watched the beam play along the trenches and then turned back to see the APCs hit shore.  They moved up onto soil and the troops inside began to disembark.  The APCs main guns fired and raked the trench area with 20mm fire while the men and women of Able Company fired at the incoming troops.  The bullets ripped through the body of one of his privates before the young man could duck below the sandbags bordering the trench.  Blood exploded from the entry points of the massive rounds, which bored through his body until they emerged from the other side and embedded themselves in the soil.  He fell dead to the ground.  "Tell Raulson to shoot whatever the hell that is!", he shouted to Danvers, pulling the trigger on his M16 as the UN infantry rushed closer.

     As if on cue, the thunder of an M1A2 Abrams' main cannon reached their ears from behind.  A 120mm M829E3 round raced over the trench at supersonic speed and rammed it's penetrator into the leg of Cameron's Timber Wolf.  The depleted uranium tip pushed itself about three centimeters into the armor before the armor's diamond-supported fiber-based material stopped it.  Only a small three centimeter "hole" and some slight millimeter-sized fracturing around the hole came of the entire thing.  The tank crew did not notice that damage had been minimal before the loader had loaded a HEAT round into the 120mm smoothbore.  The gunner lined up his sights on Ratache's Summoner and fired the cannon again.  The HEAT round took only a second and a half to cross the distance before it slammed into the Summoner's left torso.  The explosion of the directed charge blew away portions of the OmniMech's armor but also failed to do any decent amount of armor damage or penetration.  The tank's commander, Sergeant Raulson, stared at the apparently unphased target and felt his mind reel against the impossibility of their rounds being so ineffectual.

     As he did so, Ratache Osis pulled on the right hand trigger for his extended range PPC.  A bolt of cerulean lightning emerged from the barrel on his Summoner's right arm and struck the Abrams on the left tread.  The tread's armor buckled swiftly and melted away, the plasma in the particle beam vaporizing and melting the tread and immobilizing the tank.  Tabitha’s Adder fired a second cerulean bolt of lightning that speared the tank directly.  The tank's advanced armor proved no match for the particle beam, which tore through the front of the tank, and due to it's slight downward angle, cut into the ground beneath the tank.  Raulson and another man, the gunner, scrambled out of the tank before a green energy beam from Tobias's Shadow Cat ripped it in half.  Ratache's PPC fired again at a second Abrams rushing to the front.  The beam stroked the Abrams' main cannon and tore it off before cutting through the turret armor and reducing the turret to so much slag, leaving the driver with three scorched corpses in the destroyed turret.  Ratache smiled with satisfaction at his shot before watching a flight of LRMs leave the left shoulder launcher on Cameron's Timber Wolf.  The missiles fired in succession, taking only five seconds to empty out of the launcher.  Aimed at the higher angle they exploded in the backs of the trench, killing half of a platoon in a series of terrific explosions and leaving the survivors strewn out on the ground with shrapnel from the missiles' detonation having torn into their bodies.  "Re-adjust the line!", Hayal heard his company commander shout through the radio.  "Keep your attention on the oncoming infantry!  Let the armor handle these guys!"

     "This is bad, sir!", he heard Barton yell while they continued to try and keep their fire constant at the onrushing wave of UN troops, who were alternating between running and laying cover fire in the "fire-and-movement" style of attack.  With their line having been compromised by the 'Mechs that had engaged them they were severely weakened.  And this also meant that as a weak point, the enemy would soon put their weight into an advance through the river.  Hayal's stomach twisted as he realized that those damned walking machines had just doomed his entire platoon, and likely the whole regiment.  He kept his fear to himself and popped his head up to fire again.  As he put a trio of bullets into the torso of a dark-skinned woman he felt an impact on his right ear that stung horribly.  He ducked back down and touched the ear, finding blood from the graze of a bullet.  To his right Barton was leaning against the wall of the trench, ducked down and putting a new clip into her rifle.   She grunted and stood back up, firing the M16 on full automatic.  Hayal was unable to see how well she was aiming from his low position in the trench.  He pulled out his own empty clip and was putting another in when she howled.  Barton fell back into the trench with a pair of bullets in her, one in the upper left chest and the other having torn her right shoulder up.  Blood poured from her wounds as she fell to her posterior in the trench, clutching at her torn shoulder.  "Son of a bitch!", she screamed angrily.

     Hayal knelt down by her.  "Cat!  Cat, are..."

     "Ignore it," she said.  "Flesh wound."

     Hayal took a deeper look at the wound on her left side, just above the heart.  "Bullshit," he muttered as he felt her blood begin to pour onto his hand.  He looked around frantically for a medical team while reaching into his gear for a first aid kit.  "Hey!  I could use some help..."

     "Dammit Chris, get back to fighting!"  She pushed away at him.  "You heard me!"

     Hayal did not disagree with her, noticing a pair of medics making their way into that portion of the trench.  He looked back over the trench and was lifting his rifle to fire at an enemy only thirty meters away from their position when he heard rumbling behind him.  The approaching enemy infantry looked up at something behind the line, so Hayal could not resist but glance in that direction.

     As he did so, a penetrator round slammed into the massive BattleMech behind him, courtesy of the Gauss Rifle on Star Commander Beatrice's Hellbringer.  Hayal looked up at the dozen meter plus height of the massive hundred ton Dire Wolf OmniMech that was walking toward the line.  A five star insignia was emblazoned on the right portion of the chest, and on the arms and legs a wolf insignia shined prominently.

     To the 'Mech's left was another massive 'Mech, slightly smaller; a Warhawk OmniMech in the Prime configuration, sporting a quartet of deadly ER PPCs, two for each arm, to go with a medium missile battery on the right shoulder.  The Warhawk's right arm PPCs fired a twin blast of blue fury that scourged the armor of Cameron's Timber Wolf.  A continuing streak of missiles came from a Mad Dog accompanying the other 'Mechs, forty missiles in all, and they all connected with the offending Hellbringer that had dared strike the 'Mech piloted by the Khan of Clan Wolf.

 

 

     Nestled in the command couch of the Dire Wolf Assault 'Mech he was piloting, Phelan Kell centered his targeting systems on Ratache's Summoner and triggered his own pair of ER PPCs.  The two beams struck simultaneously in the chest of the Summoner, savaging it's chest plate armor and obliterating the Smoke Jaguar insignia that was emblazoned on the heart.  The tremendous energy of his attack cut right through the armor of the 'Mech and damaged the Summoner's internal skeleton. 

     Ratache noticed his damage indicators go red and cursed loudly.  "Damn Wolves..."  Ratache switched to active sensors and clenched his jaw at the sight of two more contacts, plus what could have been several Elementals.

     Before he could think, a voice came through on his comm system and over the lead Wolf 'Mech's external speakers.  "This is Khan Phelan Kell of the Wolf Clan.  I offer you hegira, Jaguars, so that you may return to your masters and warn them that these people are under my protection."

     "I am Star Colonel Ratache Osis, freeborn bastard," Ratache retorted, "and I will not run from traitors like you, nor the helpless freeborns you support."

     "Then you will die, Star Colonel," Phelan replied.  "I have elite MechWarriors and two Points of Elementals to throw at your Star.  This battle is mine to win.  You and your allies should withdraw.  Now."

     Ratache clenched his fist angrily.  I will show that...

     Before he could complete the thought, the UN commander's voice came over the radio.  "All forces, retreat immediately," the Frenchwoman barked.  "We will break through here later."

     At that command the UN troops began to fall back to their APCs to cross the river again.  Ratache howled in frustration.  "No you cowardly freebirths, fight!"

     "It seems your allies have no more stomach for battle," Phelan crowed.  "Do you wish to die at my hand, Star Colonel Ratache?"

     "Damn you, Wolf!  This is not over," Ratache raged.  "I will see this world lifeless before I allow your traitorous brood to have it!"

     "And my Wolves and I will die before I allow you and your Jaguars to destroy these people," Phelan responded coldly.  "You are welcome to try again, we will be waiting."

     "I accept hegira, freeborn false-Khan," Ratache hissed.  His mind raged angrily at the humiliation of reporting to Howell that he had failed to help the UN Army penetrate the line.  Those damned Wolves had ruined everything!  "But only this time."

     Ratache began backing his Summoner up, prompting his fellows to do the same.  Phelan watched them move away on his scanner screen and sighed.  "Ranna, Ragnar, looks like we saved the day."

     "For now, at least," Ranna sighed.  "I have MedTechs on standby."

     "Bring them in to help care for the American wounded," Phelan ordered.  He lifted the face plate of his neurohelmet and wiped his forehead of sweat.  This was only the first shot.  Soon this entire world will be a 'Mech battleground.  Maybe even enough to rival Tukkayid...

 

 

     The field hospital for the Minnesotan Volunteers regiment was a scene of organized chaos when Phelan and Ranna stepped into it.  They had left their 'Mechs standing outside the hospital and were still in "combat uniform", namely, sleeveless brown shirts with their rank insignias embroidered over the left breast and knee-length brown shorts.  A low groan came from a dark-skinned woman on a bed next to where the entrance way was, prompting both to look and watch as a medic tried to remove a bullet lodged in her ribs.  To her side a white-skinned male was barechested.  Several shrapnel entry wounds had torn across his stomach and abdomen, and a few pieces of shrapnel were still embedded in his chest and just below the neck  He gazed at them with drunken eyes before his head fell back down onto the pillow of the cot and eased into sleep from the pain-killing drugs in his system.  "We should have brought more MedTechs and equipment," Ranna said as they watched the medical personnel rush to give aid to all of the wounded.

     Phelan nodded slowly while walking up to a cot that was covered by a sheet.  He lifted the sheet and stared into the dead blue eyes of a pretty teenage girl.  He put a hand on her dark hair, which reminded him of Caitlin, before lifting the sheet back over her head.  He clenched a fist and walked away from the cadaver.  "Triage," he sighed.  She looks no older than sixteen.

     "Her name was Denise Strouten," a gruff male voice said to him.  "She was a fifteen year old girl who lived in Minneapolis, and signed up with the Volunteers just before we had to fall back."

     Phelan looked over at the origin of the voice and saw a man in his early forties standing nearby, also surveying the wounded.  He saluted to Phelan as a gesture of respect.  "Colonel Harlan Davidson at your service, sir.  The rank is 'Khan', correct?"

     "Khan Phelan Kell, yes."  Phelan returned the salute.  "Why is a girl her age here?"

     Davidson's eyes lowered.  "We need every soldier we can get, Khan Kell.  And at the very least she's died a swift death in the service of her country, instead of suffering God knows what fate she might have had in the occupied areas."

     "You are so pressed for soldiers that you force children her age into service?", Phelan asked, somewhat repulsed by the notion but also sympathizing with the desperation that had brought it about.

     "No, draft age is eighteen," Davidson replied.  "She signed up voluntarily, which is why she's in the Volunteers."

     "The Volunteers?"

     "Yes.  Units raised by the Army, they were hoping it might get some home morale up to have units composed entirely of volunteer enlistees instead of the draftees."  Davidson cleared his throat.  "I'd like to thank you, sir.  You saved us all."

     "It is quite all right, Colonel Davidson."  Phelan looked over at another light-skinned soldier, a male of about eighteen, having the sheet pulled over his head as well.  "Your casualties were bad?"

     Davidson nodded a bit and let his frown grow.  "I've got just over 800 men and women in my regiment, sir, and I'd say a good two hundred of them are either dead or dying.  I've lost a good half of the remaining armor platoon I had.  If you hadn't come, they'd all be dead or dying."

     "I see.  I have ordered my MedTechs to help in saving those they can."

     The tent entrance opened again and admitted two privates carrying Barton on a stretcher.  Hayal and Danvers followed behind, up to where Barton was put down on a bed.  "Feeling good, Cat?"

     She grimaced and winked at him.  "Fifth time I've been shot in three weeks, wonderful," Barton gasped with a slight grin.  "I'm going to get addicted to painkillers if this keeps up."

     "Well, at least you managed to avoid getting a bullet somewhere important," Danvers chuckled.  "You have all the luck."

     "Noticed that, huh?"  Barton leaned her head back.  "It'll probably be a while before they work their way to me.  I'm not going anywhere.  Why don't you two get back to work?  Someone's gotta be out at that trench to make sure those bastards don't try again."

     Her commander shook his head.  "I'll let the others know that their First Sergeant's going to make it," Hayal promised her.  "At least you made it.  Andy Clark and Cal Culson weren't so lucky."

     Barton closed her eyes for a moment.  "They were good kids.  Wish they could have had better."

     "Yeah, I know."  Hayal wiped some of the sweat off her forehead with his left hand.  "Make sure they get those bullets out of you so I can have you back up front.  Sergeant Bergmann's still young, I'd like an old hand out there."

     "I'm twenty-seven, you asshole," Barton growled in response, her eyes snapping open in offense.  "Don't call me old!"

     Hayal snickered.  "So am I, but considering that we've got a couple thirteen-somethings in one of the other platoons, and several teenagers, we are pretty old.  These are kids who probably don't even know what a dial-up modem is."

     "Point taken."  Barton sighed.  "Well, don't get in any trouble without me.  And make sure Marc doesn't fuck up too badly."  She looked over at Danvers.  "Keep him in line for me, huh?"

     Danvers blushed and meekly answered, "I can try."

     "Good girl."  Barton laid back again.  "I'll get out of here ASAP, don't worry.  I'll be back out there before those bastards try anything else."

     "Take it easy, Cat."  Hayal stepped away from the bed, sliding past a medic on his way out of the tent.  He looked up and saw the massive "BattleMech" that he had seen before and shook his head, grumbling, "Looks like things around here are going to get real crazy, real fast..."

 

 

Landing Pad, 6 km from Cheyenne Mountain

Colorado, United States, Scorched Earth

18 October 2015 S.E.C.

10 August 3058 I.S.C.

 

     It was past midnight when a small convoy of jeeps pulled up to the Union-class DropShip Fang.  President Andrews stepped out of the first one with Morgan Kell and Senator Nielson following.  The second one disgorged Dan Allard, Representative Rodriguez, and Caitlin Kell, and the third had a fatigued Phelan Kell with Ranna and Evantha Fetladral.  Andrews turned back to Morgan and handed him a small disc in a case.  "Here, I want you to have this."

     Morgan slowly took the disc with his biological hand.  "What is on it?"  He looked it over in it's clear plastic case, watching the lights from the jeep and the Fang create a rainbow of color on it's surface.

     "Consider it proof of just how evil Giuseppe and his people are," Andrews answered.  "I can't tell you more, not out here.  We've kept a lid on this to protect our deep cover operatives.  I'd ask that you only show it to those who need to see it for the sake of our future here."

     After a few moments of considering it, Morgan slipped it into a pocket.  "I do not know when I will return," he said.  "We will probably spend several weeks on Tharkad.  But, I have already made the necessary arrangements for the Kell Hounds and what forces are at my disposal to come here and help hold the line.  They will also be bringing testing equipment, to judge how many people on your world can be trained as MechWarriors.  And as results come in, actual training equipment and BattleMechs will be brought in for your people to train in."

     "It will take months to test every available person."  Andrews offered his hand.  "But we'll make due with what we get.  Thank you, Duke Kell.  You've given us a real chance to actually win this war."

     "The war is not won yet," Morgan reminded him, taking his hand in another handshake.  "Let us hope that the Clans are delayed, our hopes here are riding on it.  And, if I may be so modest as to my intentions, my homeworld will be the first to be attacked if the Clans succeed here."

     "I understand, and it re-assures me.  We are both aware of what it takes to defend a person's homeland from foreign conquerers."  Andrews turned and began to shake Phelan's hand.  "I thank you, Khan Kell.  You prevented a strategic disaster."

     "It was the best I could do," Phelan said, waving off the praise.  "I am still completing the final touches on our reorganization following the Refusal War.  When they are finished, I will see about sending a few Clusters in.  To keep the Smoke Jaguars quiet."

     "My generals look forward to it."

     "Yes.  And, my Clan will also be doing what it can to further your training.  We may even make some raids into Jade Falcon territory to seize some of their equipment."  A grin crossed Phelan's face.  "I am certain my subordinate Khan will enjoy it very much."

     "Again, I thank you."

     "President," Morgan began again, "you have my solemn promise that I will do all within my power to make sure the other nations of the Inner Sphere make their own contributions to your defense."

     "The free world will be grateful for whatever aid you can render," Andrews said.

     Morgan and Phelan both nodded in response for stepping into the DropShip behind the others.  Andrews got back into the jeep and told the driver, "Let's go back now."  As the jeep drove away, Andrews turned his head and watched the Fang launch, carrying with it the last hope of the free people of the world.

 

 

The Hall of Khans

Strana Mechty, Clan Space

30 October 2015 S.E.C.

19 August 3058 I.S.C.

 

     The meeting place of the Khans was deceptively small, yet it's lack of size took nothing from it's grandeur and ability to intimidate visitors.  The granite and slate walls and structure cast a dark shadow on the room and made it deeply foreboding.  Only the lack of attending Khans robbed from the room's majestic feel.  Twenty-two Khans, of the remaining Home Clans, were in their places within the room.  A pair of black-clad Elementals stood in positions to each side of the visiting Reinhard von Krager, who was adorned in his dress uniform, and another pair stood at positions around Russou Howell.  Video screens linked the Khans of the Wolves, Ghost Bears, Diamond Sharks, Jade Falcons, Nova Cats, Steel Vipers, and Smoke Jaguars to the meeting, as well as the Loremaster of the Council, Kael Pershaw.  "This meeting will now come to order," Pershaw stated from his viewscreen, which was located between the screens displaying Marthe Pryde and Samantha Clees.  "The Smoke Jaguars have asked for an emergency Kurultai."

     "This is highly irregular, Khan Osis," Malavai Fletcher stated, "what is so important that it cannot wait until you and the other Khans return from the Inner Sphere?"

     Lincoln Osis's rumbling voice replied, "It is best if I allow Russou Howell to explain.  Galaxy Commander?"

     "Yes, my Khan," Howell agreed.  He stepped up in front of the other Khans and nodded at an awaiting aid to the Loremaster to punch up data.  The officer did so, bringing up a long-distance holomap that showed Clan space at the top and the Coreward section of the Inner Sphere at the bottom.  A line was drawn between Huntress and a general area on the border of the Jade Falcon OZ and the new Lyran Alliance.  "I have been honored to have made the greatest discovery in our history," he announced proudly to the Grand Council.  "On the first of this month, my DropShip Bloodthirst was on it's way to rendezvous with a JumpShip that would bring us here, for us to begin troop rotation between our enclaves on Strana Mechty and Huntress.  While en route to the JumpShip's position we came across what can only be described as a portal.  A portal in space that brought us to another universe, an alternate universe.  More importantly, the world we spotted upon exit was sacred Terra itself.  We did not know the truth of our discovery until we realized that there were no orbital stations, no shipyards on Titan, or even the cities on the surfaces of Mars and Venus that we knew from the past.  The level of technology we ascertained from their space satellites led us to realize that technologically they are no further than the early 21st Century.  Finally, we intercepted satellite communications from an organization that is represented today by this man," Howell pointed his hand to where von Krager was standing, "Field Marshall Reinhard von Krager of the United Nations Military."

     By now, the assembled Khans had begun whispering to each other.  Amazement, shock, every likely emotion from such a revelation was present on the faces of the assembled, hidden beneath their ceremonial masks.  Howell was quick to realize that this was not universally true.  The Khans of the Nova Cat Clans, older than any present, merely looked at each other and nodded solemnly.  They must have had some hallucination that vaguely fits my findings, he dismissed them with in his mind.  Fools, always looking to visions for guidance.  True warriors guide themselves.

     "And this is why you wasted our time by calling a Grand Kurultai?"

     "Allow me to finish, Khan Taney," Howell asked contemptuously, silencing the lanky aerospace pilot with a glare.  "When we entered the system and began burning toward this new Terra, we discovered a Wolf Clan DropShip in orbit.  We checked it's ID through our database.  The ship was one of the vessels taken by Phelan Kell into the Inner Sphere with the other traitor Wolves."  Howell went to pause but when he noticed a couple mouths begin to move, he quickly resumed.  "And, just before I jumped out from Huntress, I received a signal from my aide Ratache Osis, whom I had left on the new Terra.  His Star was engaged by two Stars from Phelan Kell's Command Trinary and he was forced to accept hegira to prevent his destruction.  The traitor Wolves and their false-Khan have already begun their own movement onto this world."

     At that moment, everything became clear to the assembled Khans.  Stuttering from his disbelief, Taney stated, "This... this is a shortcut to the Inner Sphere?  We must have it then!  We cannot allow the enemy to have this gateway!"  The eagerness in his eyes betrayed his own thoughts on the potential of this new bridge.  With it, the Home Clans could finally join the Invasion, something that was obviously in Taney's mind for his own Clan.  "We will take control of this world and prepare for a second opening to the invasion of the Inner Sphere!"

     "It is humorous to me, Khan Taney," Vlad Ward cut in, "that you would pit your Clan into battle so soon, when it has not yet been tried against our enemy, nor does it have any information on the state of the world it would have to take first."

     "Our Clan needs no preparation, we are ready to fight now," Taney rebutted.  "And if this world is truly as inferior as Galaxy Commander Howell says, we will easily occupy them.

     "No, the Wolf is correct," Lincoln Osis rumbled.  "We need to know more about the enemy before we move in.  And as recent battles on that world showed, even their weapons could harm us, and their numbers would swamp us.  It may be advisable to..."

     "Khan Osis, may I speak?"

     The heads of all the Khans turned toward von Krager, who showed no emotion on his face at his interruption.  "Howell, silence your freeborn guest," Karianna Schmitt demanded.  "He cannot speak until he is bidden."

     Howell and Osis exchanged glances, and after a moment Osis nodded.  "Your guest may speak, Galaxy Commander."

     "Danke, Khan Osis."  Von Krager cleared his throat and stepped up in front of the other Khans, not betraying a hint of whatever intimidation he may have felt.  "Galaxy Commander Howell tells me that you are crusading to reunite the fallen Star League, much as our armies are crusading to unite our planet.  Our enemies both desire to resist our attempts at re-establishing unity.  Therefore, we have a common goal and a common foe.  I suggest we act together to further our missions of unity.  We will supply you with aid, and troops, to defeat our enemies, and then to aid you against yours."

     "You have no BattleMechs, nor battlesuits," Asa Taney responded, "you could not possibly aid us.  No, it is better if you simply stand aside and allow us to deal with the situation."

     "Do not be a fool, Khan Taney."  The heads of the assembled Khans turned toward Cassius N'Buta.  "It will take tremendous resources for us to suppress enemy forces on this planet and hold such territories from the Inner Sphere.  I would suggest we take a different approach."

     "And what approach would that be, Khan N'Buta?", Marthe Pryde asked of him.

     "Your soldiers, Feldmarschall, can be trained in the use of our war machines," Khan N'Buta answered, looking at von Krager.  "The Star Adder Clan would like to put forward a motion that all Clans donate 'Mech material and trainers to help the forces of this UN master the use of BattleMechs, and for the relocation or building of production facilities in their territories.  This will provide our industrial base with the needed boost so it can be ready to power a full invasion of the Inner Sphere.  And, by training their forces in the use of BattleMechs, we could secure a sizable allied force to aid us in the Crusade."

     "You would allow freebirth warriors to pilot our BattleMechs, Khan N'Buta?", Osis rumbled with more than a hint of disapproval.

     "I am aware of the Smoke Jaguar distaste for freeborn warriors, Khan Osis," N'Buta stated impatiently, "but practicality must be our guide if we wish to restore the Star League.  Trained properly, the people on this world can be of great asset to us.  We must not squander that."

     "Khan N'Buta has a good point," another snake-masked Khan, this one on a video screen, agreed.  "Just because they are freeborn does not mean that they cannot fight.  And every one of their warriors who falls is a Clan warrior who does not.  The Steel Vipers second the Star Adder motion."

     "Very well."  Kael Pershaw inputted something on his noteputer with his mechanical hand..  "All for the motion?"

     At first no one responded.  After a moment of speaking with each other, Lincoln Osis and Benjamin Howell voted against it.  Cassius N'Buta and Tabitha Paik retorted with their own votes in favor of.  The Steel Vipers agreed with them, as did the Khans of the Wolves, Ice Hellions, and Hell's Horses.  When it was all said and done, there were six nay votes against twenty five aye votes.  The Khans of the Snow Ravens and one Cloud Cobra Khan, Din Steiner, had abstained.  Kael Pershaw banged a small gavel on his desk.  "Very well," he stated wearily, "the motion carries.  Are there any challenges?"

     For a moment, Lincoln Osis's mouth hung open, but he did not state anything.  "There are no calls for a Trial of Refusal?", Pershaw persisted in asking.

     "None, Loremaster," Osis answered.  "We will respect the Grand Council's decision, and even give some aid in it.  However, we move that until an ilKhan is elected, we only begin preparations for actual troop movements onto this world.  Individual Clans may, of course, choose to send troops and surplus 'Mechs to begin training, but a concentrated effort can only come with an ilKhan leading us."

     "I second his motion," Ian Hawker added.

     The vote went through and was approved unanimously.  "Then, today's business is concluded?"

     "Aff."

     Pershaw nodded and pounded the gavel again.  "We are dismissed."

 

 

     The empty office for the Khan of the Smoke Jaguars was spartan, with only a desk and some chairs to go with the inbuilt holovid monitor in the wall.  That monitor was inactive, leaving the room silent until von Krager and Howell entered.  Howell silently shut the door behind him while von Krager placed a package on the desk.  "You were right, Russou," von Krager stated happily.  "They did go along with it."

     "Aff, I knew they would," Howell answered while walking up.

     "Will your Khans be angry that your actions have forced them into something they are obviously uncomfortable with?"

     "Lincoln Osis is more concerned with a bid for ilKhan," Howell answered, "and will not pose us a threat politically.  Not with actions in your favor being so strongly supported by the Clans as a whole.  Besides, he knows that while they are busy fighting with the Inner Sphere at the opening of the rifts, we will have a clear path to Terra.  The Wolves and the other Invading Clans have been weakened and the Ghost Bears have suddenly showed a lack of stomach for the Crusader cause, so their renewal of the invasion will be prolonged and restrained."

     "So, we are your diversion."  Von Krager smiled widely and pulled a couple of bottles out of a bag.  "Would you like a glass of some fine Bavarian beer?"

     Howell waved him off.  "I cannot, I will have a staff meeting for my Galaxy command in a few hours and I must remain sober."

     "Ah, very well, then this should do you good."  Von Krager took out another pair of bottles filled with an orange drink from the package.  "A strong drink, but without the nasty side effects of alcohol."  He handed one to Howell.  "I have taken a liking to it in the past few years, especially after we occupied Scotland, where it is manufactured."

     Howell read the writing on the blue paper around the bottle and tried to pronounce the name in large letters.  "'Urn Brew'?"

     "Actually, I believe the pronunciation is closer to 'Iron Brew', but I would not worry too much on the attempt.  Only the Scots can actually pronounce it!"  Von Krager chuckled for a moment while Howell twisted the cap and apprehensively put the liquid in his mouth.  He seemed to shudder for a moment, as if to adjust to the strength of the taste, while von Krager continued on.  "They scorned me in there.  Not because they know me personally and detest me, but because I am not born from one of your iron wombs and from the genes of your past warriors."

     "Yes, a dislike of freebirths in positions such as yours can be quite strong within the Clans," Howell replied before taking another drink.  When he quickly swallowed it, he added, "Especially my Clan."

     "And you?  What do you think of me?  Am I deserving of your scorn?"

     "I would say not," Howell replied.  "You have the eye of a warrior, of a leader, and I respect that.  Fighting the Inner Sphere has shown me that freebirths can be good warriors.  Rarely as good as we, but they can get there.  Now, I would like to know everything."

     Von Krager finally took a drink from his own bottle of orange liquid.  "Know everything, Russou?"

     "Everything, Reinhard."  Howell put his drink down and leveled a gaze at von Krager.  "For the past ten days I have explained to you the intricacies of Clan society, and our history as the true descendants and heirs of the Star League.  Now, I wish to know where you stand.  What your society's goals are."

     "I believe Chairman Giuseppe answered those questions," von Krager answered candidly before beginning to drink again.

     Howell guffawed.  Loudly.  "Giuseppe is a madman and we both know that!  The man has no grasp on reality!"

     Von Krager swallowed and began to laugh.  "You are correct.  Armand is quite mad.  But that madness only needs direction.  Direction I provide.  You see, I was with Armand since the beginning, since before the war when he began his crusade.  Unfortunately, after becoming Secretary-General of the UN, the stresses got to be too much for Armand.  And when the Russians went to war with us, well, that was the breaking point for Armand's mind.  He lost himself after that, and to keep his dream alive I was forced to take some measures."

     He was answered by a nod from the Clan officer.  "I see.  You know, you are in a position to remove Giuseppe, if you so desired.  Has the thought ever crossed your mind?"

     Von Krager raised an eyebrow.  "As in, have him killed in a coup?"

     "I believe that is one of the ways it can be expressed, yes."

     Without any hint of emotion von Krager took another drink.  After swishing it around in his mouth, he began speaking again.  "Admittedly," he began, "I have realized the dangers of having Armand's mental state in such a precarious position.  When his daughter Antonia was assassinated I even considered asking him to take a leave of absence to cope with his grief, but I have realized that it is Armand who has the cult of personality built around him.  He is our century's version of Benito Mussolini, or Winston Churchill, in that he is a fiery speaker and is able to inspire the people of our world with his words and his strength of will.  I have no such cult.  So I am left in his shadow, helping to ensure his energies are properly directed."

     Howell took a drink and considered von Krager's answer.  "And, what do you think of an alliance between the Clans and your government?  We help you take control, you provide us with workers for our industries and allow us to garrison your world.  Perhaps even ask for your soldiers to join ours in furthering the Crusade to reclaim the Inner Sphere."

     "I believe the saying is, 'You scratch my back, I scratch yours.'"

     "That is good."  Howell met von Krager in the eye.  "Very good.  Now, you mentioned some of the things in the past, about Chairman Giuseppe's daughter and the beginning of your war, and I would be interested in knowing more detail so I can report it to my Khan."

     "I will gladly fill you in, Russou."  Von Krager grinned.  "Most gladly."

 

 

Grand Ballroom, Royal Court

The Triad

Tharkad City, Tharkad

District of Donegal, Lyran Alliance

14 December 2015 S.E.C.

3 October 3058 I.S.C.

 

 

     The Grand Ballroom of the Triad's Royal Court, the seat of Lyran power, had been converted into a massive conference chamber.  Tables were assembled for each of the assembled Inner Sphere realms, as well as ComStar, and every leader of the Inner Sphere was present for the first time since the marriage of Hanse Davion and Melissa Steiner, the wedding that had begun the 4th Succession War.  But the spirit here was different than the last occasion.  Each leader knew why they had been assembled, namely, the overwhelming Clan threat.  And they knew what had to be done.

     However, none had expected the news they had been greeted with.

     The leaders were organized into groups arranged by table.  The tables were arranged as an octagon that had a podium and dais at the head of it for the speaker.  The speaker's back was to the stairs that led to the stairway exit of the ballroom.  In the middle of the octagon was a circle of holographic projection plates for the attendees to view.  From the podium's left to right, the tables were arranged first with the joint ComStar-Rasalhague table where Haakon Magnusson was seated.  Magnusson's presence was more courtesy than necessity, the vast majority of his Rasalhague Republic had been conquered by the Wolf and Ghost Bear Clans during the Invasion, and it's political survival was merely because of ComStar's intervention at Tukkayid.  His nation's destruction showed on Magnusson's features, an expression of perpetual fatigue on his face.

     Victor Steiner-Davion's Federated Commonwealth was next, where Victor was seated with Morgan Hasek-Davion and Jerry Cranston.  Victor had a great stature in politics as the leader of a Successor State, but in physical stature he was not quite as impressive.  While certainly healthy and athletic, he also had inherited some unknown dwarf genes in his respective families that had left him at just about five foot three in height, or just over 1.6 meters as he tended to refer to it to.  His lack of height brought much amusement to some of his friends and foes, and it's fair share of Napoleon remarks.  The blue-gray eyes he had inherited from his father's side, while the blond hair was something he had gotten from his mother.  Flanking him, his cousin Marshal of the Armies Morgan Hasek-Davion had the standard Davion red hair, which was long and worn in the Hasek style over the back of his uniform.  Jerry Cranston kept a solid eye on the podium, not looking in the direction of the Lyran table, and took a moment to brush his hand on the bushy blond beard that hung from his chin.

     The next table was for the St. Ives Compact.  Seated there was Duchess Candace Liao, a woman of advanced age who still managed to give an appearance of power with her cold eyes.  With her sat her eldest son and heir, and the arguably best MechWarrior in the Inner Sphere, Kai Allard-Liao.  Almond-shaped gray eyes and dark hair were the trademark features on his face, less obvious being the somewhat wide and lightly pointed nose.  Sitting with them were the Kells, due to the generosity of Candace through Victor's request.  Phelan had in his hand the original print compact disc that Andrews had given Morgan at the launch pad back on "Scorched Earth", as it had come to be called, and looked at it warily.  They had viewed it at Arc-Royal before coming and knew just what Andrews had meant when he had told them that it was "proof" of the evil in Giuseppe's regime.  Aside from Morgan and Phelan, only Ranna, Dan Allard, and Marco Hall had seen the video on it.  It had not only sickened them beyond belief, it had also removed any apprehension toward fighting on the world.

     The table to their left was directly across the octagon from the dais and podium, and seated the Lyran contingent.  Phelan found it difficult to hide his displeasure with the lead occupant, Archon Katherine Steiner-Davion, or "Katrina Steiner" as she was going by.  She was the second of the Steiner-Davion line, born two years after Victor, and not cursed with the same genes that had made him short.  Long golden-blond hair flowed down to her shoulders.  Physically she was not a soldier, but she was a healthy young female of twenty six years, and held a significant amount of physical attraction in her figure.  The people of the Lyran Alliance adored her as the "virgin princess", a reputation she had fought to uphold, as well as a peacekeeper.  What few of them realized was that underneath her gentle and charming external self was a meglomaniac totally devoted to one thing: her own personal power.  Katherine Steiner-Davion wanted nothing less than to be the most powerful person in mankind's history, to have absolute control over every single human being in existance.  Her ambition knew no limits and boundaries.  In her time she had betrayed her brother, attempted to ally with the Smoke Jaguars before aligning herself with Vladimir Ward and his Crusader Wolves, and above all, had helped the late Ryan Steiner pay for the assassination of her own mother Melissa, an act that had been blamed not on her but on the more obvious beneficiary, Victor, and had claimed the life of Salome Ward Kell, Morgan's wife and Phelan's mother.  Katrina had, sadly, inherited her mother's beauty and charm and her father's ambition and drive, but none of their personal virtues.  Her ego matched her meglomania, as was shown by the fact that two pinpoint lights had been erected over her specifically to highlight her, as if to create the illusion that she was an enlightened woman.

     On her left sat the Free Worlds League delegation, headed by Thomas Marik, and his eldest child, Isis.  Thomas had aged well, although scarring on his face told of the assassination attempt of 3035 that killed his brother Duggan and his father Janos.  Thomas was perhaps the most respected and effective Marik leader in over a century, and the irony was he was not even a Marik, but a ComStar-planted double.  Only a scant few knew the truth, namely Victor, Jerry, and Victor's security head Curaitis, the truth being discovered thanks to genetic tests run at the NAIS that compared Isis Marik's DNA to that of the late Joshua Marik.  It was a trump card Victor was holding.  One he hoped would not have to be played.  As it stood, Thomas Marik may have struck at the Federated Commonwealth and set it's split into motion, but he was also the leader of the one Inner Sphere industrial powerhouse untouched by war in the recent decades, and League stability would be essential to the successful prosecution of the war against the Clans.  Isis, who had for some reason chosen to sit with her father and not her fiancé, was five years Victor's junior, merely twenty three years of age, with chestnut-colored hair and shining brown eyes.  Isis was somewhat of a enigma on her own, always in the shadow of her father or her fiancé Sun-Tzu.  She was definitely beautiful in the European sense of the word, with a slender figure and pleasing appearance.

     Next came the Draconis Combine's table.  Coordinator Theodore Kurita, the leader of the Draconis Combine, sat between his son and heir Hohiro on the right and his advisor Narimasa Asano on the left.  In the first row of seats behind and slightly above the central octagon, Theodore's only daughter Omi was seated.  Her shining blue eyes, a byproduct of some Scandanavian genes in the Kuritan line, were looking nowhere in particular, yet still seemed to shine happily in Victor's mind.  The slight trace of a smile appeared on her face as she appeared to make a momentary glance in his direction.  Their relationship was something that was loved among scandalvids and tabloid news.  And there was some truth to it.  They had met on Outreach in 3051 for the meeting between Inner Sphere lords on the Clan invasion.  It had literally been love at first sight; a romance reminiscient of star-crossed lovers throughout history in the grand tradition of Romeo and Juliet.  And like the Montagues and Capulets of that Shakespearan tragedy, their families were hated rivals who had fought over their respective borders for centuries.  The Draconis March of the Federated Suns, from which Victor's Davion heritage hailed and his only remaining seat of power, had particular hatred of the Kuritas, due to centuries of bloodshed.  They were merely one obstacle that stood between Victor and Omi having any serious relationship.  The only passion they had been able to share was a single kiss, on Arc-Royal three years before, and while both were certainly desiring more, their respective duties prevented such a tryst.

     The final table was occupied by the delegation from the Capellan Confederation, Sun-Tzu Liao and Wu Kang Kuo, the commander of the Harloc Raiders and the only Capellan unit thus far to have been faced with combat against the Clans.  Sun-Tzu was more intelligent and clever than he let on, playing the village idiot of the Successor States well to hide his his keen intellect and quick mind.  He had set up the perfect marriage to Isis Marik, so as to counter the now-fractured Federated Commonwealth, and had struck gold with his plan to make Thomas think his son Joshua was a double, having never imagined that Victor had actually done such a switch.  Xin Sheng was the key phrase for his "new" Capellan Confederation, previously broken, and on the rebound with the recovery of large swaths of territory in the former Sarna and Tikonov Marches of the Federated Commonwealth.

     From his position as the unofficial "chairman" of the meeting, ComStar's Precentor-Martial Anastasius Focht led the proceedings from the podium.  Focht, the hero of Tukkayid, who had defeated the Clan war machine in the most brutal combat since Kerensky's return to Terra nearly three centuries before.  Focht's gray hair was long, draped over his shoulders, and testament to his age.  His right eye had been lost in a battle wound long ago and was covered by a patch.  Despite his advanced age Focht showed no fatigue in his stance; his spine was perfectly rigid and kept him in a stern posture.

     Originally the order of business would simply be discussing a join operation against the Clans, but the discovery by the Kells had changed things drastically.  Victor and Focht had already known about the rifts and the threat they had created, as had Hohiro and Kai, seated beside their respective parents.  The other Inner Sphere leaders took the news with a mix of shock and disbelief.  The situation had been altered terribly.  The shortcut from the Clan Homeworlds to the Inner Sphere was an ominous threat, threatening them all with destruction.  No longer could the Clans' long supply lines from their homeworlds be expected to keep them slow.  Now they had a base from which the power a full-scale invasion that would surpass the original invasion in applied manpower, and introduce multiple Clans into the fray at once.  "Duke Kell," Focht said from his standing position, "what is the current status of operations now on this alternate Terra?"

     "My son's Wolves have deployed three Clusters to North America, to act as deterrent for the Smoke Jaguars and to prevent the UN from advancing any farther," Morgan answered.  "I have arranged for some of the Kell Hounds' best training equipment to be transferred to training facilities on the world, likely three in North America, one in Australia, and if we can arrange it, one in the British Loch Ness underwater base to aid the British Resistance should they gain access to BattleMechs."

     "And the Clans?", Victor asked from his seat.

     "The Smoke Jaguars have sent a couple of Clusters, but no other Clan has arrived yet in force," Phelan replied for his father.  "We have tracked some transport DropShips making the transit from what we assume to be Huntress to Scorched Earth."

     "Scorched Earth, Khan Kell?".  Theodore Kurita's expression became quizzical.

     "A name that my Wolves have given the world."  Phelan swallowed.  "Every continent save for South America has been touched by war.  Several cities in China, Russia, and Asia have been destroyed or depopulated by nuclear weapons.  This tally includes major population centers in New York City and around Beijing.  Casualty estimates are approaching seven hundred million, and that is an inaccurate tally by the United States of America based on available intel."

     A rumble filled the room.  It was not the actual number that caused so much shock and noise, since the first two Succession Wars had each killed more, but the fact that all of this had happened on one planet, and in the short space of just four years opposed to the seventy years of the first two Succession Wars, was cause for tremendous horror.  The slaughter it provoked in their minds was something that no one present could bring themselves to comprehend, and thus most immediately dismissed the figure, likely as propaganda.  "What would you have us do for this world, Duke Kell?", Thomas Marik asked.  "And how will this effect our own operations against the Clans?"

     "That cannot be certain, Captain-General, until we decide upon a target for our forces," Morgan answered.  "But as for Scorched Earth, I believe that it is in our best interests, and the best interest of our humanity, to give them aid.  To give them BattleMechs, trainers to train them in using them, and the equipment to train with as well as apply on the battlefield.  Also, we should send as much equipment as possible to ascertain which members of their population are capable of using BattleMechs."

     Theodore Kurita lifted his hand, indicating he wished to speak.  "How?"

     "Using neurohelmets connected to simulation computers to detect the neurological capabilities of the person the helmet is attached to," Morgan replied.  "It will enable us to determine those who are most able to pilot a BattleMech effectively, and we will arrange for them to receive actual training."

     "What kind of training, Duke Kell?", Candace Liao asked.  "Aside from the Training Battalions deployed by the Davion military, it takes years for us to train our MechWarriors.  These people do not have three years."

     "I know, Duchess," Morgan answered.  "However, to teach them the basics of BattleMech combat, it would take a mere three months, perhaps as quickly as a month."

     Morgan Hasek-Davion's head snapped up.  "Duke Kell, you would ask these people to face some of the best MechWarriors the Clans have to offer with only three months or less of BattleMech training?"

     "If we had another choice, Duke Hasek-Davion, we would take it," Morgan answered.  "But the Clans must be beaten here, and they must be held in check on Scorched Earth, if not driven off the planet entirely.  The free people of this world are already desperately fighting to hold what they have, they are already painfully aware of the sacrifices that must be made.  I have read the reports, watched combat footage, these people have fighting spirit that would rival or exceed any of our soldiers.  They are not fighting for their dukes or their Houses.  They are fighting for their homes, their families, their very way of life."  Morgan swallowed.  "I have fought for most of my life, but never have I seen anything quite so spiritually moving as their grim defiance in the face of defeat, a defiance that appeals to me as a leader, as a warrior, and as a human being.  Their spirit is a lost art amongst our nations, because our very nature is to tolerate domestic belief systems and customs on any planets we take from each other.  That has been the rule among us for centuries.  Even the Clans have respected this, but this Armand Giuseppe and his United Nations do not.  Any culture they decide is subversive they work tirelessly to destroy."

     A harsh laugh came from the Capellan table, and all eyes turned to Sun-Tzu Liao.  "This is so very touching, Grand Duke Kell, but the fact is, these people are but a handful compared to the people of the Inner Sphere.  I am more concerned with the Clans themselves, not these humans from a time long past.  Why should we aid these people at all?  They are no use to us, all we must do is make sure they have enough arms to keep the Clans off balance while we finish them off."

     "In other words, you want to use them as cannon fodder," Victor retorted angrily.

     "Precisely, Prince Victor," Sun-Tzu replied.  "Why should they deserve any different than our own troops, who will likely die by the thousands against the Clans?  I say, if they are so willing to fight the impossible, let them.  Let them fight all they want against the Clans.  They are not worth any aid we send, they are a mere distraction.  I see no reason to even oppose letting the Clans take them over."

     "Chancellor Sun-Tzu, perhaps you forget that this doorway threatens my people too," Katrina said in a subdued but angry tone.

     "You would let the Clans conquer them?", Morgan asked.  "Even though the Clans will undoubtedly allow Giuseppe and his bloodthirsty regime to remain in power, and give them power over the entire planet?"

     "Bloodthirsty regime, Grand Duke Kell?  Do not be so naive!"  Sun-Tzu pointed toward Theodore Kurita.  "How many millions has the Combine taken in it's own internal purges and suppressions?  How many died because of the ambitions of the Davions?  In the internal wars of the Free Worlds League?  We are all guilty of shedding the blood of millions, both amongst our own people and our neighbors."  Sun-Tzu folded his hands.  "I remain unswayed.  I suggest we do no more than to support these people in a guerrila war.  Equipping them to the point where they can carry their own weight will be prohibitive to our main cause here, namely, the destruction of the Clans in the Inner Sphere."  His expression hardened.  "I do not intend for the blood of loyal Capellans to be spilled on some alien world for the sake of some decadent ancient societies such as this 'United States of America'.  And I would go as far as to suggest that none of your people would be willing to do the same.  Do you think, Prince Victor, that the people of your Draconis March will be willing to send their sons and daughters to die on this 'Scorched Earth' when they could very easily hold the line against their traditional foes, the Combine?  Or that Duke Hasek-Davion's own Capellan March will agree to shed their blood when they could instead keep their dagger positioned at my throat?  Will the people of the Combine or the Lyran Alliance be happy exerting their force for these faceless people instead of freeing their own worlds?  How many of your people, Captain-General Marik, will want to waste their efforts..."

     "My people will do what is right for all of us," Theodore countered before Sun-Tzu could finish.  "Holding this world will distract the Home Clans, and even some of the Invading Clans.  It will enable us to have time to pick a target before their invasion is renewed."

     "As for my own," Katrina jumped in, "unlike your own state, the Lyran people respect individual freedom.  And we also can sympathize with people who are fighting for their very existance.  Therefore I think you underestimate our willingness to go through with this operation, and I would kindly ask you to not assign motives to us that benefit your own illusions."

     Victor and Jerry both displayed surprised expressions at Katrina's sudden entry into the conversation.  "My sister is correct," Victor spoke up.  "If there is one thing that the Davion and Lyran peoples have in common, it's respect for the rights of the common person.  I stand with her on this matter."  Having to back his treacherous sister left a sour taste in Victor's mouth, but he knew it had to be done.  Wisdom can come from even the worst of people, Victor thought wryly.

     Thomas Marik nodded slowly while Candace leveled a gaze at her nephew.  Before she could speak, Morgan continued.  "You are correct, Chancellor, that all Houses are guilty of horrible bloodshed, but I think none, not even Amaris, can compare to what I am about to show you.  It is not propaganda or a trick, ComStar's best video analyists have already confirmed that it is genuine, and cannot be faked by anything of their technological level.  The American President entrusted it to me to keep it secret, it is something that they understandably do not wish to get out to the general public to maintain the security of their deep cover agents.  Phelan?"

     Phelan stood up and took the CD in hand.  He walked over to a specialized data reader that had been jury-rigged for reading CD-ROM discs of that specific format.  He slipped it into the drive, and brought up the menu display.  "Begin with file 1," he ordered the operator.  The operator promptly began opened the file, and the holoprojection plates began displaying a 3D construct of what was obviously a two-dimensional recording.  It was at an upper angle, obviously a camera in the ceiling of the room, perhaps in the corner of the ceiling and a wall.  It depicted a white-skinned woman that had been stripped naked and strapped in a T-shape to a table, with either arm completely horizontal to either side and held to the table's arms at the wrist.  Physically she was attractive, if a bit muscular from extensive physical training.  Her easily-defined breasts heaved as she breathed in and out from the anxiety she was under.  Her brown hair was short, standard for infantry soldiers as Victor knew them.  A group of uniformed individuals were standing around her, attaching small white objects to her legs, arms, neck, and on spots of her chest, including one each to cover her nipples and one placed over her navel.  A gruff voice asked, "Name your battalion, the location of it's headquarters, and it's operational mission."

     The woman on the screen swallowed and began to reply.  "Harverson, Rebecca Lynn.  Corporal, United States Marine Corps.  Date of birth, September 12th 1995.  Serial Num..."  A low buzz cut her off, and Harverson's body began trembling violently as she howled from the top of her lungs.

     "Answer unacceptable.  Name your battalion, the location of..."

     "Pause it!"  Sun-Tzu waited for the operator to pause it, and seemed mystified even as some of the faces in the room began to pale.  "What is going on here?  What is this supposed to be?"

     Victor rolled his eyes in disgust, and even Isis seem perturbed at her fiancé's apparent difficulty in recognizing what was being presented.  From across the room and through the two holographic images between them, Morgan Kell's eyes glared at Sun-Tzu with cold rage as he slowly rose to his feet.  "I believe the term you are looking for, Chancellor, is 'torture'."  He looked over at the operator.  "Now, continue."

     The operator nodded and hit a key on his panel.  The image began moving again, as the woman answered, "Harverson, Rebecca Lynn.  Corporal, United..."  The buzz returned as she began to scream again.  For three minutes, the cycle continued.  Her interrogators became more and more demanding as they repeated their questions, and the woman would simply begin reciting her name and begin to suffer more electrocution.  Victor stared at the young woman, and like most of the others in the room, could not help but feel sympathy for her.  The interrogators hurt her more with each answer they don't like, and yet she has not even broken down into tears yet, she simply stares at the ceiling and begins to recite her personal information.  No wonder Morgan and Phelan respect these people, if she's their norm.

     "It only gets worse," Victor could hear Morgan warning Candace.

     And it did.

     After the fourth minute, the electrodes on the young woman's body were removed.  A pair of large men were brought in, and an exchange in German made that Victor thought he understood to be an equivalent to, "It is your turn, break her", in English.  But even he was not prepared for what happened next.  One of the men climbed on top of the woman, and it took about eight seconds after he got in his position for Victor to realize that he was raping her, and when he did his heart crawled up into his throat and stifled him with the agony of horror at the sight.  The woman Harverson did not do so much as scream, the most sound she would give to her abusers was a low whimper.  Tears finally did appear on her face as she gasped loudly just as the man atop her began to gyrate, but she did not cry openly, only looking away from him and toward the wall on the camera's side of the room.  Victor could see the blood draining from everyone's face.  Omi had already broken into controlled sobs at the young woman's suffering, Isis was clutching her father as he balled his fist, barely containing his rage.  Even Katrina found herself unable to speak from the pure horror.  If anything, Phelan's reaction showed he had already seen it, and Victor could only imagine how he had acted during the first viewing.

     When the first man was done, a second replaced him.  He screamed at her, and when she did not answer he began to beat her.  Victor heard crying behind him, and turned to see Yvonne stumbling out of the room weeping.  Tancred Sandoval quickly followed her, whether for concern over Yvonne or his own inability to watch the video was anyone's guess.  A moment later a cry diverted his attention to another delegate, a duke from one of the Melissia Province worlds, who stumbled out with his histerical wife, both of them obviously sickened at the sight as Harverson's cries of torment filled the Grand Ballroom.  Her tormentor's blows blackened both of her eyes, broke her nose, and cracked her lips.  During his own moments of climax he gripped her breasts so hard that his fingernails drew blood, and his hands left imprints.  He growled something at her and bit one of her nipples, drawing blood with his teeth, before he climbed off, taking the time to slap her across the cheek before walking away.  With this portion done, the other interrogators entered and asked her, "Have you suffered enough?  Will you cooperate?"

     Harverson's head lifted slowly.  "I will die first," she rasped painfully.

     "Death will be long for you, and we have ways to ensure that you will be turned into a loyal citizen of the Chairman's glorious New Order," one of the interrogators, a woman with a German accent, said sinisterly.

     "Fuck you!"  Harverson tried to spit at them, but her mouth had already run out of saliva.  "I'll die before I follow that son of a bitch!", she screamed angrily.

     The interrogators looked at each other, and began retrieving the electrodes again.

     "I think that's enough," Focht said to Phelan in a strong voice that hid his own terror.  Phelan tapped a button and ended the recording.  Murmuring filled the room among those who remained.  Victor swallowed and feared that his stomach would not hold down his breakfast at the horrid sight.  Poor woman, he thought.  How could human beings do such a thing?  And how could anyone face such pain and humiliation with so much dignity?  Victor looked at Phelan and asked, "How... how old was she?"

     "This recording is time stamped 21 April 2015," Phelan replied.  "Considering the birthdate she supplied, she was about nineteen and a half years of age."

     Now Victor's stomach was truly in turmoil.  A teenage girl.  She was only a teenage girl?!  Monsters!  A horrible image crossed Victor's mind, as he realized that Rebecca Harverson had been the same age as Yvonne was now.  The thought of his little sister suffering through such an ordeal chilled his heart and made him choke.  He could see Omi across the room, holding her own feelings in well, and Victor felt the urge to hold her close to comfort her.  But how could he comfort her when he himself had no comfort?  Victor's mind was reeling at it all, the sheer inhumanity of torturing a nineteen year old girl in such a brutal fashion offended every fiber of his being and ignited a cold burning rage within his soul.  He could see the blank and angry expression in the face of Theodore Kurita and his entourage.  Isis had begun crying openly, and her father had let her bury her face into his right shoulder without any resistance, Thomas Marik himself obviously barely containing his own rage.  He should feel no true loyalty to her since she's not his real daughter, but that can't be fake.  I think Thomas really does care for Isis, Victor realized.  He continued surveying expressions.  Haakon Magnusson was obviously effected, as was Wu Kang Kuo.  Sun-Tzu seemed to be in a hypnotic state that made his emotions impossible to detect.  Katrina was still pure white, Nondi Steiner was simply shaking her head, and Tormano was expressionless despite his obvious discomfort.  Having known Kai for so long, Victor could tell that his old friend was obviously enraged, but holding that rage in with his tremendous self-control.  Candace's eyes flashed with her own inner rage, and Morgan simply shook his head, having obviously seen the image before and regretting have to endure the horror again.  "What... do we know what happened to her?", Morgan Hasek-Davion asked meekly, his voice stolen by his own emotion.

     "Yes, we do, if this report is true."  Phelan took out a sheet of paper from a folder.  "It was printed from that CD's text files and translated into English by the Americans.  Subject USMC-76, name; Rebecca Harverson.  Subject admitted to Albany Human Behavorial Research Center on 24 April 2015 after three days of unsuccessful attempts to extract information by field interrogators of Bridgeport Interrogation Facility.  Standard electrical exposure was undertaken to test subject's stamina, subject deemed strong enough to likely withstand deprogramming process.  First session was probing session of two hours.  Shock rods were used to probe subject rectally, orally, and...", Phelan stumbled over the next word with a choke, "vaginally.  Probe session followed by sexual victimization session.  Four male officers of the Verteidiger der Ordnung were involved in victimizing subject for a period of no less than four hours.  Electrical shock session followed for a period of five hours.  Subject put into sleep deprivation program, placed in sleep deprivation cell overnight."

     "Sleep deprivation?", Jerry Cranston asked.

     "She was chained naked to a wall," Phelan answered.  "The restraints were attached to an intermittent electrical current that shocked her every minute or so, preventing her from sleeping."  Phelan looked back down and swallowed.  "According to the report, Corporal Harverson was subjected to rape sessions, probe sessions, and electrocution for the next five days.  She survived the abuse, every night either being drugged into sleep or placed into the sleep deprivation cell.  They expected her to achieve psychological collapse at any time."

     Kai looked over at Phelan.  "Psychological collapse?"

     "Again, the reports state that this deprogramming process, well, to be blunt," Phelan drew in a breath, "they torture, drug, and humiliate a person until the person dies from the abuse or their personality is wiped away by a complete psychological breakdown brought on by the abuse.  Then the person is reprogrammed into a loyal member of their secret police organization.  In all likelihood, the torturers we have seen so far were themselves victims of this process," Phelan said.

     Victor could do nothing more than bury his face in his hands as Phelan continued.  "However, on the fifth night, Harverson apparently knew what was going to happen, and carried through on her promise.  According to the report, Harverson took her own life during the sixth night at the facility.  She... slammed her head repeatedly against the wall she was chained to, and did it so severely that internal bleeding in her brain killed her by morning."

     If anything, several faces seemed to lighten, if just in the knowledge that the brave young girl they had just been introduced to had died before being broken.  Morgan Hasek-Davion drew in a quick breath and sighed, "God bless her."  Victor envied Harverson, the defiant patriotic pride that she had shown in dying before she let the enemy use her against her own country.  It was the honorable soldier's death, and while she had suffered in such a horrible fashion, she had died nobly and with great honor.  He could see agreement with his sentiment in the face of the Kuritas and Asano.  Their samurai heaven would likely have had a welcome place open for her when she passed beyond.  I finally understand why the Kells are so insistant on aiding them.  These people are heroes.  They fight for something far more simple than an interstellar ruling house like our own citizens, yet they do so with such tenacity and valor that it's hard not to admire them.  And she was fighting still, fighting a hopeless battle to stay who she was, and in the end, she won her battle.  In death, she beat her tormentors.  Victor frowned deeply.  And how can the Clans, who call themselves the true heirs of Kerensky's legacy, claim that they are honorable if they support this monstrous evil?  He got his answer in the next thought, since he knew the Clans were just as opportunistic as any Successor State, and would in all likelihood turn a blind eye if it furthered their Crusade.  Finally, a new horror crawled into his throat, as Victor realized that as they were speaking, people were still suffering under this evil.  Newfound urgency crawled into him, an urgency to go and destroy this evil regime before it could harm anyone else.  But circumstances and location acted against that desire, and Victor felt completely helpless to help the victims of the evil he had just witnessed.

     Victor's thoughts were broken through by the resumption of conversation.  "You call these people insignificant, Chancellor Liao," Phelan spat, "yet this is simply one case of potentially millions.  Men and women tortured to death, or even worse, turned against their own people, their own families, by these monsters!  If we are to revive the Star League and embue it with everything noble about mankind, we must act against this barbarism!"

     "I agree," Victor said, his voice quivering.  "I... I can't understand how people can be so cruel, but I want them stopped.  I don't want other people to suffer as Corporal Harverson did.  That's why I will begin to immediately arrange the transport of BattleMechs to this world, along with trainers from our training battalions and the best sim equipment I can find on short notice.  I want these people to have a fighting chance to crush this evil."

     "So will the Draconis Combine," Theodore Kurita added.  "Seeing these horrors has convinced me that whatever force created the rifts did so as a reason.  One, to enable these monsters to be stopped, two, to teach us a lesson in nobility.  Even the people of the Combine would be hard-pressed to show such courage and honor in the face of such inhumanity.  How can I claim to be a noble and honorable sovereign worthy of their devotion if I turn a blind eye to the sufferings of an equally honorable people?"

     "Their world also traddles an invasion route from the Clan Homeworlds," Katrina added, finally speaking up, "therefore the Lyran Alliance will join my brother and Coordinator Kurita in their aid efforts.  I will even send my General of the Armies to lead the effort with Grand Duke Kell."  It was her turn to be unhappy about following her sibling's example, but she was still suffering under the image of what had happened to Rebecca Harverson, and as a woman it was doubly traumatic for her.

     Focht drew in a sigh.  "I will ask Primus Mori to do the same," he stated wearily.  "We shall further our discussions on this at another time.  I suggest we recess until tomorrow, so we have time to cut our respective orders."

     "The Federated Commonwealth seconds," Victor called out.

     "Any opposed?"  When no one answered, Focht pounded a small gavel.  "Then this conference is recessed until tomorrow."

     Several individuals rushed to the exit right away.  Victor, however, found himself joining Hohiro and Theodore by walking straight over to the Kells.  "Phelan, that CD, you've..."

     "Victor, we chose one of the less graphic examples on the CD," Phelan replied irritably.  "There are even more horrors to be found there.  Executions, the mutiliation of prisoners of war during interrogations, medical experiments, mass gang-rapes that were even more horrible in scope than what happened to this girl, the actual deprogramming sessions where people are degraded into playthings for their torturers.  Even a reprogramming session where they turn their victims into victimizers.  What I have seen has burned itself into my mind.  Death seems somewhat more pleasant now, it's the only way I could ever erase those images."  Phelan swallowed.  "I can only hope that my knowledge of their suffering in some ways honors the people who actually suffered this... this..."  Phelan seemed to be searching for a word to describe it with, but was overwhelmed by the task.  Every word he could apply seemed to be an understatement.  "...this... disgrace."

     "Maybe we should just strike through here?"

     "No."  Phelan drew in a breath.   "We have to destroy a Clan to make our point, making this our focus will not accomplish that.  We shall do as Sun-Tzu suggested, but modify his plan.  While arming them to fight the enemy, and giving them some reinforcement while their own 'Mech forces build up, we will strike one of the other Clans.  I would suggest the Smoke Jaguars at this point, they are on the other side of Clan-held territory in the Inner Sphere and they are the only staunchly Crusader Clan untouched by the Refusal War, thus their annihilation will be harder to explain away."

     "That's spreading our forces out rather well," Kai pointed out.

     "Perhaps, but if we don't, the Home Clans will overwhelm Scorched Earth and drive through to Arc-Royal.  While I can't claim complete lack of bias on the issue of protecting Arc-Royal, the fact is that it's within the Lyran Alliance, and opens up this half of the Inner Sphere to a renewed Clan invasion."  Phelan crossed his arms.  "I think you'll agree that containing them by holding the line with Scorched Earth's free nations is paramount."

     "You will find no disagreement from me, Khan Kell," Theodore stated.  He looked at Victor and drew in a breath to control his raging anger.  "I wonder, are our differences so great that either of our Houses would resort to this barbarism?"

     "I'd like to think not," Victor answered.  "Especially with the leaders our Houses have now.  But seeing this, I wonder just how civilized humanity really is?  These people couldn't be that drastically different from us, our societies have remained rather stable and close to the 21st century model."

     "Men are capable of great evil and great good," Focht said as he approached their gaggle.  He clasped his hands in front of him with the disc held between them and looked every bit the wise man Victor had come to think of him as.  "We cannot disagree that the acts we just saw were mostly those of evil, but the victim herself balanced them with acts of good.  She maintained her dignity, refusing to show weakness in the face of the evil inflicted upon her.  She did not give in, she remained strong, and in the end, she took her own life, and one can only imagine how painful it was for her to accomplish that task.  In the end, her good and their evil were equal in scope, and as it can be put, she was the final victor in the battle for her soul.  It seems to be a balance that has settled upon that troubled world."

     "And we'll have to maintain that balance," Victor answered.  "Maintain it by preventing the Clans from overrunning them."

     "Yes."  Focht turned his neck slightly.  "I must ask, Duke Kell, if this disc contains such secret information, why is it even in existance, and unencrypted?"

     "I can only guess as to the extent of the security measures President Andrews had in measure to protect it," Morgan Kell replied, standing and reaching his hand out to take it, "but I think it is because he wants the record of what happened to these people.  In the event of victory, he would want the evidence of what people like Rebecca Harverson went through so that their memories could be properly maintained.  I believe we can all sympathize."

     "Yes."  Focht took a moment before continuing.  "I think we agree that there is still much work to be done here, but fortunately, within the next few days it will have already begun."

     All nodded in agreement.  "If you will excuse me," Victor began, "I wish to go see how Yvonne is doing."

     "Yes, go on.  As for you two," Focht looked back at the Kells.  "I take it you already have some ideas on how to further their cause even in the face of Clan opposition?"

     "Yes, we do.  My Wolves, by now, have already begun several raids into Jade Falcon space, to claim BattleMechs and supplies as isorla.  The Kell Hounds will also be training the special force units on Scorched Earth in how to take over a BattleMech and pilot it.  I imagine the Clans will be quite unhappy when they start having a Star here and there pilfered and brought back across enemy lines to our side."  Phelan grinned at the thought.

     Focht nodded slowly.  "I have matters I must attend to, Primus Mori must be informed of some of this.  Do I have permission to send her the video copy of this disc?"

     "Make sure it remains secure.  But otherwise, yes, I think it best if the Primus is aware of just what is going on here."  Morgan shook his hand.  "We shall be going on our own, we have business to attend to.  Messages to exchange with Dan, Caitlin, and Marco Hall, to see just how well things are progressing."

     "Yes.  Yes indeed."

     The final gaggle of individuals in the ballroom soon dispersed, and each went off to do their business, forever changed by the horrors they had witnessed.

     By the end of the day, the first orders had been sent out.  The Inner Sphere, and soon the Star League, was on it's way to Scorched Earth.