BattleTech: No Greater Honor (The Complete Eridani Light Horse Chronicles), page 10
GALATEA
ISLE OF SKYE
LYRAN COMMONWEALTH
14 OCTOBER 2999
Ryana itched. She scratched. Wrinkled her nose. Smells like crotch in here. She scratched her scalp (I need a shower) and glanced around the room, realizing she’d been inside these walls for weeks. Leaned back in her chair to stretch her back, her mind wandering beyond the constant, droning voices.
The early days on Galatea had been a whirlwind of excitement. The first encounter with the hiring halls of Galatea City. And entering the largest building, past the huge, rotating doors and the massive rotunda, off which marched three long hallways. Screens absolutely everywhere, bursting with information on every type of mercenary contract imaginable. While, above their heads, a titanic holo of the Inner Sphere rotated. Each world blinking in an array of colors—with various shapes and sizes as well—indicating conflict zones and the corresponding agencies seeking said contracts.
She had spent the first forty hours doing a deep dive just into her noteputer, tapping into that wealth of data. As soon as she’d verified that Colonel Winston had no intention of taking a Free Worlds League contract—she would’ve had something to say about that—she’d spent those heady days digging up whatever details she could find and exploring options she could bring to the colonel.
After all, they were not some down-on-their luck mercenary force, or—she shuddered to think of it (had told her friend Chloe she should stop such dreams!)—a brand new command, without a mark on their resume and only a lance to their name. They were the Eridani Light Horse! Three primed regiments with a legacy that stretched back to the Star League. Their name spoken in the same breath as the best of the mercenary commands in all of human occupied space: McCarron’s Armored Cavalry, the Northwind Highlanders (her old command), and the Light Horse!
Wonderfully, beautiful, exciting days…
…which had slowly devolved to this. She glanced around the dull room and the acidic smell of too much sweat and too many bodies in too small a room.
“Colonel,” Leftenant Colonel Joaquin De Santos said, his emphasis somehow pulling Ryana back to the moment. The small, swarthy man filled his suit very well, despite the mustache she personally disliked. But he’d been knowledgeable and unfailingly polite.
I will not hate your voice. I will not hate your voice. I will not hate your voice…
“I understand and appreciate your desire to secure Independent Command,” the leftenant colonel continued. “Especially considering the incident on Hesperus. But as I’ve stated before, I believe you can review the last century’s worth of mercenary commentary on our employment. There are a few blemishes, to be sure. And I’ve pointed those out as the exception that helps make the rule. But the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns is the largest employer of mercenaries in the Inner Sphere. It behooves us to ensure that you are happy with your employer.”
He paused for a moment, as though ensuring he had their undivided attention, then continued, “I will do anything to advance the cause of House Davion. Not only am I here to personally see that this contract is signed, but I will be your Liaison Officer. While I am far from the throne, I am a Davion by marriage. My wife, Celia Rand-Davion, is not just intelligent, she will be her own boon to you as we always work together. But further, her connection to the throne is my connection to the throne. Is your connection to the throne of the largest Great House in human-occupied space. That is the importance House Davion places on each and every contract. That is the importance we will place on you.”
Smooth. So smooth. She’d tried to find a distaste for the man. Especially as he’d used that gambit three times now in the last few weeks. But despite protestations that she hated his voice, she knew an internal lie when she said it. He’s been nothing but up front and professional. And it’s simply a powerful point of leverage. Why wouldn’t he use it?
I just hate it because men in power have abused it around us too often. She felt a half-truth, and gritted her teeth to get it all out, even if it was just to herself. I just hate it because I’ve been cooped up for so long. Gods, I need to be back in a ’Mech! She’d even contemplated complaining for a moment, but realized doing so in front of a prospective employer… Yeah, Major Nigel—much less Colonel Winston—would give her a dressing down that would leave her unable to sit for a week. After all, she’d practically begged to be a part of these negotiations. She’d just never imagined it would be so…boring!
Seriously, Chloe. If you tell me one more time how you want to start your own mercenary command, I’m going to beat you about the head. Because then you’d drag me into this!
“I’ve reviewed all of the material you’ve provided, Colonel,” Winston said, leaning back; his tank-like frame made his chair squeal alarmingly. “And as I’ve also said, House Davion is an impressive employer.”
“Why we’re here week after week,” Ryana mumbled before she could stop herself, earning a dark look from Major Nigel—nothing from the colonel, but she knew he’d heard and ignored it…for now.
“But we must have that Independent Command. It’s simply non-negotiable.”
Leftenant Colonel Santos rubbed his mustache, then ran his hands down the front of his uniform that sported a burst of gold rays sprouting off his left shoulder, as though he was smoothing a wrinkle only he could see. “I don’t mean to countermand you, Colonel. But I am a Mercenary Liaison, and you are a mercenary. Stepping into any negations with a firm ‘no’ in any category is far too limiting. Perhaps that is why these negotiations are taking so long? As your esteemed brevet major has let it be known.” He nodded in her direction, though he kept his gaze on the colonel.
Ryana just kept the heat from showing in her face. Oh, hell—I’m gonna pay for that later.
“Perhaps we need to look at this from a different perspective,” Santos continued, tapping the noteputer in front of him. “Since our last session, I’ve received new instruction from the throne. Directly from the First Prince himself. He is very keen to add the Light Horse to our stable. Pun intended, of course,” he said, smiling.
Ryana wanted to find insult there, but couldn’t. He’s just so…genuine. She’d spent so many years around House Steiner’s social generals and their incompetence, she didn’t know how to react when what appeared to be a competent and respectful liaison wanted to engage.
“This Third Succession War is dragging on interminably, with no real end in sight,” Santos continued. “Waging a full-scale invasion, even with your potent command, would be costly, to say the least. Perhaps more costly than we wish to bear at the moment. However, that doesn’t mean our enemies still do not have aspirations. Aspirations we need to meet and eliminate.” He paused, taking a long drink from the glass of water at his side, giving Ryana time to surreptitiously scratch at her scalp again. So frustrated with this, not taking care of myself. Chloe would clobber her for that.
“You wish Independent Command,” Santos continued. “And the throne wishes to have Liaison Command. Perhaps…we can meet in the middle.” He paused again, placing fingers on the noteputer, pursing his lips and looking at each of them in turn. “We have had good negotiations so far, Colonel. But what I’m about to share with you is a hint of future military planning. Showing you this, before we have assigned a contract, is a gamble on my part. A gamble I was given the discretion to take. But I hope you fully appreciate that in doing so, I show the deep respect we hold for the Light Horse, and taking you as men and women of honor as we share these details before said contract is secured.”
Ryana sat up a little straighter, fingers practically tingling to look at those details, as Major Nigel and Colonel Winston both nodded gravely.
“We do, in fact, know exactly what this entails and the respect it affords,” the colonel responded. “Regardless of whether this negotiation is successful or not, the Eridani Light Horse has never leaked state secrets, and we are not about to start now. You have our oath.”
Ryana firmly nodded, silently setting her oath next to that pledge.
Leftenant Colonel Santos inclined his head, accepting the promissory statement. He tapped on the keyboard, bringing up data, and then casually flipping the noteputer around for the Horsemen to review.
Ryana eagerly leaned forward. Finally. Some real headway! Her eyes widened as she quickly took in the gist of the details.
“As you can see,” Santos continued, “if we can come to an accord and sign you to House Davion, we will not station you on a single world. Instead, our desire is to use your expertise of reconnaissance-in-force by splitting the Light Horse regiments into battalions and stationing them on nine different worlds, spread across the entire borders of the realm with both the Capellan Confederation and the Draconis Combine. You will then be tasked with said reconnaissance-in-force across those borders. And this is where perhaps a compromise can be found. Each battalion will have its own Liaison Officer.” He touched his chest. “And though I certainly will be one of those, which I very much look forward to, others will also be attached to you. All connected to the throne, of course.”
He paused, giving them time to devour the details, and Ryana found herself sharing a look with Major Nigel; for once, he seemed to struggle to keep a smile from his own face, but it shone brightly in eyes that matched her own. We’d be deployed as our own command. Almost guaranteed I’d get into the field!
“That compromise you were talking about?” Ryana finally said, unable to bank her excitement further. After all, she’d been used as a goad across the weeks of negotiation to catch the leftenant colonel off guard, even if they chastised her now and then for being too much of a stick some days. But if I’m a stick, I gotta hit something sometime!
Santos smiled easily, leaning forward to tap up a new screen that filled with bullet-pointed text. “A selection of guidelines will be given by each liaison,” he said, “taking their cues from the throne. But each liaison will listen carefully to Light Horse commanders when selecting targeted worlds, giving them appropriate consideration. And if a different target is chosen by a liaison—one not agreed on by the Light Horse commander—the liaison must have the backing of at least two other command-level officers. One a mercenary officer in our employ chosen by the liaison, and one an AFFS officer chosen by the Light Horse. Both will review the details: If the target is not confirmed, the Light Horse will choose from secondary targets. However, if they support the liaison’s decision, the Light Horse will move on the target. And of course, even as they move on a target not of their choice, once on-world, the Light Horse will be free to follow their own command decisions to achieve the desired objectives.”
Ryana couldn’t think clearly for a moment. After all this time, how did such a brilliant breakthrough happen? “You’ve got to be kidding me. What do we give up to get this compromise?” she said before she could curb her tongue. All eyes swung toward her, and her stomach did a slow somersault. She thrust out her chin. I’m a stick, remember?
Santos smiled easily. “Just a few percentage points off overhead, transportation, and salvage compensation. Nothing you haven’t already put on the table, just a few more points to ensure I can answer tough questions from the field marshal, should they come. But really, this is not my plan. This is straight from the First Prince, you see. A masterfully outrageous plan.”
She slowly nodded, glancing at Colonel Winston and Major Nigel, both of whom had guarded expressions. Do we actually have a new home?
“Leftenant Colonel De Santos,” Colonel Winston said. “While I can appreciate the multiple worlds for battalion commands, we have always held a central world for a base of operations for the Light Horse. I am sure we shall still need this accommodation.”
Ryana just kept from nodding. Always gotta push and see how far they bend.
The other man smiled easily, pulled the noteputer to him for a moment to tap up another window and slid it back. “We assumed so, of course. The world of Bristol is located in the Crucis March, almost at the tip of the salient between the Capellan and Draconis Marches. An excellent position to coordinate with the battalion commands that will be spread through said Marches. What’s more—” he continued, hand pointing to the data on the screen—she could feel all three of them leaning forwarding to read, “—the Ashwood Desert on that planet was once used for SLDF training. The 152nd Mechanized Infantry Division, I believe. There is a burgeoning city there, Derby, that’s arisen in the last decades, catering to commands looking for hardscrabble training. The locals there will regale you about how the name is meant to lift the “Southern Curse” after the depredations of the Succession Wars, whatever that might mean.”
Ryana could practically sniff the carrot dangling in front of the Light Horse. We’ll probably just find a few broken down walls and long-ago looted lostech caches. And still…you play this game very well. So smooth…
“This offer may just work,” Colonel Winston said slowly, his impassive eyes giving nothing away. “We have rarely deployed like this in the past, nor accepted such an unusual contract. As such, I do not feel comfortable making this decision on my own. Please make a full addendum to the contract as we’ve currently negotiated, and I will be heading for the next JumpShip to take this in front of Brevet General Kerston personally. But I will say I believe things are finally where they should be.”
They all rose, exchanging handshakes and kind words—the ease and familiarity so stark against the negotiations with General Garstov; hers more a wary treatise with enemies—and watched Leftenant Colonel Santos leave the room before they shared a final look.
“You said to be a goad,” Ryana said to Major Nigel, forestalling any recriminations.
“That was more like a club,” he responded immediately.
“More like a hammer,” Colonel Winston deadpanned.
She thrust out her chin, her topknot fluttering as she stood up straight. “Hammer at your service, Colonel.” She could almost joke around him without her stomach fluttering now. Almost.
“A kick from a BattleMech,” Major Nigel said, but she could see that hint of a smile working past his usual glower.
“Nine worlds. Nine different operations. This is going to be…exciting,” she couldn’t help saying.
“And dangerous,” the major said, though his tone belied the words.
“Of course it’ll be dangerous. We’re mercenaries.”
“So dangerous that despite their protestations of wanting more percentage points, I’m sure the general will want hazard pay.”
Ryana nodded, her mind already playing out how she could get back into the field. “Yeah, they’ll pay.” They all nodded a last time, before heading out themselves.
She stopped for a moment in the corridor, glancing down to see a bevy of mercenary commands and prospective employers traversing the corridors of the hiring halls that fueled the soldier-of-fortune industry in the Inner Sphere. And despite the sweat and tension filling these corridors, it still smelled like sweet, mountain air as they finally moved forward. Ready to pack her few things, knowing it would take at least half a year to reach their destination.
But the Light Horse was heading to new fields!
ARLUM VALLEY
HOFF
DRACONIS MARCH
FEDERATED SUNS
11 APRIL 3000
The sun kissed the newly installed flagpoles.
Though Ryana had only been with the Light Horse for a little more than a decade, they were almost as good at inculcating traditions as the Northwind Highlanders, where she’d grown up.
As such, she, along with every single member of the Seventh Striker Battalion and all their dependents, listened to “To the Colors” played on a lonely but defiant bugle while watching with near reverence as the Eridani Light Horse banner of a prancing horse on a yellow shield banded in black was attached to the line by two soldiers randomly drawn from lots for the honor. Then, slowly, the two hoisted the flag up to half-mast before tying it off. The other flagpole remained bare. As the final bugle note echoed into silence, all saluted simultaneously.
Two hundred and sixteen years ago, the Eridani Light Horse lowered their Star League banner for the last time as a combat command of the Star League Defense Force. They’d soon emerged as a mercenary outfit, one of the best in the Inner Sphere. Yet despite all that success, they still bore the scars. I’ve only been here ten years, and yet I still feel that mark…that longing to be a part of something greater than ourselves. Will we ever get that back?
“I’m glad the general let each battalion hoist a flag on our new worlds,” Major Nigel said, walking up beside her as conversation resumed after the sacred moment and soldiers began moving off to assigned duties.
She nodded. “Can’t break with centuries of tradition, now can we?” she said as the sun finally rose high enough to make her squint in the bright light.
“You wear our traditions well, Campbell,” he said.
She laughed. “You gotta be kidding. I mean, I love the Light Horse and all. And it is an honor to serve here; I absolutely think of myself as a Horseman. But I was raised in the Northwind Highlanders, who’ve got a history that stretches all the way back to ancient Terra. Seventeenth century. With all due respect, the Light Horse are pikers by comparison.”
He managed to smile in return. “I guess it’s all about perspective.”
“It is.”
She glanced around at the bivouac that was quickly taking shape. At the end of the beautiful Arlum Valley, nestled up against vertiginous hills that spread around behind them; only jumping ’Mechs could reach them across that defensive perimeter. The elbow-shaped hills ran nearly a kilometer on both sides into the distance, spreading out wider before dropping down to meet the valley floor, which included several hundred square kilometers of rough but beautiful terrain. She glanced up into the distance, at another rearing terrain feature. She could just make out a man-made structure, lonely against the sunrise, swallowed by all the vegetation around it.
