Bangor Heights, Poulsbo
Tamarind March, Federated Commonwealth
23 March 3050
The planetary capital had settled into an almost ominous quiet after the battles of the last two days. Everyone knew that the 42nd Avalon Hussars and the 143rd ComGuards had been decisively defeated, but no one knew by whom. Confidence that Archon Melissa Steiner-Davion would send another army to retake the world was low even if steadier heads recognised that no ruler could simply whistle up an army to any given corner of their realm on a moment's notice.
Even in the bars and taverns of the city, there was an odd quiet. Poulsbo had been invaded before, but not in living memory. At the beginning of the week they had all been citizens of the Federated Commonwealth (well, still the Lyran Commonwealth technically but everyone knew that it was just a matter of time until the legalities matched what was actually true) with all the rights and security associated with being part of that fusion between two of the powerful successor states. Now they had to wonder how long their daily business would continue before the new state of affairs impacted on them - to their detriment no doubt.
The Happy Apple, on the corner of two of the quieter shopping streets near the centre of Bangor Heights was known for two traits. Firstly, as the name suggested, the cider was excellent and available in several varieties including three that the manager imported specifically from Cavanaugh II. Secondly, due to the proximity to a line of motorcycle parking, it was the preferred destination of half a dozen groups of young men and women that found the thrill of high speed antics on two or three wheels to be irresistable.
Right at the moment, the group occupying the couches and benches of one of the four rooms surrounding the U-shaped bar were not one of the gangs that Police Constable Ciaphas Zyern was familiar with. They were cleaner than most, with no obvious markings on their black leathers except small decorative pins displaying some sort of serpent. Oddly, they also all wore white dress shirts under their jackets rather than the usual torn or fated cotton shorts sold at hiked up prices by bands or sporting teams as cheap merchandise. Several of them also had extensive facial tattoos.
Constable Zyern was present, out of uniform, for the very simple reason that Bangor Heights Metropolitan Police Department always had one officer discreetly in or around the Happy Apple on evenings when they thought that trouble was likely. For example, if two or more biker groups were in Bangor Heights at the same time. When they were short handed, in this case due to the extra officers deployed in the south to keep looters away from homes damaged in the fighting, an off-duty officer would be offered partial pay for the evening to do his drinking there and let the department know if they would need to despatch a car or van full of the constablary to re-establish peace.
"Not your usual patrons," he commented to Ned Flood behind the bar.
Flood shrugged. "No, but I'm not complaining," he said. "Apart from a minor misunderstanding over the change, they've not been a lick of trouble. Mind you. they've had a fair bit to drink but they're sticking to the ciders rather than the heavy liquor."
There was a roar of engines outside and Zyern rolled his eyes, typing a three number code into the phone discreetly clipped to his belt. Having a second gang turn up didn't mean for certain that a squad of police would be needed, but one of the reasons he was drinking here was to give forewarning in case the need did arise.
Bickering and namecalling amongst themselves in the way that passes for affection amongst near-adults, the dozen or so young men and women who had been riding them motorcycles swaggered into the bar. The leaders glared challenging at the group already occupying part of the bar, but when they received contemptuous sneers in return they laughed it off - albeit a trifle nervously and descended upon the bar.
Clearly the invasion was acting like a depressant upon even these rowdies, Zyern noted ironically. Maybe even this cloud had a silver lining. He turned back to his drink, glancing up at the video screen suspended from the ceiling at one end of the bar, where local sports results were being displayed. The station was still periodically reminding everyone that the soccer match between Spruce Harbour and Springfield had been interrupted by a BattleMech landing in the centrefield, which would require a rematch as soon as they knew if the soccer league would have any more games this season.
Zuern was just about to ask for another glass of beer - Timbiqui Dark was liable to be in short supply for the while so he might as well enjoy it now since he'd be back on local ciders soon - when the display of sports scores was replaced by one of Poulsbo's talking heads, one who didn't even work for the sports channel.
"Change it back!" came a dozen protests from the patrons.
"I didn't change it at all," Flood grumbled, but he pulled the remote out from behind the bar and sent the signal for the sports channel without affecting the display at all. Then tried another channel only to find the same new programme. "What the hell?" he said and unmuted the channel.
"...interrupting your programmes," the talking head (Zyern couldn't recall his name offhand. Telly something? No, Terry and then W-something, he thought) apologised, but the commander of the military force that landed on Poulsbo earlier this week has demanded that all channels transmit an announcement as to their intentions. This announcement will last only a few minutes and be sent out on all public access video and audio channels. For those concerned about your schedules, all the stations have agreed to take ten minutes out of their news programmes later this evening so until then the broadcast schedules will be running ten minutes late."
Flood turned the volume down to a low rumble. "Bloody bastards," he grumbled. "First they bugger up the match and now they're interrupting our sports news. What'll they do next, insist on some arcane interpretation of offsides?" There were a ripple of chuckles as the tension at the news faded away. "Have you heard anything about this, Ciaphas?"
Zyern shook his head. "Not a thing. They aren't letting anyone into Fort Bangor or the ComStar station. Not that they're letting out anyway. The Commissioner was with the delegation from the Governor's Office that went there to ask who they were and what they intended to do on Poulsbo, and there hasn't been a word from any of them since they were allowed in. It's worrying a few people. More than a few."
"Well I guess we'll find out something in a moment," said Flood. "Hey, you guys keep it down," he shouted at the bikers. "I'll turn it up so we can all hear what they say for themselves." Matching action to words, he adjusted the volume.
The screen was showing yet another shot of that damn Mech standing in the middle of the football stadium. Zyern's son, who was in the battlemech kick so common to boys of that age, had assured him that it was an Assassin, a medium scout that was one of the fastest of all battlemechs. According to the statistics on the cardgame he'd bought for the boy last Christmas, it moved around a hundred and ten kilometres an hour over open ground and was armed with a medium laser and two different types of missiles. Not the sort of thing that Zyern ever wanted to have to flag down for a traffic violation, in other words.
Then the image on the camera changed and Zyern and half the men and women in the Happy Apple tensed as they had their first look at their new lords and masters.
The head that they saw was covered by an ornate helmet that leant it the aspect of a snake's head, black scales glittering in the lights of whatever studio this had been filmed in. Beneath the helmet, the face could have been a snake's too, for all that they could tell.
"People of Poulsbo," the figure said, its voice surprising many by not being a hiss. It was also clearly female voice. "You should all be aware that you are no longer part of the Lyran or Federated Commonwealth." The screen flickered slightly. "Your world is now a possession of the Star Adders. You undoubtedly find this different in many ways, however the essentials will matter little to the majority of you. I regret to advise you that you will continue to pay taxes." The joke fell a little flat since it was delivered with no trace of sympathy, feigned or otherwise, in the voice.
"These will be no more onerous than they already are, however. There are two definite restrictions that we are placing upon you however. Firstly, you will not be permitted to communicate with other worlds except through our facilities and by our consent. For the duration of the current war, you may assume that any world we have not conquered is off limits. Secondly, interstellar travel will be similarly limited. For those whose mercantile affairs require such travel, an office is being established through which you may apply for assistance in finding new markets or sources for the goods in which you deal."
"Your government will be restructured over the next year to more closely resemble ours. It will remain largely democratic as this is our own tradition, so only the general structure will be amended. The uppermost layer of your local government are being replaced with our own officials to carry out this transition. Wages will be paid, for the moment in the your existing currencies although these will be slowly phased out in favour of our own currency units. We are no so foolish as to believe that this will be a swift or easy transition, but nor do we intend to cause undue hardship for you or those on the other worlds that we have brought under our role."
"It is customary, I believe, to prate of the glorious benefits that you shall receive under our rule if only you accept it. Somewhat cynically, I suspect that you have learned to hold such claims as suspect. Therefore I ask only that you judge us by our actions. We Star Adders have a great capacity for warfare, but we do not make a merit of cruelty or of oppression. Seyla."
With that unfamiliar word, the signal ended and the bar was treated to the bemused expression on the talking head's face. "Well, those were the words of the representative of the Star Adders," he said redundantly. "We now return you to our scheduled programming."
"Star Adders?" One of the bikers at the bar said, somewhat incredulously when the football scores resumed on the screen. "Who the hell are they? I could see the League coming across the border..."
"Timid Tommy Marik?" another jeered. "Not a chance! He'd get kicked back to Atreus so fast he'd meet himself coming and he knows it. These Star Adders have got to be some band of periphery scumbags. Don't know what they're messing with I guess."
One of the girls frowned. "Jaime, we didn't see that woman's face. Maybe they aren't even human. No one's really seen them, have they? Not out of their Mechs and all that."
"Snake people from the periphery?" the first biker said and laughed incredulously. "I'll drink to that," he agreed and matched action to words, apparently oblivious to the glares he was getting from the other gang at the back of the room and from the oldest-looking member of that group that had come to the bar to collect the next round.
"What?" Jaime said challengingly. "You got a problem, punk?"
The man stared at him and Zyren noted with a degree of horror that the lines on his face were not tattoos, but some kind of piercing. The off-duty police officer reached discreetly into his pocket for his phone and gave Flood a significant look.
"It is you who has a problem," the biker said confidently. "You cannot hold your alcohol. You are vomiting all over the floor."
"Eh?" said Jaime, looking at his glass and then at the thus far pristine floor of the Happy Apple. "I ain't vo-"
The left cross hit him just below the ribs and Jaime discovered that he was in fact vomiting.
"And that was when the fight broke out, officer," Ned Flood said seriously to the sergeant who had arrived three minutes after the first punch. Fortunately for the bar's owner, the moment of warning had been enough for him to start lowering the security shutter that was usually used to lock away all the alcohol behind the bar when the Happy Apple was not open for business. That shutter was now dented to the point it would probably need the application of power tools to open, but that would be a great deal less expensive than if the biker thrown against it had crashed over the bar and into the racks of bottles behind it.
"Is that right, Ciaphas?" Sergeant Halverson asked. Flood had been know to stretch the truth a little on matters that might affect his license to serve alcohol or his insurance claims.
Zyern nodded miserably and kept the pad of medical gauze pressed against his broken nose. He was never going to hear the end of this.
The fight hadn't lasted three minutes, so the first sight that Halverson had seen when he entered the Happy Apple at the head of a squad had been a stack of bemused and beaten bikers being herded into a corner by only a handful of what they had taken for a rival gang.
"Right then," Halverson said reluctantly. The police would be outnumbered here. "All you lot are coming to the station now."
"I think not," the man who had thrown the first punch said. "We have not finished drinking yet."
"Saul," another of the gang said warningly. He turned to the sergeant. "Do not concern yourself. We have made arrangements."
"Arrangements!?" demanded Halverson. "Whaddaya mean arr-"
"Sarge," a constable said, walking into the bar quickly. "Just got a message from the Chief. He just got rousted by those Star Adders. Said that they told him they were sending two trucks down here to collect some people from this bar and that we were to co-operate completely with some fellow called Oscar who's on the scene."
"Oscar?" Halverson asked. "What's the rest of his name?"
"It is just Oscar," the biker who seemed to be in charge said, and smiled coldly. "As I told you. We have made arrangements."
"Fine. You're with these Star Adders then?" asked Halverson.
Oscar simply smiled. "When the truck arrives just put this lot aboard it," he said, gesturing to the bikers. "They seem like a spirited lot. There are uses for people like that."
"Uses?" Halverson didn't like the sound of that.
"Oh yes," chuckled Oscar. "Uses indeed. Now, do you have any questions before I get back to my drinking?"
"N- yes," Halverson corrected himself. "What should we do with their motorcycles?"
"Motorcycles?" the man asked, frowning. "What is a motorcycle?"
The sergeant blinked. Who were these people? Rather than commenting, he pointed them out through the window.
Oscar eyed them dubiously for a minute and then smiled wickedly. "Just give me the keys for them," he ordered.
Halverson sighed and then complied, making a mental note to warn the traffic police to watch out for the new bikers that he had inadvertantly inspired.
Fort Bangor, Poulsbo
Star Adder Occupation Zone
24 March 3050
Nina Caputo groaned and opened her eyes. It took her a moment to realise that the ceiling was not that of her quarters and she glanced around quickly, trying to orientate herself. There was a restraint preventing her from moving her neck - although the twinges of pain that trying caused were ample inducement not to do so in any case - and she pulled one hand out from under the covers to touch it lightly. A neck-brace, she realised. I must have been hurt when the hanger collapsed. There was a bracelet of three white cords around her wrist she noted and wondered at the cause.
The room was clearly a hospital ward and when she glanced at the windows it was evident from the buildings opposite that she was in a military facility - more than likely the base hospital of Fort Bangor. It wasn't until she gingerly lifted herself up on her elbows that she could see the statue-like figure standing by the door. Painted in a dark blue with black trim, it stood around seven feet tall with a squat head that was sunk into the broad shoulders - little more than a dome with a simple T-slit covered in some kind of polarised glass - and outsized arms that made it look almost apelike. Armour of some kind, she realised. This is a guard wearing metal body-armour. She glanced at the other beds, realising she was the only one awake. Do they really think that I am dangerous enough to require such precautions?
She didn't feel dangerous. Right now she didn't feel like she could take on a kitten in a wrestling match, much less a trained soldier - armoured or not.
The realisation that this armour must be much the same as that which was used by the soldiers who had forced their way into the ComStar complex made it clear which side had won the battle for Bangor Heights. Did my people escape? she wondered. Or are they prisoners, like me?
Nina was about to try to pull her self up the bed to rest her back against the headboard when the guard took a step forwards, the footstep loud in the quiet ward. My god, she thought, forgetting ComStar's mythology for the catholicism of her childhood. It's powered armour! No one could move that easily inside a metal suit unless it was augmented the same was as an exo-skeletal rig. Amazing.
"Do not move," the guard ordered her in such a clear accent that for a moment the Precentor thought she was back at Sandhurst Staff College on Earth, listening to the locals. "A physician will be here shortly."
Obediently, Nina relaxed. There was a laser emitter built into the right arm, she noted. And the rest of the system extended back into the torso of the suit. Even if she had been inclined towards resistance, it was clear that nothing short of a heavy weapons platoon would seriously inconvenience this soldier. "What is the date please?" she asked.
She half expected to be ignored, but instead the soldier readily answered her question. It was almost four days since the attack, she realised.
Any further effort to obtain information from the guard was cut off as a military surgeon that Nina recognised vaguely from one of the rare social gatherings that had drawn officers from both the AFFC garrison and the ComGuards as being one of the 42nd Avalon Hussars' medical officers entered followed by two nurses. Regardless of his offical status, the doctor quickly took charge of Nina, assessing her vitals and informing her between terse instructions to the nurses that she had suffered serious whiplash when the explosion of her autocannon ammo knocker her Shootist over, as well as a broken leg when portions of the hanger roof landed on her cockpit.
"Are you allowed to tell me what happened to my soldiers?" she asked him sotto voice.
He glanced at her and then at the guard before making sure that the amoured warrior could not see his face as he spoke. "The wounded are here along with those of the 42nd. The other combatant personnel are being held elsewhere. Their families are being allowed to visit them. It's all very civilised so far but everyone's waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"The other shoe?" Nina whispered incredulously. "From what you're saying they took apart a Regimental Combat Team and two-thirds of a ComGuards Division like it was a simple drill. As far as I can tell, the first shoe was filled with solid lead."
"I don't believe that it was entirely bloodless on their part," the Doctor said, "But they deal with their own dead and wounded. The fact is that no one has seen them without either that armour or -"
The door opened and another man walked in - at least, Nina took him to be a man. He wore polished black leather pants and jacket that glittered like snakeskin under the hosptial's lights. His face however was hidden by a snake-faced helmet that could have been ceremonial or -
No. It was ceremonial, Nina told herself firmly. Nothing more. She was not a child, to believe in alien sentient beings. ComStar's teachings made it clear that humanity was the apex of life in the universe. "Who're you?" she asked.
He ignored her, staring instead at the doctor. "Physician. You are to prepare a list of those wounded who are well enough to travel by jumpship and present it to our administration by the end of the day."
"By jumpship?" the Doctor exclaimed. "Well... yes. I'll make a list."
The man stared at him for a moment, his stance radiating disapproval for no reason that Nina could make out, then turned to Nina. "You were the commander of the ComStar military unit on Poulsbo," he said flatly.
"I know that," Nina told him. "What I don't know is who you are?"
"I speak for the Star Adders," he advised her coldly. "If you have... family on Poulsbo I suggest you consider whether you wish them to join you on one of your colonies. If they remain here, it is unlikely that you will ever see them again."
"I don't understand."
"The Star Adders are not so foolish as to leave potential bandits and dissidents on our conquered worlds," the man advised her. "You and the other captive warriors are being sent to one of our worlds where you will be settled and integrated into our society. Your families may join you or they may remain, but you are unlikely to ever leave our homeworlds again so choose wisely."
Dropship Gibraltar, Nadir Jump Point, Herzberg
Donegal March, Federated Commonwealth
10 April 3050
Leftenant Kai Allard-Liao slipped into the back of the small briefing room only a moment before the scheduled start time. Late enough in fact that the lights had already been dimmed and Hauptman-General Kaulkas was sorting his notes for the briefing on her podium. As a result of this, it was not until he had taken one of the open seats that he realised the identity of the dark-haired woman sat next to the seat. Given the naked hostility in Doctor Deidre Lear's eyes, he was half-tempted to look for another seat, but at that point the General cleared his throat and the room fell silent.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the commander of the Tenth Lyran Guards said gravely. "I have no doubt that it will not surprise any of you that our plans have changed. You are all aware that no battle plan survives contact with the enemy... and unfortunately, while we have not made contact with an enemy yet, the Sixth Lyran Guards who we were to replace on Althastan have made contact... and all reports indicate that they were defeated with relatively ease."
Kai inhaled sharply. The Sixth Lyran Guards were one of the finest regimental combat teams in the Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth. Twenty years ago the Tenth might have claimed the same title, but they had not seen any serious action since they were rebuilt after the end of the Fourth Succession War. A Marik army that could crush the Sixth would be unlikely to have any more trouble with the Tenth.
"As Althastan is now in enemy hands, obviously we will not be going there," Kaulkas continued. "Until we know what we are dealing with, the High Command does not intend to try to retake the world, or any of the others that have fallen over the last few weeks."
"More worlds?" exclaimed one of the company commanders in the front row. "Did Thomas Marik get married or something?"
"So far as the Ministry of Intelligence can determine, the Free Worlds League has nothing to do with this," Kaulkas said grimly. "Which is probably good news because if Thomas Marik had the ability to hit worlds from Poulsbo to Chateau then we might as well get used to wearing eagles instead of the sunburst fist on our uniforms. Whoever is attack us, we don't have the least idea who they are but the entire Periphery is on fire. Needless to say, that information is classified so don't go sharing it with civilians, but we've lost contact with two dozen worlds, more than half of them garrisoned with at least a regiment. There are only a handful of cases of troops managing to reach their dropships and escape."
"What we do know is that they use BattleMechs, Aerospace Fighters and Infantry. In all three cases, their equipment would give a Star League quartermaster wet dreams. But still. Mechs, Aerospace Fighters and Infantry. Not something that we haven't fought before," Kaulkas said, seeing the hit that morale was taking. "I'm not going to pretend that this isn't serious. It is - we haven't been hit like this since 3039 and we have to assume that this is going to get worse before it gets better. But the Federated Commonwealth is not going roll over for some Johnny-Come-Latelies skulking out of the Periphery!"
There was an abbreviated cheer from some of the younger officers at the back of the room. Kai was not one of them. Nor was Deidre Lear.
"Rather than making for Althastan," Kaulkas continued, satisfied with the response. "We are now heading for Buena where we will be based at the War College there. Copies of all reports on fighting these invaders will be sent to us there so that we can prepare a defensive strategy against them."
This is it, a voice whispered to Kai. This is where you fail your parents, and with them the entire Federated Commonwealth.
"Was Trellwan one of the planets attacked?" he asked out loud, pushing the voice down.
Kaulkas frowned. "No, Leftenant," he said, picking Kai out despite the darkness of the room. "However, several nearby worlds were so we must assume that Trellwan, the Twelth Donegal Guards and Prince Victor Steiner-Davion are in the path of the advance."
Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
15 May 3050
"Another wave of attacks?" Hanse exclaimed as he saw the hologram in the Fox's Den update with the latest reports. Deep below Mount Royal, the small room was the centre of the entire Armed Forces of the Federated-Commonwealth with only its equivalent on Tharkad providing a rival when the royal court moved to his wife's capital world.
"Yes," Jackson Davion confirmed. With Hanse's nephew Morgan Hasek-Davion in the Lyran half of the Commonwealth organising the troops there against this new threat, Jackson and Hanse's old friend Ardan Sortek were the senior officers available, both watching as one of Justin's aides updated the new data. "It isn't good news. They are moving faster than anyone expected."
"I think we can confirm that they are deliberately targeting the best defended worlds first," Ardan said, pointing at the map where most of the golden dots representing worlds still under the control of the Federated Commonwealth lacked the codes that detailed frontline forces available to them. "The Periphery March has been shattered: there wouldn't be any serious defences left between Lost and Buena if the Eleventh and Nineteenth hadn't been moved up."
"Yes," Hanse agreed. "If we lose them then there's nothing to stop them from rolling right into the Donegal March and things are scarcely better in Tamar." His eyes lingered on dot flashing between gold and green - indicating that Trellwan, the world that his firstborn son was serving on, was now contested. "I think ComStar has more troops between the invaders in Tamar and the interior."
He traced a line from Sudeten near the Rasalhague border up to Chahar in the northern corner of the Periphery March and then down through Coventry and Alarion to Cavanaugh II on the border with Free Worlds League. "I don't think we want to get pushed back this far, gentlemen. What do you propose that we can do about this?"
"You mentioned ComStar," Reinhard Steiner, Jackson's aide offered. "They had a Division cut apart on Poulsbo - is there any chance of them doing anything useful?"
"Unfortunately, the Division on Butler did absolutely nothing," Jackson said. "Justin has unconfirmed reports that they are co-operating fully with the invaders on most of the worlds taken in the Tamar March. Poulsbo seems to be an abberation - or if the theory that there are different factions is right, maybe the one that took Poulsbo have even less patience with ComStar's sainted neutrality than we do."
Ardan was counting worlds. "They hit twenty-five worlds in the first wave," he commented. "More worlds than we hit in the first two waves of Operation Rat twenty years ago. Now they're hitting another thirty-five not even two full months later. Their logistics must be under a lot of pressure, particularly given the way they're spread out."
"And that is merely the worlds being attacked in the Federated Commonwealth," Justin Xiang-Allard said, having entered the room quietly during the conversation. "We don't know for sure because ComStar, for some unexplained reason is pretending that the invasion isn't happening, but they way that they're doing so has given us some idea of what worlds are being hit in the Free Rasalhague Republic and the Draconis Combine. Basically, they're falsifying the commodity reports from worlds that have been hit. We worked back through what they're reporting from our worlds that fell to work out where they were extrapolating from and then applied the same algorithm to work out which other planets are having faked figures reported."
He tapped at the console. "Neither has been hit as hard as we have in absolute terms, but the Republic has lost twelve worlds and the Combine has lost eleven, including Turtle Bay - where Hohiro Kurita was stationed. I don't have any reports on his whereabouts at this point, but it's safe to say that they aren't doing all that much better than we are militarily. While the invaders have hit the Republic and ourselves almost all along our border with the Periphery, they're only invading along about a third of the Combine's core and spinward edges."
"What about the Free Worlds League?" Reinhard asked. "How many worlds has Thomas Marik lost?"
"None," Justin said evenly. "For whatever reason, the League has not been attacked so far."
"Interesting." Hanse tapped his fingers on the table that supported the holodisplay. "The fact that Rasalhague and the Combine have also lost worlds suggests that the invaders are not concerned about - perhaps even ignorant of - the divisions between the Commonwealth and our allies and the other Successor States. However, in that case why not attack the League, or at least the Circinus Federation? Not doing so leaves Thomas with a strong border right on their flank, not to mention giving those piratical scum from Circinus what amounts to an open invitation to raid their supply lines."
"For once their larceny might do us all a favour," Jackson grunted and several other officers chuckled. The only reason that the grandly named Federation had not been conquered long since by either the League or the Commonwealth was that neither power would allow the other to occupy such a strategic location. As a result, raiders who no one could quite prove were from the Federation hit border worlds whenever they thought that they could get away with it.
"What is the status of our redeployments, Jackson," Hanse asked his distant cousin.
"Field Marshal Steiner," Jackson's counterpart in the Lyran State Command, "reports that the Deneb Light Cavalry regiments, the 20th Arcturan Guards and the 9th Federated Commonwealth RCT have all arrived on Sudeten and been placed under Morgan's direct command. The Eridani Light Horse have further to go but they expect to arrive early next month. The Lyran Guard units that were being sent out to the periphery have all been redirected to worlds that seem likely to be attacked soon. Their orders are to bloody their noses but to trade space for time and for information on how the invaders fight. Now that the Light Horse have been moved on, we're moving the jumpships that made up the command circuits for them to let us move troops out of the Draconis March."
"I don't like that," Henry Capston grumbled. The Marshal was representing his immediate superior, Field Marshal James Sandoval, the Duke of Robinson and therefore the civil and military leader of the Draconis March. "I know there are reports of the Snakes moving their regiments off the border, but Justin admitted himself that some of that information came through compromised sources. This could be a feint to convince us to weaken our borders and moving a tenth of our regiments would be playing into Theodore's hands."
Hanse nodded. "I understand your concerns, Henry," he agreed. "However, we have to reduce garrisons somewhere to reinforce the frontlines and with the Combine also under attack, your March is not looking desperately vulnerable. I am stripping the Crucis March bare and some of those troops will be moved to replace the units sent to Tamar and the Periphery. However, if we keep taking losses then you may be facing even more serious redeployments."
Capston subsided grudgingly. "Sorry to make a fuss," he said self-conciously, with an apologetic nod towards Melissa.
"It is your job to raise these concerns," Melissa assured him. "I don't mind telling you that I have my own qualms about weakening the Skye and Draconis Marchs, but if we don't stop the invaders then we may lose them anyway - to these invaders."
"Why, but they would have to have conquered the entire Draconis Combine and Lyran Commonwealth to do that, Archon Melissa," Capston said with a light chuckle that died a death as no one laughed with him.
D for Drakensis
You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.
Tamarind March, Federated Commonwealth
23 March 3050
The planetary capital had settled into an almost ominous quiet after the battles of the last two days. Everyone knew that the 42nd Avalon Hussars and the 143rd ComGuards had been decisively defeated, but no one knew by whom. Confidence that Archon Melissa Steiner-Davion would send another army to retake the world was low even if steadier heads recognised that no ruler could simply whistle up an army to any given corner of their realm on a moment's notice.
Even in the bars and taverns of the city, there was an odd quiet. Poulsbo had been invaded before, but not in living memory. At the beginning of the week they had all been citizens of the Federated Commonwealth (well, still the Lyran Commonwealth technically but everyone knew that it was just a matter of time until the legalities matched what was actually true) with all the rights and security associated with being part of that fusion between two of the powerful successor states. Now they had to wonder how long their daily business would continue before the new state of affairs impacted on them - to their detriment no doubt.
The Happy Apple, on the corner of two of the quieter shopping streets near the centre of Bangor Heights was known for two traits. Firstly, as the name suggested, the cider was excellent and available in several varieties including three that the manager imported specifically from Cavanaugh II. Secondly, due to the proximity to a line of motorcycle parking, it was the preferred destination of half a dozen groups of young men and women that found the thrill of high speed antics on two or three wheels to be irresistable.
Right at the moment, the group occupying the couches and benches of one of the four rooms surrounding the U-shaped bar were not one of the gangs that Police Constable Ciaphas Zyern was familiar with. They were cleaner than most, with no obvious markings on their black leathers except small decorative pins displaying some sort of serpent. Oddly, they also all wore white dress shirts under their jackets rather than the usual torn or fated cotton shorts sold at hiked up prices by bands or sporting teams as cheap merchandise. Several of them also had extensive facial tattoos.
Constable Zyern was present, out of uniform, for the very simple reason that Bangor Heights Metropolitan Police Department always had one officer discreetly in or around the Happy Apple on evenings when they thought that trouble was likely. For example, if two or more biker groups were in Bangor Heights at the same time. When they were short handed, in this case due to the extra officers deployed in the south to keep looters away from homes damaged in the fighting, an off-duty officer would be offered partial pay for the evening to do his drinking there and let the department know if they would need to despatch a car or van full of the constablary to re-establish peace.
"Not your usual patrons," he commented to Ned Flood behind the bar.
Flood shrugged. "No, but I'm not complaining," he said. "Apart from a minor misunderstanding over the change, they've not been a lick of trouble. Mind you. they've had a fair bit to drink but they're sticking to the ciders rather than the heavy liquor."
There was a roar of engines outside and Zyern rolled his eyes, typing a three number code into the phone discreetly clipped to his belt. Having a second gang turn up didn't mean for certain that a squad of police would be needed, but one of the reasons he was drinking here was to give forewarning in case the need did arise.
Bickering and namecalling amongst themselves in the way that passes for affection amongst near-adults, the dozen or so young men and women who had been riding them motorcycles swaggered into the bar. The leaders glared challenging at the group already occupying part of the bar, but when they received contemptuous sneers in return they laughed it off - albeit a trifle nervously and descended upon the bar.
Clearly the invasion was acting like a depressant upon even these rowdies, Zyern noted ironically. Maybe even this cloud had a silver lining. He turned back to his drink, glancing up at the video screen suspended from the ceiling at one end of the bar, where local sports results were being displayed. The station was still periodically reminding everyone that the soccer match between Spruce Harbour and Springfield had been interrupted by a BattleMech landing in the centrefield, which would require a rematch as soon as they knew if the soccer league would have any more games this season.
Zuern was just about to ask for another glass of beer - Timbiqui Dark was liable to be in short supply for the while so he might as well enjoy it now since he'd be back on local ciders soon - when the display of sports scores was replaced by one of Poulsbo's talking heads, one who didn't even work for the sports channel.
"Change it back!" came a dozen protests from the patrons.
"I didn't change it at all," Flood grumbled, but he pulled the remote out from behind the bar and sent the signal for the sports channel without affecting the display at all. Then tried another channel only to find the same new programme. "What the hell?" he said and unmuted the channel.
"...interrupting your programmes," the talking head (Zyern couldn't recall his name offhand. Telly something? No, Terry and then W-something, he thought) apologised, but the commander of the military force that landed on Poulsbo earlier this week has demanded that all channels transmit an announcement as to their intentions. This announcement will last only a few minutes and be sent out on all public access video and audio channels. For those concerned about your schedules, all the stations have agreed to take ten minutes out of their news programmes later this evening so until then the broadcast schedules will be running ten minutes late."
Flood turned the volume down to a low rumble. "Bloody bastards," he grumbled. "First they bugger up the match and now they're interrupting our sports news. What'll they do next, insist on some arcane interpretation of offsides?" There were a ripple of chuckles as the tension at the news faded away. "Have you heard anything about this, Ciaphas?"
Zyern shook his head. "Not a thing. They aren't letting anyone into Fort Bangor or the ComStar station. Not that they're letting out anyway. The Commissioner was with the delegation from the Governor's Office that went there to ask who they were and what they intended to do on Poulsbo, and there hasn't been a word from any of them since they were allowed in. It's worrying a few people. More than a few."
"Well I guess we'll find out something in a moment," said Flood. "Hey, you guys keep it down," he shouted at the bikers. "I'll turn it up so we can all hear what they say for themselves." Matching action to words, he adjusted the volume.
The screen was showing yet another shot of that damn Mech standing in the middle of the football stadium. Zyern's son, who was in the battlemech kick so common to boys of that age, had assured him that it was an Assassin, a medium scout that was one of the fastest of all battlemechs. According to the statistics on the cardgame he'd bought for the boy last Christmas, it moved around a hundred and ten kilometres an hour over open ground and was armed with a medium laser and two different types of missiles. Not the sort of thing that Zyern ever wanted to have to flag down for a traffic violation, in other words.
Then the image on the camera changed and Zyern and half the men and women in the Happy Apple tensed as they had their first look at their new lords and masters.
The head that they saw was covered by an ornate helmet that leant it the aspect of a snake's head, black scales glittering in the lights of whatever studio this had been filmed in. Beneath the helmet, the face could have been a snake's too, for all that they could tell.
"People of Poulsbo," the figure said, its voice surprising many by not being a hiss. It was also clearly female voice. "You should all be aware that you are no longer part of the Lyran or Federated Commonwealth." The screen flickered slightly. "Your world is now a possession of the Star Adders. You undoubtedly find this different in many ways, however the essentials will matter little to the majority of you. I regret to advise you that you will continue to pay taxes." The joke fell a little flat since it was delivered with no trace of sympathy, feigned or otherwise, in the voice.
"These will be no more onerous than they already are, however. There are two definite restrictions that we are placing upon you however. Firstly, you will not be permitted to communicate with other worlds except through our facilities and by our consent. For the duration of the current war, you may assume that any world we have not conquered is off limits. Secondly, interstellar travel will be similarly limited. For those whose mercantile affairs require such travel, an office is being established through which you may apply for assistance in finding new markets or sources for the goods in which you deal."
"Your government will be restructured over the next year to more closely resemble ours. It will remain largely democratic as this is our own tradition, so only the general structure will be amended. The uppermost layer of your local government are being replaced with our own officials to carry out this transition. Wages will be paid, for the moment in the your existing currencies although these will be slowly phased out in favour of our own currency units. We are no so foolish as to believe that this will be a swift or easy transition, but nor do we intend to cause undue hardship for you or those on the other worlds that we have brought under our role."
"It is customary, I believe, to prate of the glorious benefits that you shall receive under our rule if only you accept it. Somewhat cynically, I suspect that you have learned to hold such claims as suspect. Therefore I ask only that you judge us by our actions. We Star Adders have a great capacity for warfare, but we do not make a merit of cruelty or of oppression. Seyla."
With that unfamiliar word, the signal ended and the bar was treated to the bemused expression on the talking head's face. "Well, those were the words of the representative of the Star Adders," he said redundantly. "We now return you to our scheduled programming."
"Star Adders?" One of the bikers at the bar said, somewhat incredulously when the football scores resumed on the screen. "Who the hell are they? I could see the League coming across the border..."
"Timid Tommy Marik?" another jeered. "Not a chance! He'd get kicked back to Atreus so fast he'd meet himself coming and he knows it. These Star Adders have got to be some band of periphery scumbags. Don't know what they're messing with I guess."
One of the girls frowned. "Jaime, we didn't see that woman's face. Maybe they aren't even human. No one's really seen them, have they? Not out of their Mechs and all that."
"Snake people from the periphery?" the first biker said and laughed incredulously. "I'll drink to that," he agreed and matched action to words, apparently oblivious to the glares he was getting from the other gang at the back of the room and from the oldest-looking member of that group that had come to the bar to collect the next round.
"What?" Jaime said challengingly. "You got a problem, punk?"
The man stared at him and Zyren noted with a degree of horror that the lines on his face were not tattoos, but some kind of piercing. The off-duty police officer reached discreetly into his pocket for his phone and gave Flood a significant look.
"It is you who has a problem," the biker said confidently. "You cannot hold your alcohol. You are vomiting all over the floor."
"Eh?" said Jaime, looking at his glass and then at the thus far pristine floor of the Happy Apple. "I ain't vo-"
The left cross hit him just below the ribs and Jaime discovered that he was in fact vomiting.
"And that was when the fight broke out, officer," Ned Flood said seriously to the sergeant who had arrived three minutes after the first punch. Fortunately for the bar's owner, the moment of warning had been enough for him to start lowering the security shutter that was usually used to lock away all the alcohol behind the bar when the Happy Apple was not open for business. That shutter was now dented to the point it would probably need the application of power tools to open, but that would be a great deal less expensive than if the biker thrown against it had crashed over the bar and into the racks of bottles behind it.
"Is that right, Ciaphas?" Sergeant Halverson asked. Flood had been know to stretch the truth a little on matters that might affect his license to serve alcohol or his insurance claims.
Zyern nodded miserably and kept the pad of medical gauze pressed against his broken nose. He was never going to hear the end of this.
The fight hadn't lasted three minutes, so the first sight that Halverson had seen when he entered the Happy Apple at the head of a squad had been a stack of bemused and beaten bikers being herded into a corner by only a handful of what they had taken for a rival gang.
"Right then," Halverson said reluctantly. The police would be outnumbered here. "All you lot are coming to the station now."
"I think not," the man who had thrown the first punch said. "We have not finished drinking yet."
"Saul," another of the gang said warningly. He turned to the sergeant. "Do not concern yourself. We have made arrangements."
"Arrangements!?" demanded Halverson. "Whaddaya mean arr-"
"Sarge," a constable said, walking into the bar quickly. "Just got a message from the Chief. He just got rousted by those Star Adders. Said that they told him they were sending two trucks down here to collect some people from this bar and that we were to co-operate completely with some fellow called Oscar who's on the scene."
"Oscar?" Halverson asked. "What's the rest of his name?"
"It is just Oscar," the biker who seemed to be in charge said, and smiled coldly. "As I told you. We have made arrangements."
"Fine. You're with these Star Adders then?" asked Halverson.
Oscar simply smiled. "When the truck arrives just put this lot aboard it," he said, gesturing to the bikers. "They seem like a spirited lot. There are uses for people like that."
"Uses?" Halverson didn't like the sound of that.
"Oh yes," chuckled Oscar. "Uses indeed. Now, do you have any questions before I get back to my drinking?"
"N- yes," Halverson corrected himself. "What should we do with their motorcycles?"
"Motorcycles?" the man asked, frowning. "What is a motorcycle?"
The sergeant blinked. Who were these people? Rather than commenting, he pointed them out through the window.
Oscar eyed them dubiously for a minute and then smiled wickedly. "Just give me the keys for them," he ordered.
Halverson sighed and then complied, making a mental note to warn the traffic police to watch out for the new bikers that he had inadvertantly inspired.
Fort Bangor, Poulsbo
Star Adder Occupation Zone
24 March 3050
Nina Caputo groaned and opened her eyes. It took her a moment to realise that the ceiling was not that of her quarters and she glanced around quickly, trying to orientate herself. There was a restraint preventing her from moving her neck - although the twinges of pain that trying caused were ample inducement not to do so in any case - and she pulled one hand out from under the covers to touch it lightly. A neck-brace, she realised. I must have been hurt when the hanger collapsed. There was a bracelet of three white cords around her wrist she noted and wondered at the cause.
The room was clearly a hospital ward and when she glanced at the windows it was evident from the buildings opposite that she was in a military facility - more than likely the base hospital of Fort Bangor. It wasn't until she gingerly lifted herself up on her elbows that she could see the statue-like figure standing by the door. Painted in a dark blue with black trim, it stood around seven feet tall with a squat head that was sunk into the broad shoulders - little more than a dome with a simple T-slit covered in some kind of polarised glass - and outsized arms that made it look almost apelike. Armour of some kind, she realised. This is a guard wearing metal body-armour. She glanced at the other beds, realising she was the only one awake. Do they really think that I am dangerous enough to require such precautions?
She didn't feel dangerous. Right now she didn't feel like she could take on a kitten in a wrestling match, much less a trained soldier - armoured or not.
The realisation that this armour must be much the same as that which was used by the soldiers who had forced their way into the ComStar complex made it clear which side had won the battle for Bangor Heights. Did my people escape? she wondered. Or are they prisoners, like me?
Nina was about to try to pull her self up the bed to rest her back against the headboard when the guard took a step forwards, the footstep loud in the quiet ward. My god, she thought, forgetting ComStar's mythology for the catholicism of her childhood. It's powered armour! No one could move that easily inside a metal suit unless it was augmented the same was as an exo-skeletal rig. Amazing.
"Do not move," the guard ordered her in such a clear accent that for a moment the Precentor thought she was back at Sandhurst Staff College on Earth, listening to the locals. "A physician will be here shortly."
Obediently, Nina relaxed. There was a laser emitter built into the right arm, she noted. And the rest of the system extended back into the torso of the suit. Even if she had been inclined towards resistance, it was clear that nothing short of a heavy weapons platoon would seriously inconvenience this soldier. "What is the date please?" she asked.
She half expected to be ignored, but instead the soldier readily answered her question. It was almost four days since the attack, she realised.
Any further effort to obtain information from the guard was cut off as a military surgeon that Nina recognised vaguely from one of the rare social gatherings that had drawn officers from both the AFFC garrison and the ComGuards as being one of the 42nd Avalon Hussars' medical officers entered followed by two nurses. Regardless of his offical status, the doctor quickly took charge of Nina, assessing her vitals and informing her between terse instructions to the nurses that she had suffered serious whiplash when the explosion of her autocannon ammo knocker her Shootist over, as well as a broken leg when portions of the hanger roof landed on her cockpit.
"Are you allowed to tell me what happened to my soldiers?" she asked him sotto voice.
He glanced at her and then at the guard before making sure that the amoured warrior could not see his face as he spoke. "The wounded are here along with those of the 42nd. The other combatant personnel are being held elsewhere. Their families are being allowed to visit them. It's all very civilised so far but everyone's waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"The other shoe?" Nina whispered incredulously. "From what you're saying they took apart a Regimental Combat Team and two-thirds of a ComGuards Division like it was a simple drill. As far as I can tell, the first shoe was filled with solid lead."
"I don't believe that it was entirely bloodless on their part," the Doctor said, "But they deal with their own dead and wounded. The fact is that no one has seen them without either that armour or -"
The door opened and another man walked in - at least, Nina took him to be a man. He wore polished black leather pants and jacket that glittered like snakeskin under the hosptial's lights. His face however was hidden by a snake-faced helmet that could have been ceremonial or -
No. It was ceremonial, Nina told herself firmly. Nothing more. She was not a child, to believe in alien sentient beings. ComStar's teachings made it clear that humanity was the apex of life in the universe. "Who're you?" she asked.
He ignored her, staring instead at the doctor. "Physician. You are to prepare a list of those wounded who are well enough to travel by jumpship and present it to our administration by the end of the day."
"By jumpship?" the Doctor exclaimed. "Well... yes. I'll make a list."
The man stared at him for a moment, his stance radiating disapproval for no reason that Nina could make out, then turned to Nina. "You were the commander of the ComStar military unit on Poulsbo," he said flatly.
"I know that," Nina told him. "What I don't know is who you are?"
"I speak for the Star Adders," he advised her coldly. "If you have... family on Poulsbo I suggest you consider whether you wish them to join you on one of your colonies. If they remain here, it is unlikely that you will ever see them again."
"I don't understand."
"The Star Adders are not so foolish as to leave potential bandits and dissidents on our conquered worlds," the man advised her. "You and the other captive warriors are being sent to one of our worlds where you will be settled and integrated into our society. Your families may join you or they may remain, but you are unlikely to ever leave our homeworlds again so choose wisely."
Dropship Gibraltar, Nadir Jump Point, Herzberg
Donegal March, Federated Commonwealth
10 April 3050
Leftenant Kai Allard-Liao slipped into the back of the small briefing room only a moment before the scheduled start time. Late enough in fact that the lights had already been dimmed and Hauptman-General Kaulkas was sorting his notes for the briefing on her podium. As a result of this, it was not until he had taken one of the open seats that he realised the identity of the dark-haired woman sat next to the seat. Given the naked hostility in Doctor Deidre Lear's eyes, he was half-tempted to look for another seat, but at that point the General cleared his throat and the room fell silent.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the commander of the Tenth Lyran Guards said gravely. "I have no doubt that it will not surprise any of you that our plans have changed. You are all aware that no battle plan survives contact with the enemy... and unfortunately, while we have not made contact with an enemy yet, the Sixth Lyran Guards who we were to replace on Althastan have made contact... and all reports indicate that they were defeated with relatively ease."
Kai inhaled sharply. The Sixth Lyran Guards were one of the finest regimental combat teams in the Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth. Twenty years ago the Tenth might have claimed the same title, but they had not seen any serious action since they were rebuilt after the end of the Fourth Succession War. A Marik army that could crush the Sixth would be unlikely to have any more trouble with the Tenth.
"As Althastan is now in enemy hands, obviously we will not be going there," Kaulkas continued. "Until we know what we are dealing with, the High Command does not intend to try to retake the world, or any of the others that have fallen over the last few weeks."
"More worlds?" exclaimed one of the company commanders in the front row. "Did Thomas Marik get married or something?"
"So far as the Ministry of Intelligence can determine, the Free Worlds League has nothing to do with this," Kaulkas said grimly. "Which is probably good news because if Thomas Marik had the ability to hit worlds from Poulsbo to Chateau then we might as well get used to wearing eagles instead of the sunburst fist on our uniforms. Whoever is attack us, we don't have the least idea who they are but the entire Periphery is on fire. Needless to say, that information is classified so don't go sharing it with civilians, but we've lost contact with two dozen worlds, more than half of them garrisoned with at least a regiment. There are only a handful of cases of troops managing to reach their dropships and escape."
"What we do know is that they use BattleMechs, Aerospace Fighters and Infantry. In all three cases, their equipment would give a Star League quartermaster wet dreams. But still. Mechs, Aerospace Fighters and Infantry. Not something that we haven't fought before," Kaulkas said, seeing the hit that morale was taking. "I'm not going to pretend that this isn't serious. It is - we haven't been hit like this since 3039 and we have to assume that this is going to get worse before it gets better. But the Federated Commonwealth is not going roll over for some Johnny-Come-Latelies skulking out of the Periphery!"
There was an abbreviated cheer from some of the younger officers at the back of the room. Kai was not one of them. Nor was Deidre Lear.
"Rather than making for Althastan," Kaulkas continued, satisfied with the response. "We are now heading for Buena where we will be based at the War College there. Copies of all reports on fighting these invaders will be sent to us there so that we can prepare a defensive strategy against them."
This is it, a voice whispered to Kai. This is where you fail your parents, and with them the entire Federated Commonwealth.
"Was Trellwan one of the planets attacked?" he asked out loud, pushing the voice down.
Kaulkas frowned. "No, Leftenant," he said, picking Kai out despite the darkness of the room. "However, several nearby worlds were so we must assume that Trellwan, the Twelth Donegal Guards and Prince Victor Steiner-Davion are in the path of the advance."
Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
15 May 3050
"Another wave of attacks?" Hanse exclaimed as he saw the hologram in the Fox's Den update with the latest reports. Deep below Mount Royal, the small room was the centre of the entire Armed Forces of the Federated-Commonwealth with only its equivalent on Tharkad providing a rival when the royal court moved to his wife's capital world.
"Yes," Jackson Davion confirmed. With Hanse's nephew Morgan Hasek-Davion in the Lyran half of the Commonwealth organising the troops there against this new threat, Jackson and Hanse's old friend Ardan Sortek were the senior officers available, both watching as one of Justin's aides updated the new data. "It isn't good news. They are moving faster than anyone expected."
"I think we can confirm that they are deliberately targeting the best defended worlds first," Ardan said, pointing at the map where most of the golden dots representing worlds still under the control of the Federated Commonwealth lacked the codes that detailed frontline forces available to them. "The Periphery March has been shattered: there wouldn't be any serious defences left between Lost and Buena if the Eleventh and Nineteenth hadn't been moved up."
"Yes," Hanse agreed. "If we lose them then there's nothing to stop them from rolling right into the Donegal March and things are scarcely better in Tamar." His eyes lingered on dot flashing between gold and green - indicating that Trellwan, the world that his firstborn son was serving on, was now contested. "I think ComStar has more troops between the invaders in Tamar and the interior."
He traced a line from Sudeten near the Rasalhague border up to Chahar in the northern corner of the Periphery March and then down through Coventry and Alarion to Cavanaugh II on the border with Free Worlds League. "I don't think we want to get pushed back this far, gentlemen. What do you propose that we can do about this?"
"You mentioned ComStar," Reinhard Steiner, Jackson's aide offered. "They had a Division cut apart on Poulsbo - is there any chance of them doing anything useful?"
"Unfortunately, the Division on Butler did absolutely nothing," Jackson said. "Justin has unconfirmed reports that they are co-operating fully with the invaders on most of the worlds taken in the Tamar March. Poulsbo seems to be an abberation - or if the theory that there are different factions is right, maybe the one that took Poulsbo have even less patience with ComStar's sainted neutrality than we do."
Ardan was counting worlds. "They hit twenty-five worlds in the first wave," he commented. "More worlds than we hit in the first two waves of Operation Rat twenty years ago. Now they're hitting another thirty-five not even two full months later. Their logistics must be under a lot of pressure, particularly given the way they're spread out."
"And that is merely the worlds being attacked in the Federated Commonwealth," Justin Xiang-Allard said, having entered the room quietly during the conversation. "We don't know for sure because ComStar, for some unexplained reason is pretending that the invasion isn't happening, but they way that they're doing so has given us some idea of what worlds are being hit in the Free Rasalhague Republic and the Draconis Combine. Basically, they're falsifying the commodity reports from worlds that have been hit. We worked back through what they're reporting from our worlds that fell to work out where they were extrapolating from and then applied the same algorithm to work out which other planets are having faked figures reported."
He tapped at the console. "Neither has been hit as hard as we have in absolute terms, but the Republic has lost twelve worlds and the Combine has lost eleven, including Turtle Bay - where Hohiro Kurita was stationed. I don't have any reports on his whereabouts at this point, but it's safe to say that they aren't doing all that much better than we are militarily. While the invaders have hit the Republic and ourselves almost all along our border with the Periphery, they're only invading along about a third of the Combine's core and spinward edges."
"What about the Free Worlds League?" Reinhard asked. "How many worlds has Thomas Marik lost?"
"None," Justin said evenly. "For whatever reason, the League has not been attacked so far."
"Interesting." Hanse tapped his fingers on the table that supported the holodisplay. "The fact that Rasalhague and the Combine have also lost worlds suggests that the invaders are not concerned about - perhaps even ignorant of - the divisions between the Commonwealth and our allies and the other Successor States. However, in that case why not attack the League, or at least the Circinus Federation? Not doing so leaves Thomas with a strong border right on their flank, not to mention giving those piratical scum from Circinus what amounts to an open invitation to raid their supply lines."
"For once their larceny might do us all a favour," Jackson grunted and several other officers chuckled. The only reason that the grandly named Federation had not been conquered long since by either the League or the Commonwealth was that neither power would allow the other to occupy such a strategic location. As a result, raiders who no one could quite prove were from the Federation hit border worlds whenever they thought that they could get away with it.
"What is the status of our redeployments, Jackson," Hanse asked his distant cousin.
"Field Marshal Steiner," Jackson's counterpart in the Lyran State Command, "reports that the Deneb Light Cavalry regiments, the 20th Arcturan Guards and the 9th Federated Commonwealth RCT have all arrived on Sudeten and been placed under Morgan's direct command. The Eridani Light Horse have further to go but they expect to arrive early next month. The Lyran Guard units that were being sent out to the periphery have all been redirected to worlds that seem likely to be attacked soon. Their orders are to bloody their noses but to trade space for time and for information on how the invaders fight. Now that the Light Horse have been moved on, we're moving the jumpships that made up the command circuits for them to let us move troops out of the Draconis March."
"I don't like that," Henry Capston grumbled. The Marshal was representing his immediate superior, Field Marshal James Sandoval, the Duke of Robinson and therefore the civil and military leader of the Draconis March. "I know there are reports of the Snakes moving their regiments off the border, but Justin admitted himself that some of that information came through compromised sources. This could be a feint to convince us to weaken our borders and moving a tenth of our regiments would be playing into Theodore's hands."
Hanse nodded. "I understand your concerns, Henry," he agreed. "However, we have to reduce garrisons somewhere to reinforce the frontlines and with the Combine also under attack, your March is not looking desperately vulnerable. I am stripping the Crucis March bare and some of those troops will be moved to replace the units sent to Tamar and the Periphery. However, if we keep taking losses then you may be facing even more serious redeployments."
Capston subsided grudgingly. "Sorry to make a fuss," he said self-conciously, with an apologetic nod towards Melissa.
"It is your job to raise these concerns," Melissa assured him. "I don't mind telling you that I have my own qualms about weakening the Skye and Draconis Marchs, but if we don't stop the invaders then we may lose them anyway - to these invaders."
"Why, but they would have to have conquered the entire Draconis Combine and Lyran Commonwealth to do that, Archon Melissa," Capston said with a light chuckle that died a death as no one laughed with him.
D for Drakensis
You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.