Benet III
Draconis March
Federated Suns
September 15, 3028
Marshal Carl Sanders stood from behind his desk as the door chime sounded. He tugged at the waist of his jump suit, adjusting the fit as he crossed the room.
"Enter," the Marshal said, standing before the makeshift desk behind him. Sanders' unit, the Tenth Deneb Light Cavalry had commandeered the spaceport facilities on Benet III to serve as their command post, and Sanders' office had once been the port commander's.
The door opened, and a small man dressed in a black uniform with crimson trim stepped forward. At the man's collar were pins designating him a Colonel. Sanders smiled at the understated rank. ~Commander of five regiments of battlemechs, and he still keeps the rank of Colonel,~ Sanders marveled.
"Marshal Sanders, thank you for seeing me," the Colonel said, stepping forward and extending his hand. His voice was firm, commanding, yet not completely distanced. Sanders sensed a gulf distancing them, as if the Colonel was present, but his mind was a thousand light-years away.
~As well it might be,~ Sanders chided himself.
"Colonel Wolf, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," Sanders said, shaking the man's hand. Wolf's hair and beard were dark black, but streaks of grey were starting to appear, hinting that even the Colonel aged. Yet as Sanders held Wolf's gaze, he was pleased to see the grey eyes were still as hard as titanium.
Sanders motioned wolf to a sitting area in the corner of the room, and the two men found seats. Sanders laced his fingers as he leaned forward to speak.
"Colonel, I'm glad you had time to come down to the planet while your jumpship is recharging. I trust your trip back from Terra has been swift?"
Wolf nodded. "Yes, Marshal, it has been swift. We're in quite a rush to return to Glenmora. We have some unfinished business there."
"I understand, Colonel," Sanders said. "Please, call me Carl." Wolf nodded at this, but said nothing. After a somewhat awkward pause, Sanders continued. "Colonel Wolf, first let me express my sorrow at hearing of the losses suffered by your unit in your escape from the Combine. I was especially sorry to hear of the loss of the Hephaestus station."
"Thank you, Marshal. The Dragon has much to answer for," Wolf said, his jaw tightening beneath his beard.
"Yes, Colonel. Which is why I asked you to come here. As you know, Leftenant General Sortek has assigned the Tenth Deneb as support for the Dragoon forces. I'm prepared to deploy my entire RCT at your command, sir. Our 'mechs are already loaded and our dropships are fueled. Just say the word, and we'll boost within the hour."
Sanders voice was steady, but his heart was racing. Sanders had no love of combat, but he did seek to prove to himself and to the men and women under his command what the Tenth Deneb was made of. As one of the newer units in the Deneb Light Cavalry, the Tenth was largely untested. Most of the troops had run through ample simulations -- some would say too many -- but they all lacked seasoning. Sanders knew that the time had come.
Wolf, it seemed, had other ideas.
"Marshal, thank you for your offer of assistance. As I told General Sortek, however, the Dragoons will stand on their own. The Dragon has permitted atrocities against our unit and our families, and my warriors will settle it with him."
Sanders opened his mouth to protest, but Wolf raised a hand. "Carl," Wolf began, his voice soft, yet his words hard, "I know General Sortek also told you that per the contract between House Davion and the Dragoons, I was given command authority to determine if and when the Tenth Deneb would be ordered to support the Dragoons."
Sanders' anger flared for a moment, but then subsided. Had any other mercenary commander dared speak to him that way, he would have had the man thrown in jail and brought before Comstar on charges of breach of contract. But Jaime Wolf was no ordinary mercenary. And the truth was, the contract did specify that provision. In fact, from what Ardan Sortek had told Carl, it had been a sticking point in the negotiations.
Resignedly, Sanders nodded. "Very well, Colonel," he said, his face grim. "There is a development which you should be aware of."
Sanders stood and motioned Wolf toward a starmap displayed on a monitor mounted into the west wall of the room. At the touch of a button, the screen displayed a representation of the border area between the Draconis Combine and the Federated Suns. Glenmora, Wapakoneta and Harrow's Sun -- the worlds the Dragoons were garrisoning -- were marked in brilliant gold. A fourth world glowed red on the other side of the border, and lines radiated from it to each of the worlds highlighted on the Davion side of the border.
"MIIO indicates that the 16th Galedon Regulars have passed through the Misery system, en route to the Federated Suns. Our analysts suggest that they are coming for the Dragoons.
"The problem, Colonel, is that we don't know which world they're coming to. It could be any of them."
Wolf closed his eyes. "They'll come to Glenmora."
Sanders looked at the older man and nodded. "Yes sir, that's our best guess. They'll be coming for you, sir."
Wolf nodded. "The answer is still no, Marshal."
Sanders ground his teeth in frustration. "Colonel," he began.
Wolf's head whipped around to look at Sanders, and his eyes flared as he spoke. His voice was hard. "No, Marshal. You are to keep the Tenth Deneb here. When the Dragon arrives, he will spare no effort. I will not have his wrath falling upon the Tenth Deneb."
For a moment, Sanders considered pressing the issue further, but decided against it. ~Now is not the time~.
"Very well, Colonel. There is one other thing."
Colonel Wolf regained his control, and Sanders was sure he caught a glimpse of exhaustion in Wolf's eyes. Sanders reached into the breast pocket of his jumpsuit and pulled out a datadisk. Turning it over in his hand, Sanders looked at it.
"If you won't accept the help of the Regiment, perhaps you'll accept this. Contained on this disk are the coordinates of a Pirate Point in the Glenmora system. The timing should just about work out. If our intel is correct, you should arrive at Glenmora just ahead of the 16th Galedon."
Some of the tension seemed to ease from Wolf's shoulders as he took the datadisk. "Thank you, Marshal. For your assistance, and for your understanding."
Draconis March
Federated Suns
September 15, 3028
Marshal Carl Sanders stood from behind his desk as the door chime sounded. He tugged at the waist of his jump suit, adjusting the fit as he crossed the room.
"Enter," the Marshal said, standing before the makeshift desk behind him. Sanders' unit, the Tenth Deneb Light Cavalry had commandeered the spaceport facilities on Benet III to serve as their command post, and Sanders' office had once been the port commander's.
The door opened, and a small man dressed in a black uniform with crimson trim stepped forward. At the man's collar were pins designating him a Colonel. Sanders smiled at the understated rank. ~Commander of five regiments of battlemechs, and he still keeps the rank of Colonel,~ Sanders marveled.
"Marshal Sanders, thank you for seeing me," the Colonel said, stepping forward and extending his hand. His voice was firm, commanding, yet not completely distanced. Sanders sensed a gulf distancing them, as if the Colonel was present, but his mind was a thousand light-years away.
~As well it might be,~ Sanders chided himself.
"Colonel Wolf, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," Sanders said, shaking the man's hand. Wolf's hair and beard were dark black, but streaks of grey were starting to appear, hinting that even the Colonel aged. Yet as Sanders held Wolf's gaze, he was pleased to see the grey eyes were still as hard as titanium.
Sanders motioned wolf to a sitting area in the corner of the room, and the two men found seats. Sanders laced his fingers as he leaned forward to speak.
"Colonel, I'm glad you had time to come down to the planet while your jumpship is recharging. I trust your trip back from Terra has been swift?"
Wolf nodded. "Yes, Marshal, it has been swift. We're in quite a rush to return to Glenmora. We have some unfinished business there."
"I understand, Colonel," Sanders said. "Please, call me Carl." Wolf nodded at this, but said nothing. After a somewhat awkward pause, Sanders continued. "Colonel Wolf, first let me express my sorrow at hearing of the losses suffered by your unit in your escape from the Combine. I was especially sorry to hear of the loss of the Hephaestus station."
"Thank you, Marshal. The Dragon has much to answer for," Wolf said, his jaw tightening beneath his beard.
"Yes, Colonel. Which is why I asked you to come here. As you know, Leftenant General Sortek has assigned the Tenth Deneb as support for the Dragoon forces. I'm prepared to deploy my entire RCT at your command, sir. Our 'mechs are already loaded and our dropships are fueled. Just say the word, and we'll boost within the hour."
Sanders voice was steady, but his heart was racing. Sanders had no love of combat, but he did seek to prove to himself and to the men and women under his command what the Tenth Deneb was made of. As one of the newer units in the Deneb Light Cavalry, the Tenth was largely untested. Most of the troops had run through ample simulations -- some would say too many -- but they all lacked seasoning. Sanders knew that the time had come.
Wolf, it seemed, had other ideas.
"Marshal, thank you for your offer of assistance. As I told General Sortek, however, the Dragoons will stand on their own. The Dragon has permitted atrocities against our unit and our families, and my warriors will settle it with him."
Sanders opened his mouth to protest, but Wolf raised a hand. "Carl," Wolf began, his voice soft, yet his words hard, "I know General Sortek also told you that per the contract between House Davion and the Dragoons, I was given command authority to determine if and when the Tenth Deneb would be ordered to support the Dragoons."
Sanders' anger flared for a moment, but then subsided. Had any other mercenary commander dared speak to him that way, he would have had the man thrown in jail and brought before Comstar on charges of breach of contract. But Jaime Wolf was no ordinary mercenary. And the truth was, the contract did specify that provision. In fact, from what Ardan Sortek had told Carl, it had been a sticking point in the negotiations.
Resignedly, Sanders nodded. "Very well, Colonel," he said, his face grim. "There is a development which you should be aware of."
Sanders stood and motioned Wolf toward a starmap displayed on a monitor mounted into the west wall of the room. At the touch of a button, the screen displayed a representation of the border area between the Draconis Combine and the Federated Suns. Glenmora, Wapakoneta and Harrow's Sun -- the worlds the Dragoons were garrisoning -- were marked in brilliant gold. A fourth world glowed red on the other side of the border, and lines radiated from it to each of the worlds highlighted on the Davion side of the border.
"MIIO indicates that the 16th Galedon Regulars have passed through the Misery system, en route to the Federated Suns. Our analysts suggest that they are coming for the Dragoons.
"The problem, Colonel, is that we don't know which world they're coming to. It could be any of them."
Wolf closed his eyes. "They'll come to Glenmora."
Sanders looked at the older man and nodded. "Yes sir, that's our best guess. They'll be coming for you, sir."
Wolf nodded. "The answer is still no, Marshal."
Sanders ground his teeth in frustration. "Colonel," he began.
Wolf's head whipped around to look at Sanders, and his eyes flared as he spoke. His voice was hard. "No, Marshal. You are to keep the Tenth Deneb here. When the Dragon arrives, he will spare no effort. I will not have his wrath falling upon the Tenth Deneb."
For a moment, Sanders considered pressing the issue further, but decided against it. ~Now is not the time~.
"Very well, Colonel. There is one other thing."
Colonel Wolf regained his control, and Sanders was sure he caught a glimpse of exhaustion in Wolf's eyes. Sanders reached into the breast pocket of his jumpsuit and pulled out a datadisk. Turning it over in his hand, Sanders looked at it.
"If you won't accept the help of the Regiment, perhaps you'll accept this. Contained on this disk are the coordinates of a Pirate Point in the Glenmora system. The timing should just about work out. If our intel is correct, you should arrive at Glenmora just ahead of the 16th Galedon."
Some of the tension seemed to ease from Wolf's shoulders as he took the datadisk. "Thank you, Marshal. For your assistance, and for your understanding."