Chapter Seven
The Colonel sat back from the console and rubbed his hands over his face. "Well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see what kind of response we get from that, eh?" Captain Neal gave him a reassuring thumbs-up, while Perry Quince looked almost ready to sick up. The rest of his command staff fell somewhere in between the two extremes.
"I'll bet he turns tail and runs, Colonel," offered Quix, prompting a nervous laugh from everyone. "Pun very much intended…'Clan Wolf', indeed."
Cochren smiled. "Yeah. All right, lets hit the wardroom for some high-level discussion. We'll leave the militia leaders out of it at this point – they're involvement is one of the things we need to go over." He gestured towards the door. "Go on, I'll be along in a minute or two. And get some coffee going." The officers saluted as space allowed in the cramped communications room, then began to file out. Bryan called at his executive officer's back, "Major, that does not mean you. You touch that coffee maker and I'll call this guy back and tell him that you'll meet him with your cooling shorts and a squirt gun, you got that?" Mellert just gave him a nasty grin and continued on. Bryan turned back to his communications officer and clapped a hand on the bigger man's shoulder. "Graham, keep me posted. As soon as anything comes in let me know, even if I'm sleeping. Make sure anyone you have relieve you has standing orders to that effect."
"Yes, sir. Do you want me to set up a regimental meeting?"
"Good idea. Make it, oh, ten hundred tomorrow morning. I imagine we should have an answer from our friends upstairs by then." He nodded to Jordan, then left the communications center. It was a short walk to the wardroom, and he arrived just as the coffee finished brewing. The way Quix was leaning on the counter and the disgruntled look on his Major's face told him that the coffee would be palatable. Apparently Dave's nefarious beverage plans had been thwarted. He poured himself a steaming mug and sat down.
"Okay, then, on to the first order of business. How do you think we should utilize the militia?"
Packard grunted. "The kids aren't ready yet, sir."
"I know, Kelly, but the Council wants them to play a part in this. Can we really deny them the chance to help defend their homeworld in the first place?" Most of the officers shook their heads. Dallas Shrike, his armor commander, did so vehemently. He had been in a FedCom militia during the war of 3039 and done just that. "I didn't think so. The question is, how can we use them without putting them in a position where their inexperience makes them a liability to us and gets them all killed?" Patsy rapped her knuckles on the table. "Yeah, Bee?"
"Well, Colonel," the diminutive pilot said, "I don't know about the groundpounders, but as far as the aerospace pilots go I think putting them into a dogfight situation is a bad idea. Only Michaelson is up to that, and we can't keep a good eye on them while shootin' and scootin'. I think we should use them in a ground-attack role. The little Seydlitz's they pilot can do a decent job of that without exposing themselves to too much fire. Michaelson can ride herd over the eltee and Newmark, and if things get nasty they have run speed and can get the hell out of dodge." Bryan nodded.
"Sounds good, Bee. Kelly, do you think any of the infantry are up to a fight?"
"I'm assuming you mean the 'useful' ones, sir?"
Bryan laughed. "Yeah, Kelly, the anti-mech PBIs. You had what, two platoons of them in training?"
"Yes, sir. Out of them, I'd say maybe a dozen or so are game, provided we attach them to our platoons. By themselves they'd probably scatter." The 'Old Man', as he was called, shrugged. Cochren valued the Master Sergeant's opinion and often included him in planning sessions even though he refused a commission. "I'd bet the Major'd say the same thing about their mechjocks," he drawled.
Bryan turned to his executive officer. "Dave?" His second-in-command leaned forward to answer.
"Defintitely. They're fine in exercises and perform well enough as a team at lance level, but in a real furball? They'd probably break without a veteran unit to stiffen their spines. I'd suggest we saddle Perry with the heavy lance and Nichole with the lighter." Quince frowned at his name.
"I'd…rather the heavy lance be attached to someone else," he said carefully.
Bryan fixed his senior company commander with a level gaze. Quince had been down for a long time, and though he wasn't exactly the life of the party at the best of times, everyone could tell that he was seriously bothered. "Perry, are you all right? You're my most experienced captain and you have the heaviest machines in the regiment. I know you can find a use for the militia without getting them killed."
His drawn face gave Bryan a moment of doubt. "They'd be better off with Quix or Nichole, Colonel." The other Captains looked at each other. It definitely wasn't like Perry to try to delegate responsibility like that.
"Look, Perry, we've known each other a long time, so don't take this personally. I need to know though – have you lost it? I can't have you go south on me on the eve of a fight just because you've had a bad premonition."
That set Quince's jaw, and he replied firmly, "I'll not fail you, Bryan, but put the militia with someone else."
"Fine." Cochren sighed. "Quix, they're yours." He glanced back at Perry. "The heavies, that is. Nichole, the lights will go to you. They should complement Iota well," he said, referring to his wife's light lance. They were known for hit and fade tactics and ambushes. "Dallas, you and Mellert will need to work out how best to use their armor assets."
"Yes, sir," the officers responded. Even the normally grinning Quix Neal was subdued now.
"Good. We'll have a regimental meeting tomorrow morning at ten hundred. I'll have the militia there for it as well. Until then, work on suggestions for the best way to defend this rock and where to do it from. If we don't hear from our new friends before then, we'll convene here again tomorrow morning at six. Dismissed."
It was only about four hours later that his phone rang, waking him up after less than an hour of rest. His wife, even after all these years, was still amazed that he could sleep on the eve of a fight. After breaking the meeting last night, he had retired to his room and pored over topographical maps, reaffirming his five month old impressions of the possible battlefields St. John had to offer. Then he had grabbed a notepad and begun scratching out plans. After three hours of scribbling and brainstorming, he had finally collapsed into bed. Nichole was already sound asleep, having come back over an hour earlier from a session with the other company commanders. Mellert and Shrike were still at it, she had told him.
He snagged the phone before it could ring again and wake his wife. She rolled over, but didn't say anything, so he assumed success. "Graham?"
"Lieutenant Jordan's asleep, Colonel. This is Corporal Frederickson. You asked to be notified when we received a response from orbit."
"Indeed. I'll be there in five minutes, Corporal."
"Should I call the other
officers, sir?"
"No, Corporal, we've got less than -" he glanced at the clock, "- three hours before a dawn meeting anyways. Let them sleep."
"All right, Colonel. See you soon, sir."
Bryan hung up the phone, then slid from bed. He was just pulling a shirt over his head when Nichole's voice spoke softly from the darkness. "I take it they called back?"
"Yeah. I'll be back in a bit. We'll discuss it in the morning. I figured I'd let all you guys get some rest in." He pulled the shirt on and walked over to the bed, then leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. "I love you, Nichole. Go back to sleep. Leave the restless pacing to us Colonels."
"Okay, dear. Hurry back."
"I will." He turned and left the room. The corridors were empty this early in the morning, as anyone not on duty or insane was getting rest while they could. A few minutes walking put him outside the communications room. He opened the door and strode into the darkened room, lit only by a soft overhead. The man at the console turned, then stood and saluted.
"Colonel, sir. We had two messages come in, one from the 'Wolves' and one from the Messiah. They arrived almost simultaneously."
"Very good, Corporal. Have you played either, yet?"
"No, sir. Would you like me to leave while you view them, sir?"
"No, that's alright, Corporal. You'd find out tomorrow, er, later today anyways. I'll just have to ask you to avoid rumor-mongering until then, okay, son?" He clapped the young man on the shoulder.
"Thank you, sir." Frederickson positively beamed. "I got you some coffee." He indicated a steaming styrofoam cup on the ledge. "Which would you like me to play first, Colonel?"
"Thanks, Corporal." He picked up the cup but didn't drink. "Hmm…give me the Messiah's message first, when that's done play the Wolves'. I'll want a copy of both when I leave, as well."
"Aye, sir." The corporal sat back down and fiddled with a few knobs, then pressed a button. The familiar voice of Jaleel Horne, the Messiah's captain, came from the small speaker in the communications console. Like before, it carried no video.
"Colonel, the ships have launched three of the Union-class ships and the one that we tentatively identified as a carrier. They're oriented on St. John and are burning in at one gee. Thrust profile suggests they are all fully loaded. Obviously, they are still too far away for a projected landing zone. There are no fighters in evidence yet, and likewise they don't seem to mind me and the Messiah sitting here keeping an eye on them. They haven't even come over for a look-see. I'll let you know if anything changes. Horne out."
Cochren waved for the comm officer to play the next message when he looked up. The now-familiar image of the invader's commander flashed into existence on the video screen. He leaned forward, his braids swinging, and his deep voice boomed, "Colonel Bryan of the Angels. Our bidding is complete. We will attack with Supernovas Command and Second, Bravo and Charlie Battle Stars, and two Points of OmniFighters in roughly two and a half days. Please communicate to us your choice of venue soon so that we may make the necessary course corrections." His dark eyes narrowed, reminding Bryan very much of the wolf depicted in the crest on his left shoulder. This smaller crest was a rust red wolf's head over a rectangle. "I look forward to joining in battle with you, Colonel. I will enjoy wresting this world from your control." The image winked out, and Bryan sat back in his chair, mulling over what the two communications had told him. Frederickson looked at him expectantly.
"Our choice of venue, eh?" Bryan snorted. Having just refreshed his memory from the topographical maps of St. John, he knew just where he wanted to fight. "But is he being serious, or will he drop into our rear after we've deployed?" he asked himself, not really noticing that he'd spoken out loud.
"Sir?" Frederickson said, obviously confused.
"Well, son, suffice to say that things are going to get real interesting here on St. John in a couple days. And this Star Colonel Sender is either extremely confident in his ability to beat us on our own terms, or very foolish." He stood. "Copies?"
"Oh, uh, yes, sir." After a moment he handed Bryan a data disk.
"I'm sorry to leave you with so many questions, Frederickson, but you're just going to have to keep things under wraps for another seven hours or so. There will be a regimental meeting at ten hundred, okay?"
"Yes, sir." Bryan clapped him on the shoulder again, and smiled at the worried look on the youth's face.
"Don't worry, Corporal, the Angels will be fine. We've got a deity on our side, remember?" He raised the cup of coffee in a silent toast before taking a drink, then tried very hard not to grimace and spit it back out. Apparently Lieutenant Frederickson had been taking coffee-making lessons from his executive officer. Then he went to go get his maps so he could send a reply.
Later that morning, Cochren was already sitting in the wardroom by the time his staff showed up. Even the armor company commanders were there, and Bryan nodded cordially to them. Generally only Shrike came to staff-level meetings, and the Colonel trusted him to make sure the information got passed along. Apparently he was taking this just as seriously as everyone else. Bryan stifled a laugh when his XO walked in and narrowed his eyes at the already made coffee.
"Don't worry, Dave, a Corporal by the name of Frederickson nailed me last night with it."
Dave laughed. "Garret? He's my nephew."
Bryan snorted. "No wonder. If anything, his coffee was worse than yours." Perry walked in next, followed by Patsy and Kelly Packard, completing the staff. "Alright, everyone grab some coffee or whatever and have a seat. We've got plenty to talk about this morning, and at ten hundred there will be a regimental meeting to inform the troops, officially, of what's going on." Everyone nodded understanding.
"At about oh three hundred this morning we received two communiqués, one from Horne in the Messiah informing us of dropship launch by the invaders, another from this 'Star Colonel Sender' of the enemy forces. According to Horne, they launched three of what he thinks are a Union variant, and one unidentified dropship that he thinks might be an aerospace fighter carrier. The Star Colonel was kind enough to inform us with what forces he'll be landing -"
"Excuse me, sir," interrupted Captain Lydia Antonescue, the commander of armor's Third Company. "They actually told us what we're going to be fighting?"
"Well, yes, Captain, for all the good it does us. I have no idea what a 'Supernova', 'Star' or 'Point' is, so the only real thing we have to go on is the dropship loadout. Horne says that the thrust profile indicates that two of the Unions are heavy, which means a full complement of big-assed machines. From that I'd say we're facing a heavy battalion with possible aerospace support at least."
"Supernovas and Stars, Colonel?" asked Perry, showing some signs of life. "Those aren't any unit designations used in the Successor States."
"I know, Perry. I checked all the way back to pre-Star League. Sender indicated that he intended to ground two Supernovas, two Stars, and two Points of what he called OmniFighters, whatever those are. Furthermore, he asked me where I wanted to fight him." That produced the desired results, as jaws dropped around the room.
Major Mellert cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, Colonel, but do you believe him?"
"In a word, yes, though I couldn't really tell you why. This whole thing is so crazy that the only thing I am sure about is that in two days, give or take, we're going to have a fight on our hands."
"But why would anyone in their right minds offer to fight on the defenders' terms? With a day to prepare and artillery assets, that's tantamount to suicide!"
"Obviously he thinks different, Major. Either this Sender is a complete fool playing at being a warrior, or he knows something we don't. Given the fact that there are hundreds of thousands of tons of military hardware up there, I'm inclined to believe the latter. I have also received information from a couple different sources that lead me to believe that this is a dead serious attempt to take this world."
"What sources, Bryan?" queried his wife.
"Morgan Kell spent a lot of money to send me a message that arrived yesterday via Comstar. In it he included some footage shot from his son's 'mech on duty in the periphery. His son is missing, presumed dead, along with the rest of his lance, and they were fighting 'mechs the likes of which have never been seen before. Also yesterday, during my meeting with the Senators and Administrator, a message arrived from Prince Magnusson for Meryl. He allowed me to stay, and the message indicated that at least three other worlds have been taken already by these invaders. He sent a data packet as well, which I've only been able to scan. It seems to indicate that these 'Wolves' are indeed telling the truth in their dealings." He held it up. "We'll look at it in a bit."
"Okay, later with that stuff," said Quix. "Did you tell him where we'll fight then?"
"I chose a small section of plain just east of the Killian Spires, about one hundred and twenty kilometers from here. It's boxed in by foothills to the south and an old growth forest to the east. Smaller 'mechs and most vehicles can navigate it, but larger BattleMechs will have a hard time. I included coordinates for him to ground at here, north of that forest." Bryan indicated the map lain out on the table. "We'll see from his inbound trajectory if he follows them or not. The foothills and forest give us good staging areas, and there is a flatland just south of the foothills that we can ground the Left and Right at if need be. A few more kilometers south is where I'll have them stationed, along with our artillery."
"And if they don't ground there and choose to head for the city instead?" asked the Old Man. His infantry would be much more useful in a city fight, even though nobody wanted to see that happen.
"We call in the ships and make a short hop back to the city. We'd still get there before them, especially with Patsy to harass them on the way in." Packard nodded. "Okay, first I'll lay out my basic deployment, then we'll have about two and a half hours to iron out some details, including a redeployment strategy. Deal?"
"Yes, sir," replied his officers.
"Good." The Colonel dumped a bunch of unit markers onto the map, then began to place them as he spoke. "I think we'll sit Shrike's heavy stuff in the western woods, along with elements of First and Third Companies. In the eastern woods I'll want the harassment stuff. We can hit them and fade back into the forest, so fast 'mechs and armor only. We'll place one platoon of infantry near the northern edge to spot for artillery as they move west before turning south into the plains. Kelly?"
"Yeah, boss," the sergeant drawled.
"I think you're anti-mech platoons will get to test out those new Maxims as well. I want them in the western edge of the woods. Once we've engaged in the plains you pop into the rear and see if you can take someone down. The northern edge of the woods will be the cutoff point for artillery – they'll go back on the dropship then. The main battle element will deploy along the foothills to draw them in. Once they do, the surprises come out of the woods and we've got them on three sides. Fourth Company can put those LRM carriers to some fire support, and the SRM carriers should be poised just over the top of the hill. They'll be a nasty surprise for anyone getting too close. If things go to hell, we fall back south to this grassland," he pointed, "and load up. Everybody got it?" A chorus of agreements met his question.
"Good. Now let's make it better."
