Part III

MAF Staging Ground

Dunianshire

Magistracy of Canopus

March 15th, 2588

Sitting in the command chair of her Thunderbolt BattleMech, Floral Centrella reached up to wipe the sweat from her brow. She replaced her hands upon the controls and twisted the Mech's torso to pan her vision across the dusty parade ground. Military vehicles of all kinds inhabited the makeshift staging area, some loading ammunition, some undergoing last minute repairs, and still others idling in wait. In the predawn light she could see the loosely organized ranks of infantry and the bustling technicians hurriedly moving between vehicles in preparation for the coming battle.

Everything was coming together nicely. The Star League forces should have been on the ground by now, setting up their own staging area. General Zhukov would no doubt be itching for a fight, preparing to move his troops directly towards the Magistracy's main formation and meet them head-on—just like she wanted him to. At the thought, a predatory smile crept onto her face.

The communications network buzzed for her attention; it was Colonel Buquoy. She keyed up the private channel, "Yes, Adam?"

"Magistrix, may I have a word with you?"

Though she didn't need to, Floral pivoted her 'Mech around to face Buquoy's Hunchback where it stood with the rest of her command lance. "Yes, of course. What is it?"

Buquoy was silent a moment as if steeling himself. "I would like to ask you to reconsider this offensive."

Floral sighed

"We may win this battle, but we've already lost the war," he continued.

"We've been over this before. I know the risk. I know what is at a stake, and I know the eventual outcome. But I don't give a damn."

"Please Magistrix, you have to see what I'm saying is true."

"It's not up for discussion. I won't let Cameron have the satisfaction."

"You're treating this like a personal vendetta against him," he protested. "It would be different if it was just the two of you, but you're drawing all of these men and women into the conflict too. They don't have to die needlessly."

Floral felt her previous hope degenerate into anger. "You think they would still be here if they thought so?" she retorted hotly. "Open your eyes, damnit. They're ready to die for what they believe in. Why aren't you?"

"The only reason they're here is because you ordered them to be—just like everyone in this army," he spat back.

"Oh, just like I ordered you?" Her voice took an icy tone. "If you feel that way, Colonel Buquoy, then leave. Climb out of your 'Mech and go find a dark hole to crawl into; hide while the rest of us face Cameron's lackeys and fight for what we believe in."

"You know I won't do that," he said quietly.

"Then why do you think the rest of them will?"

Buquoy couldn't answer that.

The Magistrix's voice softened, "Believe me Adam, I don't want them to die any more than you do, but the Magistracy is not a nation of cowards. We didn't bend to Cameron's wishes when he first tried to pull us into his Star League, and we sure as hell won't do so now."

Buquoy was silent.

"Now," she said, "If there's nothing else, we have a battle to win."

"Understood, Magistrix," he said stiffly.

"Good. Pass down the order that I will be addressing the troops shortly."

"Yes, Magistrix," he intoned before cutting the connection.

Floral sighed and sat back in her command chair. She knew Buquoy was right. The man was a shrewd tactician and one of her closest advisors. What's more, he was a friend. She trusted his judgment in everything—except for this. She didn't give a damn about practicality. Practicality went out the window when Canopus fell four years ago. This was about ideals. This battle was a statement. The periphery may have been a band of cast offs and rebels, but they would not be intimidated. She used that thought to fuel the fires of her soul, pushing the argument with Buquoy out of her mind.

The troops had undoubtedly been informed of the coming address because they started to form up in ranks, vehicle crews disembarking from their machines to stand at attention. Floral smiled to herself, admiring the zeal and discipline her troops possessed. A rush of pride struck her as she surveyed the army arrayed before her, every one of them standing tall with the knowledge of what they were about to do and the inevitable cost of the battle to come. Their resolve, their determination in the face of all odds, instilled her heart with the conviction that she had made the right choice. Her people stood by her, ready to face hell on earth and hell in the hereafter for the beliefs all of them held dear.

She reached down to switch on her external speakers, thinking of the speech she had written the night before. She momentarily closed her eyes to collect her thoughts and then began.

"Soldiers of the Magistracy Armed Forces, I bear tidings to you in this, our darkest of hours. As you all know, the enemy is no longer knocking on our doorstep. He has already battered down the gate and set about ravaging our beloved home. Ian Cameron, wanton egomaniac that he is, has set his famed Star League Defense Force upon our neutral nation. For eleven brutal years he has killed our fathers, raped our mothers, pillaged our lands, and now he seeks to enslave the children of this great nation under the iron fist of his vaunted Star League." She paused, letting the gravity of her words sink in.

"You all know your duties this day, as do I. You also know, that there will be no retreat. There can be no retreat, because there is nowhere to retreat to. We are surrounded by a determined enemy, one that has demonstrated his resolve to dominate this nation time and time again. In these dark times, a leader of less resolve—a lesser leader—might flee. A lesser leader might sue for her own survival, pay ransom to save her self from the coming onslaught. A lesser leader might cower in a bunker while the citizens of her nation fight and die for their country. But I am not a lesser leader. I stand and fight with you, the men and women I have come to love, brothers and sisters all." Again she paused.

"Our forefathers settled this great nation in hopes that their children could grow up free, liberated of the endless and pointless struggles of the 'great' houses. Now Ian Cameron seeks to destroy all of that, to absorb us into his empire. He offers us a place in his Star League, claiming that such a union will usher in a golden age for all of mankind. But Cameron has already demonstrated how hollow his words truly are, attacking this neutral nation under the banner of so-called "reunification." He promises peace and freedom, but all he offers is tyranny and oppression. He says he holds high the ideals of freedom and self-determination, but he ignores our cries for those very rights. This fascist megalomaniac cannot imagine a human world not under his control, and as such he seeks to absorb us into his hegemonic Star League through brute force. His armies have looted our worlds, slain millions of our kinsmen, and now they offer the same fate for us.

"You may believe this struggle to be hopeless. You may believe this is a battle that cannot be won. You may believe that the only thing to come of this battle will be more death and bloodshed. I will not lie to you my brethren. If we win the battle this day, Cameron will only send more troops to do what the others could not. If you wish to lay down your arms, to surrender to the bull that has trampled our nation, I will not stop you. Unlike Cameron, I acknowledge your sacred right to freedom. I do not seek to enslave you to my cause. You may do as you wish with no fear of retribution.

"But I, for one, refuse to go quietly into that good night. I would rather die free than live under the yoke of oppression, for life under tyranny is no life at all. Men are meant to live according to their own will, not the domineering force of an emperor determined to lord over all of mankind. If we die today, we die with the knowledge that the sacred light of freedom has not been snuffed out. We die knowing that though our bodies may be broken, our deeds live on in the memory of those left behind. The Ides of March may spell our doom, but I welcome that fate. We may die this day, my brothers and sisters, but we die free!"

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Colonel Buquoy looked on as the Magistrix's Thunderbolt pumped its arm in the air. The other assembled 'Mechs imitated the action, raising their arms to the sky as the infantry below followed suit. Thousands of voices rose in unison, filling the parade ground with a chorus of cheers.

He couldn't believe how they could be so eager for their own deaths. They allowed themselves to become swept up in the tide of patriotic emotion, ignoring even the basic tenants of common sense. They blindly follow her into battle, he thought to himself, willingly being led to the slaughter. It's the blind leading the blind.

He had known Floral wouldn't change her mind when he asked her to reconsider. He had known, but he had to try anyway. And really there was only one decision left to him—one decision that could save the Magistracy's people from one more hopeless battle.

He activated his targeting gear, cycling through the weapons to the massive autocannon 20 mounted on the Hunchback's shoulder. The targeting reticule slowly drifted toward the Thunderbolt, settling on the 'Mech's backside. It would be so easy. One shot and it could be done with. He could end this madness before anyone else had to die. His finger tightened on the trigger. One twitch and it would be over.

But could he do it? His heart warred with his mind, logic battling with conscience. Would he really kill the person to whom he had pledged a life of service? Or would he let thousands more die when he had the power to end this nightmare of a war?

The simple fact was he that could not bring himself to do either.

Buquoy released the trigger with a disheartened sigh and hung his head in shame.