Disclaimer: I do not own BattleTech, also, lengthy A/N at the end regarding future posting and the Antares cache
LC-1019135-2315126
WDDS Mange
Natasha Kerensky was bored.
She'd spent plenty of time on DropShips. It was starting to feel like half her life had been lived in transit between one battle and another. There were possibly JumpShips in use that were centuries old that didn't have the light-years she'd managed to accumulate. You'd think in all that time she'd have gotten used to floating around on a DropShip.
And she had.
Really!
It was just that there was always some newbie to harass. Or some tech that she could bother. At the very least she could go prowling around in the crew areas and poke at something shiny. Maybe even find something to poke back at her.
But now there were no other mechjocks. There were no techs. And if she poked at something like, say, the fusion reactor and it stopped working, there was no one to get it started again.
Well…she could probably figure out the reactor. How much different could a reactor used to power a DropShip be from hitting the big, green, power-on button on a 'mech? Now, the waste reclamation system on the other hand…
Bored!
She'd already taken her Warhammer out and stomped all over the hull. And then spent some time stomping around inside the DropShip just for kicks.
There was nothing to do.
There was no one to do.
And she had to eat her own cooking.
Her own zero-g cooking.
Jaime had really gone and done it this time.
She'd taped a pic of an Archer up in the canopy of her Warhammer and gone out on the hull and blasted away with lasers and PPCs until even that got boring.
And so she had found herself on the bridge contemplating how hard it would be to learn to fly a DropShip with no formal schooling and no other crew. Which was how she just happened to be looking in the right direction when the first WarShip made translation and things suddenly became very unboring because following on the first was a second.
And a third.
A fourth.
Fifth…
"Oh, fuck me…"
Devin
The Boneyard
James MacPherson tapped his map—hard copy, no fancy holo-map for this colonel—and grinned to himself
"I don't—they're actually doing it, Sir!"
MacPherson nodded, allowed himself a solitary moment to contemplate what it would have been like if Ariana had been allowed to stick around another four days, and then turned to his Intelligence Officer.
"It wasn't like they had much of a choice, Eric."
He turned to his map. The Boneyard was laid out in a rough, elongated oval that ran vaguely from south-east to north-west. "There are no good approaches from the ends," he said now, gesturing to the map.
And then, because he was an honest sort, at least where those not intending to try and kill him and/or take his planet were concerned, he added, "Not anymore, at least."
Suitable qualification made, MacPherson indicated the map once more. "Trying would give us the opportunity to bleed them on ground of our choice. The path from the north-west would be a lot shorter, but why bother when there's another option?"
"And the south-west?"
"Would you want to try landing mechs in the Waste?" MacPherson asked. The area wasn't quite so bad as its name sounded, but the terrain was very uneven and two and a half centuries of heavy metals and toxic waste had flowed down into it from the Boneyard. "Besides, even if they dropped into the area rather than landing, they'd have almost as far to go as if they came from the north-east."
Waldorf
CJF Turkina's Pride
Elias Crichell annotated the movement plan in three places before grunting in satisfaction. His Clan's supply and transportation situation was finally coming under control. The Falcon Guards would only be on Twycross an additional month and perhaps the harsh-weather training would be useful.
He might wish for more frontline forces, but with the follow-on garrisons even that might not be necessary. Why, if there were no forces present then he hardly needed a front-line unit to secure them. He could not be accused of bringing unbid forces in if he simply landed garrisons on uncontested worlds. Certainly, the Seventh Falcon Talon would need no help to set up their garrison and bring the inhabitants to heel. And if it turned out that the information Ulric's ally in this 'ComStar' proved itself false, or the data were to be slightly questioned, well, it would hardly be his fault if a garrison unit needed to trod on the toes of a few resisters with military equipment, would it?
A chime sounded.
"Come!" he barked.
The hatch of his day cabin slid open and Star Colonel Beverly McFadden stalked in.
Two years his aide-de-camp and Elias Crichell had yet to see her move with anything less than a coiled anticipation of violence. There weren't many who'd claim three kills in their first Trial of Position. Even fewer won their bloodname before their twenty-fourth year. McFadden had not only done both, she had killed—not merely defeated—all of those she had faced and had only added more since.
Elias sometimes wondered if she was as amused by the nickname 'Crusher' that was very quietly used behind her back as he was by his own. Other times he wondered if she could be amused…
"Trouble," she said succinctly.
"What kind of trouble?" Elias asked.
"The Spheroids are changing tactics," Beverly replied. "Bone Norman was hit with an orbital assault that used a local meteor shower to mask the drop-pods."
"And assault?" Elias repeated.
"Orbital assault, with conventional armor in drop-pods," she amplified. "A meteor shower was dismissed by the local garrison commander, only to be cover for two short battalions of light armor. They landed undetected, and one made a stealth approach then shot up the garrison as it blitzed past."
"And did our garrison pursue and destroy these surats?" Elias asked with forced patience.
Beverly's expression was rather predatory and very much not a smile.
"They pursued," she said. "And then the second short battalion—a reinforced company really—drove through the base and managed to inflict substantial damage to the repair facilities, magazines, and barracks. Both units were able to use their mobility to evade the garrison cluster and made good their escape on their DropShips."
"I see. Find a suitable duty to reassign the garrison commander to."
"Impossible. One of her star commanders issued a Trial of Grievance and slew her."
"How efficient, but I do not recall seeing a petition for such a Trial put before the Clan Council."
"It was not put on the agenda," Beverly said.
Elias hummed. "Whatever assignment you would have given that Star Colonel, give it to this other warrior."
Beverly frowned.
"You disagree?"
"Yes, ovKhan," she said. "The commander in question was an idiot, and made our Clan a laughing stock. Such needs to be addressed in a manner most immediate and definitive. Star Commander Caleb has done so."
"Agreed," Elias said, noting Beverly's poorly-hid surprise. "I do not object to the issuance of a Trial, or to the most final deposition which concluded it. The garrison commander erred in ignoring the meteor shower, and again in bypassing the rules governing Trials of Grievance. If they had simply harred off behind the barracks and shot one another I would have been fine with it.
"But Grievance Trials are messy things. All too often, even when granted, they fester. Thus, the elaborate rules and rituals governing such matters. In dragging things out, the original slight is often forgotten, and thus allows a more equitable outcome."
Beverly frowned. "But such would not be in the interest of our Clan."
"Of course not," Elias said. "But we can no more allow the flouting of the rules—which this Caleb did, even at the behest of his Star Colonel—than we can continence ineptitude on the part of those entrusted with cluster command, or allow such behavior to potentially compromise military readiness. We are at war, Star Colonel. Even our garrisons. And I am fully aware of just how bored our warriors assigned to such get. And yet this latest attack has clearly demonstrated that we can afford neither laxity nor boredom and that is the responsibility of our garrison commanders, quiaff?
"Aff, Khan," Beverly agreed.
"Good," Elias said. "Now, whatever assignment you have, make sure Caleb has the appropriate rank for it. A mark of favor for him to contemplate even has he contemplates our mark of disfavor. Give him…eight months to see what he does with it, and then prepare a recommendation for how the Clan can make best use of him."
"Understood."
"Now. Our losses?"
"Losses in combat material and warriors mostly minimal. The garrison facilities will need to be rebuilt, which can be done out of local resources. Likewise food and similar items can be made good. But ordnance, weapons, armor, parts, and similar supplies will need to be replaced. Additionally, some of the technicians and support personnel grabbed weapons and attempted to defend the base. They were massacred, and will also need to be replaced."
Elias frowned, that behavior was something he would have expected from Blood Spirit civilians, not those of his own Clan. Still, they had paid the price for their presumption and temerity so at least he was spared that unpleasantness.
"I see… Continue."
"Material captured after terrorist attacks, or in raids upon their camps, has yielded equipment in much better condition than we have seen previously."
Elias frowned. "Damage to the enemy?"
"Minimal."
"And to our forces?"
"Aside from previously outlined? Also, minimal." Beverly shrugged. "Additionally, there is a…situation on Antares."
Elias' eyes narrowed. "What kind of situation?" he asked dangerously.
"Several routine transmissions have been sent to and from Antares in the last week. However, one of the people we left to catalog the base plays chess-by-Chatterweb with a senior technician attached to the Gyrfalcon's command star. Apparently when this Technician failed to receive his friend's move, he alerted the Galaxy Commander. I am unsure why Samantha Clees tried to arrange a real-time transmission with Star Colonel Devin Buhalin, but she did. And when that transmission was supposed to occur the HPG station on Antares came under attack by 'rebels.' More telling, as far as we have been able to ascertain, nothing but routine or pass-through transmissions have been made from Antares in that time."
"How soon could we be there?"
"Eight days." Beverly had clearly anticipated the question because she did not consult the noteputer under her arm and launched into an answer almost before Elias had finished asking it. "Antares is just less than sixty-two lightyears distant. One day to finish charging, a double-transit and a week to charge the core again. If we want to retain the charge on the lithium-fusion batteries, then just over two weeks."
"Do we have anyone closer?"
"Samantha Clees has one cluster at the Gyrfalcon's assembly point for the assault on Parakoila, and the First Falcon Striker is or will soon be finished with rooting out the freebirths living in the giant scrapheap on Devin."
"Have Samantha move immediately for Antares."
"Might I suggest we allow her to finish charging her drive, first?"
"That's a WarShip, Star Colonel!" Elias snapped. "Two of them, in fact."
"Adrian Malthus has five WarShips, my Khan," Beverly did not snap back. But then, she didn't need to. "He is overdue for reporting in since he left Zoetermeer."
"You are suggesting that these freebirths managed to destroy five WarShips with some scrap-heap fighters, quineg?"
"Neg," Beverly said, then shrugged. "However, it is not impossible that one group of spheroids or another found the base intact and managed to keep its discovery secret from their fellows, or even just ComStar. Also, the Dragoons had six modernized WarShips of their own."
"I remember. It was one of the reasons we included the Emerald Talon and its star in our bid."
"The Dragoons reported placing them in storage. It is possibly that they have been retrieved or even discovered by someone else. For that matter the spheroids have used nuclear weapon strikes delivered by fighters against WarShips in the past."
"And how likely do you think that?" Elias asked.
"Not very. But I would prefer to bring unnecessarily overwhelming firepower, even at the expense of possible ridicule, and crush our enemies in a single blow rather than to feed clusters one-by-one into a nuclear meat-grinder."
"A point," Elias said sourly. And that it was Beverly McFadden making it—and admitting to being willing to expose herself to ridicule even though nobody but a fool would—spoke volumes. "Contact Timur Malthus. Tell him that we need to have a real-time conversation in…" he glanced at his terminal. "Three hours."
"At once, My Khan," Beverly said with a nod
Antares
"Liz—"
"Don't start, Roland."
"Elizabeth."
"Dammit, Colonel. I told you not to start."
"Yes, you did, Colonel," I replied. "But Amanda sent me along for a reason. The same reason why General Winters sent along a staff and they're the ones doing operational planning. You haven't been operational at this level."
"I did my part," she snapped.
"You did more than your part. And we both know an insurgency is a very different animal from a field battle. Amanda's choice to send me along wasn't just about the Quarterhorse, it was so that she had someone she trusted who could make sure you keep your head and so, dammit, Colonel, Ma'am, let me do my job."
Liz laughed at that. "Alright then, Roland. Spit it out."
"If we keep stacking gear we are going to miss our rendezvous."
"There's no avoiding it, Roland. That foamed packing your tech came up with isn't as good as truly boxing a vehicle, but it's good enough. As long as they aren't subjected to too many Gs, they'll ride just fine. But we need time."
"Time we don't have."
"We can't just leave it here, Roland."
"We couldn't take it all with us even if it was boxed." I waited a moment. "When you were planning an op on Terra how long did you spend in the target zone once the mission was done? No matter how juicy a target of opportunity wandered across your path?"
"None," she said instantly. Then: "that isn't the same."
"It's exactly the same. If the turkeys show up the Rios can't maneuver. They can't even pull more than one G. Until they can lock everything down, which they can't do until we suspend cargo operations, they are stuck exactly where they are unless they want their cargo bouncing around in their guts. I hate the idea of leaving the gear, especially now that we found a way to bring more, but we have to balance the risks against the rewards. The rewards are pretty obvious. But one of those risks is our standing with the local powers if we don't support that counter-attack."
Elizabeth scowled at me and turned away. I let her stew for a while, and before I thought I'd hear from her she grudgingly admitted: "okay. That's a good point." Then she fell silent again.
"Three days," she said at length. "You are right in that we need to move. But we need all of the equipment, parts, weapons, that we can take with us as well so… Three days, and then we leave."
LC-1019135-2315126
SLS Salamander
A shimmy ran through the cutter as the pilot killed their momentum, and then a deeper shudder accompanied mechanical clangs as the docking buffers latched out. Natasha felt the barest tug against her restraints as the buffers rotated the cutter and aligned it with the transfer tube extending from the boat bay gallery, and then there was the slightest shiver as the tube connected. Natasha's ears popped as the crew chief checked the connection.
"Good seal."
"Crack the hatch," came the response from the cockpit.
The crew chief rotated the locking arm and tugged slightly at the hatch. When vacuum didn't pull it closed he opened it the rest of the way and stood back.
The only other person in the compartment—a man in an SLDF Navy-branch uniform with lieutenant bars—gestured for her to go first.
Natasha unbuckled herself and kicked across the compartment with the ease of long habit. She grabbed the bar above the hatch intended for that purpose and sent herself 'swimming' down the transfer tube.
There was a green-colored bar at the far end of the tube and she used it to kill her momentum. Another man in an SLDF Navy uniform—this one with warrant bars—gestured slightly to her right and Natasha turned towards the stern to find the flag of the Star League across the aft bulkhead.
The Clans didn't stand on ceremony—at least not this ceremony—and there had been no WarShip in the Inner Sphere in over a century. Natasha saluted it, keeping expression from her face, then turned and saluted the Warrant. "Permission to come aboard, Sir?"
"Permission granted, Colonel."
From the Warrant's expression she had gotten it right.
Then the side-party snapped to, Marines went to present-arms, and there was a skirl of antique lung-powered bosun pipes.
She kicked out of the way—everyone seemed to be wearing ship boots with magnetized soles—and was greeted by another man in an SLDF Navy uniform.
Natasha had first spotted him when she had cleared the tube and had thought these people had gotten a partial look at the Elemental genotype. He was at least as broad as most Elementals, perhaps even broader, but he was barely a hundred seventy centimeters tall.
"Colonel Kerensky, I am Commodore Julius Chung. Welcome aboard SLS Salamander."
"The pleasure is all mine, I'm sure," Natasha said.
"If you will accompany me?" he asked, gesturing towards a lift.
Natasha quickly found herself in the small compartment with her feet resting comfortably on the floor.
"I have been instructed to provide all due courtesies and move to rejoin the fleet in an expeditious manner, so I think it appropriate that you join me on the bridge," he said.
"My 'Mech?"
"Already transferred."
The lift hissed to a stop. Natasha followed Chung out of the lift and he gestured her towards a station.
"Status?"
"Colonel Kerensky's 'Mech is onboard and stowed. All smallcraft are locked down. External hatches sealed. Ship is rigged for transit," one officer recited.
"Tactical?"
"Stalwart reports destruction of target. Moon and Holland confirm."
"Astrogation?"
"Jump sequence plotted. Standing by to execute."
"Comms?"
"Cross-check of jump-sequence completed. Squadron is ready for transit."
"Engineering?"
"Good lights on the core. Engineering is ready for transit."
"Good," Chung said as he strapped himself in. He spared Natasha a glance, then nodded again. "Execute jump sequence."
"Execute transit in five, four, three, two, one…"
Discontinuity
Natasha took a deep breath as the universe righted itself.
"Execute transit in five—"
Natasha turned sharply towards the astrogator.
"-two, one…"
Discontinuity
Natasha swallowed sharply against the queasy feeling in her belly. She'd never really suffered badly from transit—or even felt much of anything before—but she felt it now.
"Execute transit in five, four, three, two, one…"
Discontinuity
"Transit complete," Astrogation announced. "Plotting final jump sequence. Jump in ten minutes…mark."
"What?" she croaked, stopped, took a deep breath.
Chung offered her a bag but she waved it away.
"How did you do that?" she demanded.
"Do what?" he asked mildly.
"Don't give me that." Natasha demanded once she had her breathing under control. "Do you expect me to think that you made three jumps in less than a minute, and that after jumping into the system I was in only hours before?"
"Yes."
"How, dammit."
"How what? Execute multiple jumps? Or do so in a sequence lasting mere seconds?"
"Either," she growled. "Both!"
"The principal reason why even vessels equipped for multiple transits don't do them in tight sequence and close formation is primarily a matter of navigation," Chung said. "There is always some uncertainty of where your precise position in the universe will be when you exit."
"Uncertainty on a starting point increases the uncertainty of an exit point," Natasha said.
"Exactly."
"Which increases your chances of finding a rock or another ship with your KF-drive."
"Or trying to transit to a point inside a star's Fuchida limit," Chung added. "Which does…not good things to your vessel when it happens. However, what most tend to forget is that space is mostly empty space."
Natasha scowled at him.
"Most common descriptions of a star system place jump points at the star's zenith and nadir, and possibly more at L1 points, yes?"
Natasha nodded impatiently. "Of course."
"These descriptions are all wrong," Chung said. "Space, being mostly empty, is one large jump point. What a star creates is a disturbance within this jump point where attempting a Kearny-transfer is contraindicated. If you are prepared to jump into interstellar space, you can find areas large enough to accommodate your spherical error probable, even for a very long multi-jump transit."
"At which point you'd need to take the time to refine your position before taking yet another jump from deep space to your target destination."
"Yes." Chung shrugged. "There are other difficulties. Static buildup, heat retention in the core…"
"Okay," Natasha said. "Assuming, just for a moment, that I'm willing to buy everything you just said. There's still the little matter of your ability to even jump more than twice."
"Ah, well…"
"Position confirmed. All stations report ready for transit."
"Execute," Chung ordered.
"Transit in five, four, three, two, one…"
Discontinuity
"Transit complete," Astrogation announced.
"Receiving challenge!" this from the officer that had replied to Chung's earlier request of 'Comms'.
"Send reply."
"Sending…we're cleared," Comms replied.
"Status check?"
"Core is within operational limits," Engineering replied. "All systems green."
"All stations, secure from jump stations, and prepare to maneuver. Astrogation, plot us a course to the fleet anchorage. David, you have the conn."
"Aye, Sir. I have the conn," agreed another officer.
"Colonel Kerensky?" Chung asked.
Natasha clenched her hands to stop them from shaking, then reached up and undid her restraints before kicking herself across the bridge to the lift.
"Boat bay two," Chung ordered the lift and it hummed to life.
"You didn't explain how you were able to do multiple jumps."
"How do you think?"
Natasha shook her head. "Do not play games of answering a question with a question."
"Okay. What is the normal way of executing fast follow-up jumps?"
"A lithium-fusion battery. But despite the name it is not actually a battery. I'm not a hyperphysicist but even I know you can't just cram a second lithium-fusion battery into a ship. It isn't a matter of mass or volume. An LFB is an additional part of the drive. There's no place to put a second."
"All very true," Chung agreed. "What most forget, however, is that DropShip collars aren't just a set of clamps that hold a DropShip in place. They too are part of the drive. A necessary part, as they extend the drive-field over the DropShips."
"You mean you can build a lithium-fusion battery into a docking collar?" Natasha asked skeptically.
"Of course not, Colonel. We can build them into a dropship."
Natasha stared at him. "You're mad," she said conversationally.
"It's a bit more complicated than that, of course. And it required some fairly radical alterations to the DropShip collar, but essentially the case." Chung made a gesture with his hand. "Of course, the limitations on charging the lithium-fusion battery remains."
The lift chose that moment to shiver to a halt and then opened to reveal the boat bay Natasha had arrived in not an hour before.
"I'm afraid the next part of your trip will be rather unpleasant."
"Jumps in close succession was pleasant?" Natasha asked ascerbically.
"Hmm... You do not take anti-nausea medications for transit distress."
"No."
"That explains it. Salamander has an excellent ship's physician," Chung replied. "But I've been ordered that you should proceed ahead with all haste, so you will have some unpleasantly sustained high-G in your future. I will send your mech along at a more reasonable pace. Safe flight, Colonel Kerensky."
Antares Orbit.
SLS San Sebastian
"Fire plan locked in, Colonel."
Elizabeth Hazen nodded, her gaze frozen to the image floating in the holotank. "Are all civilians evacuated from the designated area?"
"They are."
"Quartermaster, make a note in the log. Request for naval gunfire in support of civil engineering project Foxtrot-Uniform approved and authorized by Colonel Elizabeth Hazen, officer commanding, Royal Black Watch."
She didn't speak for almost a minute, but when she did her voice was very, very cold. "Execute."
LC-1015814-18914715
A slight shiver more perception than reality ran through Nike as the solar sail locked to full deployment and a trickle of power began to feed into the KF-drive.
A vis-light sensor tracked the sail deployment of the rest of its squadron. Beyond them the over-sized sails of the courses glittered. Who or why the highly modified robotic DropShips had been so-named it didn't know. But they certainly made things…interesting. The over-sized sails each deployed could not charge its internal lithium-fusion batteries any faster, but they could certainly charge more than one bank at a time.
It was a great pity in a way. From the pace of technological development that had created both Nike and its fellows, and that inherent in the Courses, humanity had been on track to find a breakthrough that would, at the very least, allow for much faster charging of a KF-drive. And that had been a solid barrier that had stood for 943 years.
Nike ran another sensor sweep, more from habit than necessity. They were far enough inside the Fuchida limit—and from transient zones—that close-aboard Kearny-transfers were unlikely. Besides, Peregrine had the watch.
Satisfied with local conditions, Nike turned its aft sensor clusters on the local star and contemplated the universe even as a secure conference link was established, skimming off a few processing cycles to devote to debating deployment strategies.
LC 2181523149147-1181319-315131611425
TH-X1138 assembly point
It had been a long time since Natasha had first gone into space. She liked to pretend that she hadn't sat with her face plastered to a viewport like so many raw cadets did.
She knew better now. The distances common to anything in space tended to rob detail at an alarming rate. This made the unaided eye a poor choice for a primary sensor. Which was why Natasha had a data terminal slaved to the shuttle's sensors but every so often when the shuttle passed particularly close she craned her neck around, searching for those scant few details she could ascertain.
What the sensors reported was impossible.
WarShips. Not just one, or two, or six, but dozens.
That alone was so destabilizing she didn't want to think about it. What came next was worse.
Star League support vessels. Each with an impossibly valuable compact drive core, and that didn't even begin to approach what else each carried.
The hospital ship probably had the single best medical facility outside of the Kerensky cluster.
There was a modified Potemkin-class hull with a solar sail larger than any she'd seen before. Not even the largest recharge station had a sail that massive. All for recharging those impossible…drive boosting dropships.
There was… "Is that a yardship?" Natasha demanded.
The naval lieutenant that seemed to be her permanent escort looked up and glanced out the viewport.
"Yes." He paused for a moment before amplifying. "The Yamaguchi took a lot of damage when Birkenhead exploded. Command probably wanted the chance to clean it up some even if major repairs aren't started."
"Why wouldn't they start major repairs?"
"If they seriously open her hull up, she may not be able to leave until they are done, even if she's kicked free of the yard. We're deep enough inside the Fuchida limit that we've got time if we need to leave in a hurry because they can't jump right on top of us. But we're still pretty close to the front and Amaris got pretty good about finding and hitting our fleet assembly points…when he had ships left to hit them with anyway.
"We don't know that the Clans haven't taken those lessons to heart, or that the IS has retained knowledge of how to do the same. Just because they don't have WarShips doesn't mean they can't hurt us if they throw a large enough coordinated fighter and DropShip strike at us, especially if they come packing nukes."
"Why are you being so forthcoming?"
"Aside from certain topics I was told to answer any questions you had."
"You can't be serious!"
"Why not?"
"So you share your material condition just like that?"
He nodded.
Natasha worked her jaw for a moment. "You don't intend to ever let me leave."
The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow.
"Don't give me that look," Natasha said sourly. "I know too much now."
"Perhaps, although sooner or later I'd think more will learn of our material status," the Lieutenant replied. "However, that wasn't what I was thinking."
"Then what were you thinking?"
"That if you didn't want to know 'too much' you wouldn't have asked the questions."
"Alright then. Just how bad were losses over Tamar?"
"Yamaguchi had most of the armor and weapon mounts stripped from her port side. Three transports were badly damaged. Their drives came through intact, but otherwise they need so much work to be functional that we put skeleton crews on them and have them slow-jumping rim-ward."
"Rim-ward?" Natasha asked sharply. "Aren't we near Outreach?"
The Lieutenant shook his head. "I'm not sure of our exact position, but we only made one jump out from Tamar."
LC-19139208-1144-23519191514
SLS San Sabastian
"How much material were you able to retrieve?" Winters asked.
Each of the boxes massed 125 tons. The limitations of a Mammoth's internal lifts let us load six at a time, at an average of 15 minutes, or 13.25 hours all told. In space, with the ability to lock the lifts in place, lock the 2nd deck airlocks open, and venting the cargo decks, that dropped to four every 5 minutes to cross deck to one of the Rios or San Sebastian. Assuming sufficient shuttle capacity but that had yet to be a problem. Toss in the time it took to orbit and land it was just about one round trip a day. We also had six Mules that took 4.25 hours to load, and just under one and a half to unload. Call it two and a half round-trips a day.
Rio Bravo, Rio Lobo, and San Sebastian could have taken slightly more than 3300 boxes, and between the Mammoths and Mules we had the lift to get them fully loaded in just under a day and a half. The Mammoths and Mules between them could have carried another 1048. For those of you trying to keep track at home, that's about three divisions' worth of combatants before attachments and none of their support and logistical assets without which all of those mechs and vehicles became very expensive rocks the first time something broke or ran out of something critical. And, since we're throwing around provisos, that's what we'd have had if we'd had the prime movers to move them from the depot to the spaceport…and if they'd been in their boxes.
What we did have was…
We'd had control of Antares for five days. The base could box two vehicles or mechs an hour, which sounds pretty good until you realize it'd take the better part of a month to box one division's line equipment, assuming you could run it straight through without hitting any snags or needing to shut the equipment off for a maintenance cycle. The workaround Widget and Dale Carns had come up with let us effectively box one vehicle by hand in two hours, or a mech in four. The difference was that the vehicle could be drive onto its lower, be bolted down, the sides and top assembled, and then while the prime-mover was hauling it to the starport a vehicle running—we used basic tanker units to start with before realizing fire-fighting gear was just about custom-built for the job—alongside could pump in the foam they'd come up with and then hit it with an electrical current to harden it. Unpacking and cleaning was going to be a pain, but at least we shouldn't be rushed and have proper service and support at hand.
Unless we were prepared to monkey a mech onto its back in just the right spot, it had to be foamed and sealed in place before moving out. The only reason the Mech didn't take even longer was the foam didn't have to be done at once. As a result, the box could be built up with a lower section being foamed even as the upper was assembled and locked into place. Sort of like building a layer-cake from the outside in.
Putting the gear online to make even hand-boxing possible took time, and there was a limit to how long anyone could work before fatigue made hand-eye coordination fall off. Likewise, there was a limit to the number of teams that could be working at once without getting in each other's way. We started with one per battalion area, went as high as four before settling on two. On the second day Alex Brady, one of Ivania's line apes, figured out that if you pre-assembled a box you could, barely, if you were really careful on the controls, walk a mech into it and then run a lift over to pick up the pilot.
Since it worked for mechs George reasoned that it should work for tracks.
Time to box went down, though Mechs still required foaming and sealing in place, but the work-crew could get started on the next mech while the first hardened.
And then one of the techs off Rio Lobo pointed out that the prime movers were going to the storage areas empty and, more importantly, the depot could assemble the box shells faster than it could box a vehicle (but it remained faster boxing mechs than we were).
"We lifted the Black Watch gear set, and that of a CAAN Marine regiment. Actually, it's Royal Marine equipment. From the markings on the gear it looks like the 27th Royals were intended for II Corps, and the equipment never changed when the 29th was stationed in the area instead. We also lifted just under 2,400 mechs, armor, and airframes, all from the 11th Mechs and 18th MI, both Royal divisions. We have no ordnance and none of the logistical and other support elements, but we did manage to lift a lot of spare parts before we got a hang on boxing the mechs and armor back up."
The spare parts, of course, hadn't been unboxed which made loading them up simple. We were far from fully loaded, but we were a lot closer to it than any of us had expected to be. Some people were going to find something nice waiting for them whenever we figured out how to pay ourselves again. I had a list.
"You boxed 2400 mechs?" Winters asked.
On second thought, Dale would probably be confused by the idea of a paycheck. I made a note to have Widget cut one of those cords, and then a second note for George to go looking for a combat assignment. He'd like that.
"Roland?" Winters asked.
"Yeah. Well, mostly. The Turkeys hadn't touched the BW or Marine gear. Probably didn't know about the Watch bunker. The rest was unboxed. We've come up with a couple of workarounds and have multiples crews going in different battalion areas. It's made things…interesting."
"Just how much stuff was on Antares?"
I laughed hollowly. "General. It was an alternate gear set for the entire fucking II Corps."
It isn't exactly kosher for anyone to swear in the presence of a flag officer who doesn't have a flag of his own. As it was, if the Ministry of Communications—or ComStar, whatever—had been transmitting the message instead of it being sent over a string of hyper-pulse repeaters we and TH-X1138 had been laying behind us—or quite possibly left over from the League—they'd have had to censor his response.
"I said something similar, Sir," I said, then yawned. "Look, General, I'll send you my report and I'm sure Liz has one of her own. But I'm exhausted. My people are exhausted. And we're late to our next party."
"2400 mechs, tanks, and fighters?"
"Something like that anyway," I said. "We started to double up, or more, some of the smaller tracks towards the end. Hopefully they'll come out in good shape.
"And it's all the good stuff too. Royal-spec. Liz had them start with the boxed stuff while we did an inventory so we knew exactly what to grab. We've also got a bunch of goodies. Top-flight neuro- and combat-crewmen helmets, the backup II Corps library, all the mobile command centers, three mobile hyper-comms, a silver tea service, a hundred kilos of gold, fifty of germanium, some really old whiskies…"
"Pirate."
"Grabbing stores that you can repurpose for your own use is a time-honored cavalry tradition, Sir. I needed to get the Quarterhorse started off on the right foot."
"Don't let it slow you down the way it did Stuart."
"Good point," I agreed. "Long story short, unless you want us to blow the place, and that'd be almost as bad for the locals as destroying the water treatment plant, the Turkeys are going to get two complete divisional sets, and bits and pieces—big pieces—of three more, plus supports.
"We didn't grab enough stuff to completely refit our order of battle. They didn't have the advanced gear obviously. But we got enough to put a serious down payment on refitting the Legion. And Merlin is cooking up a program that should force the Turkeys to do a hand-inventory whenever they get around to returning."
LC 2181523149147-1181319-315131611425
TH-X1138 assembly point
For the second time in less than a day Natasha found herself going through the ritual of transiting from a shuttle to a WarShip. She made her salutes, requested permission to board, the side-party snapped to, Marines presented arms, bosun pipes skirled.
Throughout the whole thing her attention was firmly on a small, unassuming woman wearing civilian dress. Notably, she was the only person in the boat bay gallery in civilian clothes. And tri-vids—and the Clans, mostly—aside, the most dangerous people tended to be those you would not pick out of a crowd.
"Natasha Kerensky," she said, sticking out a hand.
The woman took it and gave her a level look in reply. "Christine McCay."
She turned wordlessly and Natasha followed her into a lift. There was the familiar sensation of 'gravity' as it moved along its track. Then a bump-hiss, and rotation, as it transited to a track that Natasha easily identified as being part of a grav-wheel.
The lift slid to a stop and Natasha followed the other woman down a short corridor to hatch guarded by two marines. One touched a panel.
"Chief of Staff and Colonel Kerensky."
Then another panel and the door hissed open.
There were five other people in the small lounge.
The first was a slight woman with delicate features, green eyes, and flame-colored hair that looked like a holo-vid-director's dream of a sprite or a Celtic fairy, wearing an SLDF Navy-branch uniform with Rear Admiral's stars. The second was a girl of middle-teenage years and sandy-blonde hair worn long and shaken loose. Two more were armed and standing against bulkhead where they could both cover the girl and catch the door in a crossfire…and made it devilishly hard for one person to take them both out.
Natasha studiously avoided looking at the fifth person.
Christine crossed to an empty chair.
They weren't all the way at the end of the ring. The apparent gravity wasn't more than twenty percent G, just enough to make Natasha feel deceptively heavy on her toes and for the coffee to be served in mugs instead of bulbs. So she grabbed a carafe and poured, fixing milk and sugar before sitting down and leaning back in her chair. Clearly whatever she'd been expecting was far from the reality before her.
The girl smiled slightly. "Colonel Kerensky," she said. "Or do I call you Galaxy Commander Kerensky?"
Natasha arched an eyebrow. "I tested out as a Galaxy Commander, but my Galaxy never saw combat before I volunteered to join Wolf's Dragoons. I've been 'Colonel' for a while now, but under the circumstances I think we can go with 'Natasha.'"
"Natasha, then," the girl said as Kerensky sipped at her coffee. "This is Admiral Ariel Murakama, and you've already met my Chief of Staff. This is Star Captain Manfred Steele of Clan Goliath Scorpion. I am Amanda Cameron."
Natasha choked.
"Is there a problem with my name?"
Natasha hacked to clear her throat, then gave Amanda a sour look. "Amanda Cameron as in—"
"Those Camerons?" Amanda finished ironically. "Yes. Richard was my father."
"I wasn't aware any survived the coup," Natasha said after a long moment.
"We were in the nursery. That…" her eyes slid over to McCay, "…person had given orders that only he could kill us."
McCay sipped her coffee in blithe disregard for whatever adjective Amanda might have decided to leave unused.
"The…people he dispatched to take us were not equal to the QRF, and Colonel Schmidt's distraction allowed a Mech lance the time to extract us from the nursery."
"Us?"
"My twin brother and I."
"I also wasn't aware Richard had more than one child," Natasha said.
"I'd be surprised if you were," Amanda said. "Some effort was taken to hide his existence. Under the circumstances, it is not surprising that what the Star League didn't accomplish was finished by war, the SLDF's…departure, and the chaos that has ruled the following centuries."
"For what it's worth, I have confirmed that she is of first-generation descent from Richard Cameron, and second-generation—and only a single second-generation—descent from Simon Cameron," the Goliath Scorpion said.
"Yes. Thank you," Amanda said coolly.
Natasha raised an eyebrow.
"Under the circumstances, Colonel, you might find it unsurprising that I have had a number of nasty surprises over the course of the last month."
Natasha grinned. "I can see how that might be the case."
"Finding out that generations have thought you the results of your aunt's rape by her brother was one of the nastier ones."
The tone was light, almost casual, but the look in the girl's eyes sent would have sent a shiver down Natasha's spine.
Would have. She ignored it to sip at her coffee.
"What do you want me for?"
"Manfred Steele has agreed to answer our questions about the Clans," Christine said leaning forward. "We want you to provide a second, if somewhat dated viewpoint, and to do the same thing for the Inner Sphere."
"I'm just a simple soldier. There's not much I can say."
"One who has fought with, and against, each of the five major houses."
"Alright then," Natasha agreed. "What are you offering?" At the look Amanda gave her she added: "I'm also a mercenary. That means I expect to get paid for my time."
"You're also a spy," Amanda said. "Although the way Manfred tells it, a piss poor one as she's failed to do her job for the last thirty years."
"Orders," Natasha shrugged. "I can't say his superiors would be happy about his presence here."
"I too have orders," Manfred said lightly. "In this case I am simply in transit. Before then I was playing chauffeur for a Seeker."
"May I ask what your Seeker was seeking?"
Now it was Manfred's turn to shrug. "The Star League."
"My, you are getting ambitious," Natasha chuckled. "That explains why you have genetic profiles of Richard and Simon Cameron on hand, anyway." She shook her head, "The scion of the Cameron line, lost in time, does not the Star League make."
"It could be the first step, though," Christine said.
Natasha stared at her, then at Amanda. "Is she, are you, serious?"
"This, whatever this is that humanity has been up to for the last three hundred years, hasn't worked," Amanda said. "Unless you want to tell me that planets left barren, a general decline towards late twenty-first century technology, and whatever the hell it is the SLDF or its remnants have been up to for the last three centuries somehow indicate otherwise?"
Natasha pursed her lips, then shook her head.
"Can the Clans do a better job?"
"It'd be hard for anyone to do a worse job."
"That wasn't what I asked," Amanda said evenly.
"Some of them may surprise you…but probably not," Natasha finally admitted. "Even those who wouldn't totally fuck things up don't have anything like the numbers they'd really need. And…they may have improved things some. They've got medical tech that'll blow you away, even with your hospital ship. But most of their civilians aren't any better off than those in the Inner Sphere. Many not even that."
"So, can we do it?"
"Do what, resurrect the League?" Natasha asked. "Probably not. Melissa would go for it, maybe Anton, and Theodore probably but he's not in charge of the Combine yet. Hanse won't trust a teenage girl, not for real. Romano is insane. The FRR just recently formed. Even though they're in the process of being conquered, Magnusson isn't going to subvert his people to another. And Waterly is nuttier than squirrel-shit but is better at hiding it than Romano.
"Let's say Melissa convinces Hanse to go along with it, and Theodore convinces his old man—who, by the way, hates his guts. That's three votes of the six you'll need. Are you going to demand territorial concessions and resurrect the Terran Hegemony?"
"Would there be a point?" Amanda asked.
"Defensive depth if nothing else."
"The only problems with that are, first, it implies a need to defend myself. Second, since most stars don't have planets there's no need to take defended systems if your target is the enemy's heart. On the other hand, picketing each individual system dilutes your strength until you have nothing left."
"Fair enough. What exactly are you proposing, then?"
"Reform the Star League—probably on Terra. There will need to be some…structural modifications. One option would be to go with a different structure entirely, maybe something like the United Nations of pre-KF-drive Terra. Another would be to bring in the former territorial states as member-states. If the latter, I'd really like a chamber comprised of planetary delegates to serve as a counter-balance to the High Council."
"A fan of democracy?"
"Not particularly," Amanda said. "I grew up watching what happened when the Hegemony Congress rolled over for Amaris. That isn't to say that he wouldn't have been successful anyway, but Pinera made the job far easier than it had to be.
"Of course, autocracy is just as bad. My own family tree has Ian, Johnathan, and my father to point at."
Natasha frowned. "I can understand Richard Cameron and Johnathan, but Ian doesn't deserve to be on that list."
"Oh yes he does," Amanda said harshly. "The first treaty that laid the foundation for the Star League was signed in 2556, but he'd actually first tried in 2551. The Combine was the last of the five 'Great Houses' to sign on in 2569. Thirteen years, fifteen if we consider that the League didn't become functional for another two years, twenty if we count from 2551. But it took him less than five years to send troops into the periphery where his heavy-handed 'peacemaking', and the subsequent policies the League executed based on it, left a weakness that Amaris was able to exploit.
"In a very real way all of the destruction, death, and tragedy humanity has suffered since the New Vandenberg Uprising is Ian's fault. That isn't to say that there's not enough blame to go around. There is, more than enough. But that doesn't absolve him of his share of the responsibility either."
Judging by their faces, Manfred and the admiral didn't agree, but…
"Your opinion, Ms. Chief of Staff?"
Christine McCay smiled thinly. "History in particular is more than just a sequence of facts. Or rather, it is, but it is also a sequence of people, and the foundation of any one event is built on both. Usually further in the past than any willingly give credit.
"Amanda's argument is her own. Both its basis of support and the logic extending from that support are sound. I may not agree with her projection of Ian Cameron's culpability for, say, the Fourth Succession War, but that doesn't mean her conclusions are in error."
"Ms. McCay has multiple degrees in history, sociology, political science…" Manfred made a gesture. "She has been a most intriguing conversationalist."
"The Clans have such rich potential, I can barely decide what to focus my first paper on. Highly meritocratic and sharply defined caste organization that would not have been out of place in, say, ancient India? High social conformity is common in communist societies, but communisms tend to form around strong personality figures and seldom last even a handful of generations after the death of that personality. Atypical speech patterns—"
"Excuse me?"
"The abandonment of contractions," McCay amplified. "The adoption of Russian lone-words is probably to be expected considering your origins, but there is a great deal of Mongol-derived heritage which is surprising because the list of founding members that Manfred supplied didn't have any stand-out members of that culture or ethnic origins. Also, the habit of combining words, and dropping syllables from single words, to create new words is typical of the Germanic language-family. It is an artifact that English had largely abandoned, yet the Clans use it freely."
"They do?" Natasha asked blankly.
"You feel powless without your 'Mech, quiaff?" McCay asked. "I wish I had access to some of your civilians—actual civilians, not those attached to your military."
"Chris," Amanda said wryly.
"I'd say you're welcome to them, but they aren't my civilians anymore," Natasha remarked. She mulled the issue over, reaching up and idly scratching at her right eyebrow.
"Alright," she said at length. "I don't want to see the Clans replicate the homeworlds in the Inner Sphere. And the Dragoons' last orders were to prepare the Inner Sphere to resist the Clan Invasion."
"That's treason," Manfred remarked.
Natasha gave him a look that could have been processed for autocannon ammunition. "Maybe," she said finally. "The orders came from…someone authorized to give them to us. But it was the Grand Council that decided to distance itself from us. If they couldn't ensure that the orders we got were the ones they meant for us to have, that's on them."
She turned back to Amanda. "I'm in. I can't speak for the rest of the Dragoons, but I'm in. I don't know if you can pull it off, but you probably have a better shot than many, and the Clans at least give you an external enemy you can try to use to make the thing gel. Besides, the way I figure it there's always been a Kerensky in the SLDF. It wasn't enough to keep the Star League from falling apart, but it can't hurt."
Amanda lifted an eyebrow. "Is that argument supposed to be that the Star League worked only when a Cameron was First Lord? I'd say that the fact that the fat bastard was able to take over is proof that it didn't work."
"Well…that and it'll probably get me back into action faster than sitting around waiting for the Clans to hit Outreach."
Amanda snorted.
"Spoken like a Clan warrior," Manfred said approvingly.
Natasha made a rude gesture. "When do you want to start? For that matter, how do you want to start?"
"Why don't you give us a brief synopsis of the major personalities in the Inner Sphere right now," McCay suggested. "We can go into more depth later."
"So…you want to know who the players are in the Inner Sphere." Natasha tilted her chair back. "Let's start with Romano Liao. We have to start somewhere and the CapCon is first alphabetically. She's also the craziest. Waterly is a fanatic which is its own brand of crazy, but I'll come back to her in a bit. Romano is so crazy I can think of at least three tri-video producers who rejected biopic scrips as 'too stereotypical' of the 'insane despot genre', and they weren't all in the FedCom. One was even in the DC which has its own history of nutty rulers. Expect Romano to give you problems because she didn't think of inviting everyone to be part of the Star League again, because it won't be her in your chair, because everyone—or anyone—else is going along with it, or just to be difficult. Two kids, Sun-Tzu and Kali. I've heard nothing good about the former, but the rumors about the latter are ugly.
"Fortunately, Romano has a much saner sister in Candace Liao. Candy is actually the older sister, but Romano twisted their father against her and Candace fled for her life. Old Max ended up in an asylum which is how Romano got his job. Later he committed suicide, but I wouldn't be surprised if Romano held the knife and pushed a little. Currently Candace rules the St. Ives Compact which labors under the collective delusion that it's both part of the CapCon and not a FedCom client state…"
Author notes: Back when I first started posting I thought I had this mostly written and, with a schedule, I could turn out the remaining chapters before I reached the end of my positing schedule while also giving one last editing pass-through as I posted. Unfortunately, I seem to have managed not to give several chapters a slot in my writing schedule and those are coming up...soonish.
My plan, such as it is, is to finish the chapter I'm currently working on so I don't lose track of my thoughts (unfortunately it's been kicking my teeth and I'm on my third complete write-through). And I'm starting a new job (yay). So consider this advance warning that come June my posting schedule is almost certainly going to slip. I'm aiming for writing one chapter a month. We'll see if I can manage that.
On to more interesting things.
I received a number of PMs (my first for this story) about the Antares cache so I thought I'd clear some of it up.
1) Why was that much stuff in the ground?
The Star League was keeping BattleMech manufacturers in business by buying gear they didn't have anyone to give to. In a more general sense, the water treatment plant had been built on top of the primary entrance. The SLDF didn't have the resources in the middle of the coup to replace it, and Alba had grown to the point where it was necessary to the lives of the locals. Gear could have been walked/driven out, but that required unboxing (which happened), and deploying enough people and shipping (in particular empty mech/vehicle bays rather than general cargo) to pick it up (which didn't happen). Somewhere communications and/or shipping schedules slipped and it got left behind.
2) What was it doing there?
As the name said, it was the storage site for a gear set for II Corps. The idea being that, if the Corps needed to relocate (say for a war) and couldn't take their garrison gear for whatever reason, they could assemble at one spot and the stuff would be waiting for them.
3) What and how much stuff is in that hole in the ground?
-Complete Gear Set for II Corps Headquarters, 11th Royal BattleMech Division, 18th Royal Mechanized Division, 92nd BattleMech Division, 29th Mechanized Infantry Division, 28th Infantry Division, 38th Light Horse Regiment, and 27th Royal CAAN Marine Regiment (29th CAAN later deployed to II Corps vice the 27th, but the gear was never changed out).
-Includes supply/service material
-Fuel, food, spares, and ammunition for 180 days of combat
-Palletized, modular field base
-Automated Maintenance Depot
-Contingency Black Watch Cache
The SLDF uses a triangular (also sometimes called a pyramidal) structure. Four mechs/tracks to a lance/platoon, three lance/platoons to a company, and so up to a division (972 mechs/tracks). Additionally, each battalion has a lance for headquarters and security, regiments get a company, brigades and divisions a battalion (another 360), or 1,332 mech/tracks per division.
But...
Say 6,660 mech/vehicle/fighters for the five divisions, another 132 for the light horse independent regiment, plus CAAN, BW, and Corps Headquarters
But wait, there's more!
That's just the line equipment.
Each division will have a number of combat support elements attached, that might include but not limited to:
-Ground Aerospace Wing (54 aerospace fighters)-at least one per division
-Artillery (tube and missile) on tracks, wheels, and/or mechs
-each battalion in a heavy assault regiment gets an artillery company of its own
-Artillery spotter/forward observers (in tracks, hover armor, VTOLs, light mechs, and/or LAMs)
-Air defense artillery (tubes and missiles), again on a number of different motive systems
-Additional aerospace assets (for recon, for close-air-support, for aerospace superiority, and for supply and transport)
-Combat engineers
-Armor (track, wheel, hover)
-Cavalry (scout/recon) with tracks, hover, VTOLs, aerospace fighters, or LAMs
-Special environment (hostile atmosphere, extreme weather, mountaineers, deep water, CBRN, etc) troops
Each division will also have non-combat support elements
-Military hospital facilities (including ground- and air-ambulances
-Military intelligence
-Military police
-Signal troops (to run those mobile command posts and portable HPG transmitters)
-Trucks (lots, and lots, and lots, and lots of trucks) to carry beans, bullets, bandages, spare parts, fuel, water...
-Service and repair troops to keep everything in working order, also to recover (and if possible, repair) destroyed equipment.
The leg infantry won't have as many mechs or infantry tracks, but they'll get even more trucks to haul them and things like dismounted gauss-rifles and LRM batteries around.
4) How much did Liz and Roland get away with?
Not quite 2400 mechs, fighters, and vehicles in total. Including:
-The Black Watch cache (essentially a reinforced combined-arms regiment of cutting-edge Royal gear)
-A Royal CAAN Regimental set (it was still boxed and so easy to move);
-Other mechs, combat vehicles, and fighters (all of it second-gen Royal gear, not quite on par with immediately pre-coup material, but better than regular SLDF, let alone what the Inner Sphere currently has)
Spare parts (these were still boxed and thus easy to move):
-reactors, ferro-fibrous armor, endo-steel blanks. The Task Force has access to better, but easy to grab and can be handed off to locals
-weapons, comm-gear, radar, etc.
Items of intrinsic military value (mobile command posts, mobile HPG transmitters, Corps data-library module) material value (gold, germanium, really old whiskies...), that they didn't want anyone else to have (nukes, those whiskies again), or destabilizing (library, those whiskies...which could be made into admittedly wasteful Molotovs and so could be considered to have military value as well).
Also, Liz raided the 28th Infantry's equipment lists fairly heavily. She has all sorts of experience using odds and ends (mostly infantry-type odds and ends) to make a better-equipped enemy's life miserable. Actually, despite Roland's oral report, there is relatively little left of the 28th's stores for the Falcons. What the Quarterhorse didn't send to orbit got distributed to the people of Antares, and the doors were left wide open when the Quarterhorse pulled out.
Rio Lobos, Rio Bravo, and San Sebastian (and their cargo-oriented dropships) aren't packed to the deckheads, but nor are they particularly empty.
5) What got left behind?
-All of the reverse-osmosis water purification units (distributed to locals)
-Food, ordnance, (almost) all medical consumables
-Almost all trucks except for some specialized gear (mostly recovery and artillery support-type equipment), the idea is that it will be better to use locally-produced than to waste time boxing a (admittedly superior) truck
-the modular field base
-the automated maintenance depot
-various spares (including a room full of spare artillery tubes, though the label on the door now indicates they are sewage system parts).
Finally, the gear sets for the 92nd BattleMech Division, 29th Mechanized Infantry Division, and 38th Light Horse Regiment are essentially untouched (aside from the ROWPU's being turned over to the locals), and an eclectic (and over-strength) SLDF division could be organized out of the remnants of the 11th and 18th Royals and what's left of the 28th Infantry.