AUTHOR'S NOTES: Short and sweet this time, because where I'm going next really throws off this part of the chapter.

Some history lessons in here for ya. (I've got to use that history degree somehow…) There's some Battletech history in here as well: Morgan Hasek-Davion's raid on Sian that recovered Justin Xiang Allard in 3030, the Battle on Kittery just before that (which I may have gotten wrong, because the Sentinels supposedly were on Crossing as well, and the two battles may have been simutaneous), as well as the brawl between Wolf's Dragoons and McCarron's Armored Cavalry over the Theban Sacred Band (mentioned in the Wolf's Dragoons Sourcebook), and Morgan's love of good scotch. The desertion of mercenaries against the Clans is mentioned in Objective Raids.

REVIEWER'S CORNER:

SulliMike: Don't be too praising just yet. Morgan points out some problems with Sheila's strategy in this chapter.

Fraser: Well, the Snowbirds aren't too interested in Clantech…yet.

4477: What? Marion has a gentle side. And I see someone else knows the story of the Rubicon…

Panzerfaust: That's commonly known as a mistake. (Whoops.) I'm guessing Patton would be still taught—Hanse Davion mentions in one of the Warrior books that he got the idea for the Fourth Succession War from Patton.

GreenKnight: Thank you.

Noveltigger: Aww…thanks. The name of the novel is Cold Steel, but it'll be at least next year before it gets published. (You have to convince the publisher that it'll make money.)

Rouge: Not at all. I was looking over yours and Kat Wylder's stories and thinking, "Hey, I should be writing and not playing Madden and GTA!"

MUSIC DEPARTMENT: Beats me. I'm listening to the Thompson Twins right now, which is totally inappropriate.

AFFC Headquarters, Reichenberg

Sudeten, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

27 September 3051

Morgan Hasek-Davion ran his hands through his red hair, still worn long and loose over his uniform's shoulders. He then looked up at Sheila Arla-Vlata and Calla Bighorn-Vlata. "Let me get this straight, Miss Arla-Vlata. You intend to take your battalion, strike supply caches in the Clan occupied zones, raid from one end of the zones to the other, come out in Kurita space, refit, and do it again on the way back?"

"Yes, sir," Sheila answered. "I'm not sure about doing it on the way back. We may be too shot up. But I'd like to at least keep the option open."

Morgan glanced at the map again. "You don't have any set planets to strike."

"No, sir. I'll need intel on where the best planets are."

"I see. And you're going to do this with two companies of BattleMechs."

"No, sir," Sheila repeated. "I've talked to my father about it. The Snowbirds will be getting a company of tanks and infantry, and I'd like to recruit a third company of MechWarriors. That'll give us an overstrength battalion."

"And of course you'll want to negotiate a new contract for the additional warriors." This with a look at Calla.

"We'd have to do that anyway," Calla told Morgan. "The Sentinels absorbed the defunct 719th Striker Regiment a few months ago, before Vantaa, and we're getting new recruits every day." Calla didn't feel like mentioning why. At least a dozen mercenary regiments had either opted not to renew their contracts or had simply packed up and deserted, trusting that other Houses and Periphery realms would take them on. They simply did not want to fight the Clans. That number only accounted for the big "name" mercenaries, like Gregg's Long Striders or the Lone Star Regiment. Many other smaller units had also left. The Clans were inflicting casualties on the AFFC without even fighting. The AFFC could make good some of the losses with additional drafts and an increased number of volunteers, but it simply could not replace veteran mercenaries with battle experience. The good news was that many MechWarriors didn't agree with their commanders and chose to stay on, leaving their present regiments for new employers, such as the Sentinels. "I'm going to be able to fit out a new battalion as it is, and the move of the treadheads to the Snowbirds has been in the making for a year now. Sheila's agreed to do the hiring of her third company on her own."

"Hm. Well, the AFFC certainly isn't adverse to throwing money at you, Calla," Morgan grinned. "We can just take it out of the pay of Hermann's Hermits or Vandelay's Valkyries or some other cowards." Calla smiled, though inwardly he thought that Morgan was being a little unfair. Mercenaries lived and died according to their 'Mechs, and only the luckiest, like the Kell Hounds, Wolf's Dragoons, and the Eridani Light Horse, could replace losses virtually at will. The others were doomed to bankruptcy if they lost badly even once. Added to the news that some of the Clans, such as the Ghost Bears and Smoke Jaguars, were killing mercenaries out of hand did not help matters.

Morgan took a deep breath, held it a moment, then let it out. "All right, Sheila. Assuming I agree to this, and I haven't, why?"

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Why are you doing this?"

Sheila was a little stunned. Her first thought was to say that it was blindingly obvious why she wanted to do this, but Lieutenant Commanders didn't lip off to Marshals. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Let me be blunt." Morgan leaned forward. Sheila was tall, but Morgan was even taller and far more bulky, all of it muscle. "Are you doing this as a stunt? Maybe a bit of feathering of the nest for after the war?" Ignoring Sheila's rapidly reddening face, he idly traced an arc through the holomap projected to one side of them. "Because I tell you, Sheila, I take one look at this idea and I see Jeb Stuart riding around the Union Army when he should've been covering Robert E. Lee's ass at Gettysburg. And the fight that's coming here on Sudeten's going to make Gettysburg look like a henhouse skirmish." He half-smiled. "Yes, you two. The Vlata family isn't the only one that can quote ancient military history verbatim. I need every warrior, every 'Mech, right here. I'm just as sick of retreating as you are, and I want to halt the damn Jade Falcons at Sudeten."

"But that's just the point I'm trying to make!" Sheila half-rose out of the chair, though she was stopped from doing so by a subtle hand from her father. "Marshal…with respect…" she added quickly, "that's our problem. We keep thinking defensively."

"We tried thinking offensively, Sheila," Morgan said patiently.

"And we won—"

"Barely. We won on Twycross because Kai Allard managed to sucker the Falcon Guards into a mass grave, and Planting was such a bloodbath that we can't repeat it. Nothing on you, Calla," Morgan reassured the other man, because much of the planning for Planting had been from Calla. "The Clans are simply too powerful for us to go after on their own home ground right now. Once we grind them up, let them batter themselves against us, then we can go on the offensive. Right now, it's just not feasible."

"Yes, sir, I understand that," Sheila replied. "But I just can't sit here and wait for them to hit us. There's just something…wrong about it. You just can't win a war that way, sir."

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "And how many wars have you been in, Sheila?" He nodded. "That's right: one. Now I understand you're all red hot from the Nagelring, but it may shock you to know that there are people up here with stars on our shoulders who do know what we're doing."

"I am not some hotrock cadet, sir." Sheila said it with just a tinge of respect, and for emphasis let her artificial arm thump loudly on Morgan's desk.

"Don't, Sheila. I'm letting you talk to me like that because I like you and I respect your father. But I don't think you want to have two court-martials on your record for insubordination." Morgan sighed. "All right, listen. I want you to do two things, Sheila. First, recruit your third company. I like the idea of a four-company mixed battalion and I'd like to see how it would work against the Clanners. Second, come up with a solid plan. I'll let you look at some MIIO stuff. Get back to me in two weeks. If you have a good plan, I might approve it—I say again, might. If it stinks, I'll tell you so, and I'll expect no backtalk on it. Okay?"

Sheila was still seething about the court-martial remark; she had done her best to forget that part of her career, but evidently no one else had. Still, she had to consider herself lucky. A lot of generals would've already had Sheila either thrown out, arrested, and/or committed to a mental ward by now. Morgan was at least willing to listen. "Yes, sir," she said, subdued.

"Right, then. Dismissed." He stood, returned her salute, and watched her stalk out of the door, then resumed his seat. He leaned back, putting his hands behind his head, and smiled at Calla, who looked a little discomfited. "That's some fireball you have there, Calla."

"I apologize for her mouth," Calla said tightly. "Sheila knows better than that."

Morgan got up, waving it off. "She should, but I can't get too riled up over it. I was just as much of a smartass when I was 20 as she is. And just like her, I thought I could win the war by myself." He crossed over to a cabinet, opened it, and reached for a bottle of liquor. "Drink, Calla? I have some sipping whiskey here. I prefer scotch, but it'll do."

"Yes, sir, I'll take a glass."

Morgan poured them both a few fingers of whiskey. "Enough with the sir, Calla. We breathed too much smoke together on Kittery and in '39 for that." He handed Calla the glass. "Always wondered why you didn't finagle your way onto my raid on Sian."

"Jaime Wolf was borrowing my JumpShip at the time. That and I honestly didn't think you were coming back."

Morgan laughed. "Roger that. I guess that's why I'm being a little hard on Sheila." He regarded the holomap over his whiskey. "I won't admit it to her, but Sheila's right. We'll never win the war on the defensive. Where she's wrong is that we can't win it by raiding, either, and we damn sure can't win it with a general offensive—yet. But a lot of this idea of hers reminds me of my attack on Sian, and I don't mean that in a good way." He leaned back in the chair and put his boots up on the desk. "Calla, when I look back on that raid, I get the chills. If Max Liao hadn't been half-crazy and the Liao military so hidebound, he could've wiped us out in an hour. It worked only because it was so insane that no one thought it could be done."

Calla pounced. "Kind of like Sheila's idea."

Morgan saluted him with the glass. "Touche, Calla. Except that the Clans aren't as stupid as Liao. We found that out on Blackjack. They react quick as all hell, and they will chew Sheila up if she's not careful." He sipped at the whiskey. "Well, you were kind of quiet during the brief, Calla. I thought you'd have more to say."

"It's Sheila's show. I'm not stealing my daughter's thunder. The other reason is that I don't think it'll work the way Sheila wants to."

That took Morgan by surprise. "You're serious? Why didn't you try talking her out of it?"

Calla chuckled and took a drink. "Because short of knocking Sheila unconscious, it's hard to talk her out of something when she gets her mind set on it. She gets it from her mother," Calla explained, forgetting that he was known to be a bit hardheaded himself. "Over 20 years of arguing with my daughter, I can tell you that there are two ways of changing her mind. One is a couple of swats on the behind, which she's too old for right now. The second is to let her do it, and try not to let her hang herself."

"Thank God Kyra and I only had sons." Morgan sat up and leaned forward. "Okay then, Calla, why don't you think it'll work?"

"The Clans aren't going to leave their supplies out for someone to simply come in and destroy them. If they've got any sense at all, and they do, they're going to have decentralized supply lines. They'll have plenty of bases and supply caches on all their occupied worlds. I think Sheila is right that the Clan rear areas are pretty thinly manned, though."

Morgan nodded. "So do I. Sheila's got a great intel source in Senefa Malthus. Go on."

"The problem is, the Snowbirds can wreck and burn and generally raise nelly-hell in the Clan rear areas. That's a good thing tactically, but strategically, Morgan, you're right. It's a stunt. Oh, it might cause some disruption in the Clans, but it's not going to stop them, and I doubt it's going to set back their schedule one minute."

"But you support it. C'mon, Calla, you're not that good of a poker player. I can tell."

"True." Calla finished the whiskey and got up to look at the holomap. "Your historical analogy is wrong, Morgan. It's not Stuart at Gettysburg. It's the Doolittle Raid."

Morgan's eyebrows beetled in confusion. "The do little raid? Doesn't sound like something I'd support."

"No, no—Doolittle. One word, as in a name."

"Oh. Pray, continue." Morgan settled into his chair. Most military men—good ones, at any rate—studied history and could get into debates, arguments, and outright brawls over historical minutiae. He remembered hearing a story about a battalion-sized bar brawl between Wolf's Dragoons and McCarron's Armored Cavalry over the Theban Sacred Band, a unit of homosexual warriors who had been annilihated at Charonea in 338 BC, well over three thousand years ago. (Of course, the brawl had been over a member of the Dragoons comparing the MAC to the Thebans.) However, Calla Bighorn-Vlata was known for a knowledge of history that tenured college professors at NAIS would be envious of. He liked to use historical analogies in his briefings, and it was obvious that his daughter did as well. Still, even if Calla was wrong, Morgan knew he'd come out of it a little more knowledgeable than before.

"All right. The Doolittle Raid took place in 1942, during World War II—the Hitler War, if you like. As you may remember from your time at NAMA, the United States started out on the ropes in that war. Pearl Harbor and Bataan had really hurt them, and it looked as if Imperial Japan was beating them pretty handily. Morale at the home front was low.

"So this man James Doolittle, a very respected airman, came up with a plan to attack Japan itself, using medium bombers from seaborne aircraft carriers. Nothing like it had even been thought of, which meant that the Japanese weren't expecting it—but Doolittle pulled it off, and struck Tokyo and other Japanese cities in broad daylight."

"Exceptional," Morgan commented. "How many got back?"

"They had to crashland in China, but almost all of them returned." Calla pondered the holomap. "My point of all this is, Morgan, that the raid itself did basically no damage to the Japanese war industry. You can't do much with sixteen planes. It'd be like us bombing Luthien with a squadron of aerofighters." Calla raised a finger like an admonishing professor. "The damage that Doolittle did was psychological. It proved to the American people that yes, they could win, that the Japanese could be beaten. To the Japanese, it proved that they weren't safe, even at home. A few months later, the Americans won the Battle of Midway, and less than a year later the Battle of Guadalcanal. After that, the Japanese were just prolonging the inevitable American victory."

Calla shrugged. "Now, Morgan, I'm not so proud a father that I think Sheila's going to win the war with her raid. In fact, I know she won't. But we both know that morale is kinda low right now among the Inner Sphere. Sure, Duke Bonner's death and other things have pissed people off and they're volunteering to fight. Yet being pissed off and having hope are two different things. Kurita samurai get pissed off and make banzai charges, but they still lose. So maybe, if Sheila can at least show the FedCom people that we're not just sitting on our ass, letting the Clans dictate where and how we fight, and show that the Clans can get beat, that's something. If nothing else, maybe we get the Clans looking over their shoulder, just like the Japanese started doing."

Morgan thought in silence for a long time. "I kind of like that idea. I'm sick of those bastards having everything their own way." He finished his own whiskey. "Well, Calla…I still want to see her plan. But I have to say, I am warming to it." He got up and slapped Calla on the back. "You should've been a college professor. Why didn't you go that route?"

"College profs don't get enough tail," Calla said in all honesty.