In Confusion There is Profit (A BattleTech Story)

[Swordsmyth]

In Confusion There is Profit

Chapter One

HQ, First Company Combat Team, Doberman’s Dogs of War
Capital City, Lahti
Free Worlds League
21:00 hours
24 October 3069

Sonja Spellman Doberman sat in her overstuffed leather chair staring at her reflection in the window and the night lights of the city beyond. Fiddling with the wedding ring on her left hand, she contemplated the pastel gray uniform she was wearing and how she had arrived here. Dismissing her parents’ ironclad definition, that “all mercenaries are the scum of the universe,” she had not broken off her engagement to Caleb even after he revealed his life’s vocation.
Thinking now about the only man she’d ever loved, rejection of that definition filled her mind once more. Caleb couldn’t fit that black-tinged stereotype. So how could all of them possibly be as vile as her parents had indicated? And now she, herself, was living proof that stereotypes didn’t encompass the whole truth. Besides having married a mercenary, as the unit’s liaison to the planetary government she had technically become one herself.
Even when she had lived in the Free Rasalhague Republic as a small child, before they had fled to Solaris in the wake of the Clan invasion, her parents had indelibly impressed their hatred of soldiers of fortune upon her mind. Through her roller-coaster romance with this compelling young ’Mech pilot, she had idolized him. Suddenly she found herself engaged to be married. And it wasn’t until after she had accepted his proposal that she had found out his actual occupation. Before that, she had assumed that his “unit” he constantly referred to was one of the smaller stables on Solaris. Her parents, had they still been living, would have disowned her for having anything to do with a “mercenary.” The skin of her neck prickled as she remembered the revulsion in Dad’s voice when he said that word.
Sonja’s concentration was shattered when Bandit leaped from the desktop onto her lap. The willowy, blonde girl had first seen her pet during her fifth date with Caleb.
“Oh, look, Caleb! How darling! Look at that creature’s little black mask! He’s washing a fish! Oh, he’s so cute! I just have to have him. I could put him in my garden. I’m awfully lonely without you when you’re off with your unit, you know. And he would be such fun!” She smiled and waved at the shopkeeper through the plate glass window.
“Well, let’s see how much he costs first, sweetheart,” Caleb opened the door to the exotic pet store and they entered. “And how much trouble it will be to take care of him.” The clerk overhearing this part of the conversation, looked up from changing the “coon’s” litter box in the display case.
“Trouble?” the clerk asked, “No trouble at all. This here’s a Terran scavenger, what you call a “coon,” and they’re no trouble at all. They’re wild as a rule, and used to taking care of themselves, but they can be domesticated, with tender loving care. I think you’d like him. I tell you what. I’ll give him to you half price, because I can see the little lady is partial to him. Only today, you understand, and only for the little lady.”
Smiling down at Sonja, Caleb agreed, and they were soon out the door carrying Bandit in his cage. She had named the animal “Bandit” a week later, after discovering his penchant for opening food containers with his little “hands.” She had turned to get the cookie jar for Caleb’s visit and found the “coon” finishing off the last gingersnap.
From the mists of this fond memory, she returned her thoughts to recent events. Soon after she became engaged to Caleb in May of 3066, he had made her liaison officer for the unit. “Because,” he told her,“ first of all, I want to take you out of circulation. You’re too good to be true, and I don’t want to lose you because I’m busy with my unit. This way, you will be by my side every minute. Second, it will give us the opportunity to see if we can work together well. Third, I hope it will give me the chance to prove to you that your fears for my safety are groundless. And fourth, I’d like you to see first hand that your parents were wrong. Mercenaries are not always bad. So, how about it? Are you with us?”
She had accepted the position immediately, and thereafter, she attended every meeting Caleb held, and a few of her own too. She had never been so busy, or so happy. Those were all such pleasant days, except for one occasion. The meeting with the police chief back on Solaris. Remembering him, she was thrown back into the past again, sharing Caleb’s grief and distress.
Entering the chief’s office with Caleb, she knew how concerned he was that his father had mysteriously disappeared. Although Caleb still hoped he would receive a ransom demand from one of the local crime syndicates, it had been two weeks. Looking at the police chief across his desk, Caleb asked,
“You mean to say you have found NOTHING? In two weeks?” Caleb’s voice was incredulous.
“I am sorry to say, Caleb, it is quite likely that your father is not coming back. It is quite peculiar that there are no clues to be found. In a kidnapping there is a ransom demand. In a suicide or murder there is a trail to follow, and usually a body. And when an ordinary man takes a vacation, or hides out, he leaves a trail, and eventually returns. The big boys upstairs are theorizing that Stark Doberman has intentionally disappeared. He is no ordinary man, and we have neither the manpower nor the financing to continue the search.”
“No further action will be taken, then? This is wild.” Caleb’s tight laugh cracked the air, “My father has spent half of his life building his unit. He dreamed of making it a battalion, or even a regiment. And it was finally happening, He would never just pick up and leave. It is impossible.”
“Nevertheless, there are no clues. We are at a dead end.” The police chief escorted them to the door.
The task of integrating the Dogs’ newly acquired infantry and VTOL companies had fallen squarely on the broad shoulders of that tall young man with gray-green eyes. Even though he had only served on a few missions since returning from the Sakhara Academy in the Federated Suns, Doberman’s Dogs of War was Caleb’s unit now.
Sonja’s heart went out to him, and she recommitted all her efforts to aid him in this. And there was a lot to do. The FedCom civil war was not yet finished when the Dogs’ most recent contract had expired. Before he disappeared, Stark Doberman decided that it was time to rest, refit, and reorganize. Every ’Mech had been sold except for Stark’s personal Kodiak. They were replaced with just one company instead of two, but the new ’Mechs were cutting edge, and ideally customized for his purposes.
Sonja thought now, of the meeting that brought them here. It was held in Caleb’s office back on Solaris. She had just finished filing some papers, and arranged the chairs for the meeting, when Jacques Cahill (of Cahill’s Confederates, the infantry company Stark absorbed) knocked, and then immediately entered, along with another man. Cahill was an imposing figure at over two meters in height. The black-haired Free Worlder removed his kepis and motioned for his guest to sit.
“Caleb. Remember when you said you didn’t think the men were ready for any heavy action yet? You mentioned you wanted a small, out of the way contract where we could work on assimilating the new elements and improving unit cohesion.” Caleb nodded.
“Well, I think I’ve found just what you were looking for.” With a terse wave of his hand, Cahill motioned for the stranger to speak. The bureaucrat’s ill-fitting “off-the-rack” suit contrasted sharply with Jacques’ neatly tailored, elaborate gray dress uniform. The pudgy fellow leaned forward and spoke in quick, measured words.
“I represent Lahti in the Free World’s League. We are seeking mercenary reinforcements to aid our militia against increasingly frequent pirate raids. The unit must also serve as an opposing force in force-on-force training. We are willing to offer a cost-plus contract to guarantee your profit margin, since pirate raids are unpredictable. However, in return for this guaranteed income, the planetary militia will retain all salvage. We do, however, cede to you full command rights. Transportation costs will be paid for both arrival and departure to any destination no farther away than Solaris. “
“How long will this contract run?” Caleb’s eyes measured the man who measured his words.
“Three years; after which both sides would be able to renegotiate. Are these terms agreeable?” Breathing out tensely, the bureaucrat awaited Caleb’s response.
Calm and self-assured, Caleb rose. “Get back with me tomorrow at 10:00 hours.”
“Very well,” As the little man began to open the door, he turned sharply, “But I must have a firm decision at that time, or I will begin negotiations with other units.” He left, shutting the door softly.
“I assume you wish the officers called for a discussion?” asked Caleb’s second-in-command.
“Yes. Dad never liked ComStar. And the Word is the worst of them. If they hadn’t left, they would have been thrown out. Why Marik ever let them into the League, I’ll never know. Unless it’s because they are of the same ilk. He was ComStar himself, after all.”
“Caleb, this is the best backwater contract that’s come along yet. We’re being hired by the planetary government. It’s not like we’ll be working for The Word or even for Thomas Marik himself. I’m sure the Captain General just wanted them to leave voluntarily. What if ComStar had been forced to expel them?” Jacques paused, and then finished, “I’ll assemble the rest of officers.”
Caleb nodded, then turned to Sonja. Putting his arm around her, they watched Jacques leave.
The Dogs had arrived here shortly before the start of widespread political unrest in the Free Worlds League. However, Resolution 288 was just the beginning. When the Word of Blake incited a war on Outreach with the Wolf’s Dragoons, many of the Dogs’ were greatly disturbed. Outreach was the one place their friends and family should have been safe. At the Great Houses’ dissolution of the second Star League, the “Robes” ran berserk, attacking the capitals of the Lyran Alliance and the Federated Suns. As revenge for the uprising, the Dragoons attempted their doomed assault on Mars; the manic Blakists then nuked Outreach.
Sonja sighed softly as she continued to recall events of the near past. She could still see Caleb in the HPG office the day the news reached Lahti, recording a voice message for his lawyers and business staff.
“To all civilian staff in the employ of Doberman’s Dogs of War:
“You are to sell the leases on all facilities and leave Solaris 7 for Lahti with all due haste. There is great danger that the current chaos will spread to more of the prominent planets of the Inner Sphere.
“I realize that you may have wives and families to prepare, and property to dispose of. Do it as quickly as possible. Any time now, some idiot may decide that “now is a good time” to start a war between the League and the Lyran Alliance.” Having finished the message, he gave the clerk the destination, and paid the fee; then Caleb and Sonja left the office arm in arm.
Sonja spoke to Bandit now, softly, “I wish that I could have ordered my brother to leave the way Caleb did his employees. If only he’d taken my warning seriously, and left the planet. Some idiot did start a war. Or perhaps the Blakists conspired to weaken the League. I don’t know, Bandit. But it allowed them to make their move.
“Well, no matter what actually happened, Caleb was right about Solaris 7. I haven’t heard from any my friends or family since the occupation and neither has anyone else in the Dogs of War. Oh, it’s no wonder things looks so bleak. I wish they were all safe again.”
She snuggled Bandit in her arms, glad of his comforting warmth and movement. Then she stood, stretched her legs and carried him to the large bay window of her office.
Looking out at the stars and wondering where in the universe there might be a safe haven for her friends, her mind wandered back to The Word of Blake, the source of most of the recent trouble. When Thomas “Marik” (perhaps sensing impending treachery) had recalled his “Knights of the Inner Sphere” from the war zone to serve honor guard duty on Atreus, his enemies took action. During the welcome home parade the Word struck, with a vicious chemical attack that killed most of the Knights and the League Parliament. Attempting to justify their heinous actions, they then broadcast the news that Thomas “Marik” was, in fact, an imposter. They then proceeded to disrupt communications in most of the known galaxy. Rising chaos ensued, with internecine warfare rampant among the League military.
News of the chemical attack on Atreus had instigated anti-Blake protests and riots breaking out on Lahti. The Prince of Regulus had declared himself the new Captain General just before Corrine Marik launched her own coup. The Attorney General and many members of the local militia had revolted against the local government’s acceptance of Corrine Marik as Captain General. An active guerrilla campaign was begun to unseat the “traitors” and declare planetary “neutrality” until a “legitimate” Parliament could be reconvened to choose a new Captain General.
Suddenly a car alarm blared. Bandit jumped to the floor, scurried under the desk, and stayed there. Sitting down at her desk, Sonja tried to tempt the frightened animal out of his hiding place. She smiled as Bandit finally hopped up on her lap and took the proffered nuts from the palm of her hand. Chattering, he dipped them into the water glass. Her reverie returned. And she could see Caleb talking to the Governor that unfortunate day last week.
“Doberman, I demand that you order your unit to attack the rebels! You made a contract with our duly authorized agent, and accepted payment. You are obligated by contract law, as well as human decency to fulfill that contract to defend us! By law you are our paid servants in this matter.”
“You are dead wrong, Governor! We are not servants, we are independent contractors! Have you got your precious contract with you?”
The Governor waved the papers under his nose.
“Fine. Please look at page 5, paragraph 4, line 3. According to that clause, which I, myself, very carefully crafted for OUR protection against people like you; this IRONCLAD contract states SPECIFICALLY that the unit is ONLY required to respond to hostile FOREIGN forces. And these rebels aren’t FOREIGN. And you know it Governor! In fact, you have incited them to riot, you and your cronies! We will have nothing to do with civil war. It is NOT in the contract! And no court in the universe will hold it against us when we are specifically upholding the terms of the contract, least of all the MRBC”
“You slipped that right by my dim-witted brother-in-law. It was a trick!”
“Governor, I am a mercenary commander. I am not a politician, a bureaucrat or a lawyer. You, on the other hand are all of those. And it was an agent YOU selected who contracted with us. If you cannot see after your own affairs, do not blame me. It’s not my fault that one of your relatives was more interested in an all-expense-paid junket than in reading the contract he was signing.
“Good day, Governor. I’m sure you can find your way to the door.” With great indifference, Caleb turned his back and began to open a filing cabinet.
“You can’t get away with this. I’ll have you arrested on the spot!” threatened the Governor, and rushed to the door to call for some help. But Caleb’s imminent arrest was forestalled by one of the Governor’s bodyguards relaying a message,
“Incoming pirate DropShips, sir! We must get you out of here NOW!”
Storming out of the room, the Governor had angrily shouted his final retort,
“Caleb Doberman, since you refuse to help us, you can expect no assistance from the loyal militia. They will be tied down fighting the rebels. And I hope they cockpit you for this!”
Looking at the clock, Sonia afforded herself one more moment of regret at the state of things. There really was no safe haven for anyone any more. After the unit’s combat forces took to the field in search of the pirate LZ, the Dogs’ dependents began to notice that they were followed wherever they went. After consulting with Sonja, and in accordance with her advice, all dependents began to confine themselves to the housing compound across from the HQ lest they should be charged with consorting with the rebels. What had Sonja’s life come to? Seemingly punctuating her mental arrival at the present, the sounds of battle erupted, echoing all through the city.

0100 hours
25 October 3069

Sitting bolt upright in her leather chair with her blue eyes wide open, Sonja unconsciously clung to Bandit. For the past three hours she had been too afraid to even venture across the street to her quarters in the Dogs’ apartment complex. She couldn’t have slept anyway. She could never stand violence or the noise of warfare. Quite ironic, considering her current position in life. On Solaris 7, she’d been curious about the life of a MechWarrior, and in response to her questions, Caleb had taken her to her first, and definitely last, Arena match. The sights and sounds all came back to her now.
“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. This is Duncan Fisher coming to you live from The Jungle, here in Cathay. If you don’t like crowds, this was definitely the night to stay home and watch this match on your vid screen. The security outside the arena is absolutely suffocating. I only got through it myself just in time to make it to the mike. But tonight’s match should make it all worth it for those of you down in the stands.
“This is the first season here on Solaris for an awful lot of pilots down there, and they are still developing their styles. That’s one of the things I like about the Light Circuit. That air of unpredictability.
“Tonight’s spotlight is on Dennis Taurog, an up-and-coming young MechWarrior from Arcturus. He’s been really tearing through the Davion pilots so far this season, with his customized UrbanMech. It’s just about the slowest thing you’ll see here in the Light Class. But he tells me that being Lyran, he likes it that way.
“Dennis says that with all that extra weight for armor, it’s like bringing a Medium to a Light match. And it hits almost as hard too, with its Class 10 Autocannon and the medium pulse laser he’s swapped for its stock.
“Rumor has it, though, that the Davion pilots are really gunning for him tonight. I don’t like to see politics interfere in the matches here on Solaris, but that’s just the way things happen sometimes when there’s a war on. Well, enough of the patter, folks. Are you ready for this?” The crowd roared in anticipation, and Duncan sounded just like a circus announcer, as he pronounced, “Then, let the match begin!”
As Sonja looked out into the Arena, a large air horn sounded, and the ’Mechs began to move. From her seat, she could best see a ’Mech in Steiner blue that looked like a walking trash can. It had walked into a small lake, and was spitting out a near constant stream of laser fire from one of its arms at two other ’Mechs, who were moving at high speed, dancing around the edge of the lake. She didn’t know any of their names, but one of them looked like a fat little boy with his father’s bowler rammed down over his head, with the brim pulled flat around his ears. The other ’Mech looked like some kind of short-necked ostrich. Her interest was piqued slightly. In the uninterested fascination some people use on insects, she watched.
Every time the little boy slowed to fire off his missiles, the trash can would fire off the cannon in his other arm at him. The ostrich seemed able to keep moving at a much higher speed, and so the trash can’s pilot, apparently saving his ammunition, wasn’t trying to use the cannon on him.
Sonja shifted uncomfortably in her seat. So far, things didn’t seem too bad, but it was certainly not what she would have chosen to do with the evening.
As clouds of steam billowed up out of the lake, the trash can landed a particularly effective hit on the little boy’s leg, and it fell flat on its face. While it struggled to get up, the trash can continued to pour firepower into the little boy until it had blown off one of its arms. When it had finally struggled to it’s feet again, the boy was limping terribly, and tried to make its way around a small hill, while the ostrich swooped in and began to fire missiles as well as lasers. But before the little boy could get around the hill, another well-placed hit to the leg blew that off, and it fell over on its side.
“Ahhhh! Oh, Caleb, the pilot! He’s pinned in the cockpit. How will he get out? “ She chattered in fear,
“Oh, the trash can knocked him down, he can’t escape. Oh, Caleb, I don’t want to be here,” and she hid her face in his chest. Thinking she was just trying to flirt with him, and appreciating the cuddling, Caleb put his arm around her and hugged her close, all the time assuring her that it would be all right.
When she did look up again, the ostrich was pouring fire into a gaping, smoking hole in the side of the trash can, where its cannon arm had been before. Then a giant explosion went off, accompanied by an ejector pod flying high into the air out of the trash can. Duncan Fisher, who had been reminiscing about fights he had been in with action similar to what was going on at the other end of the arena, interrupted himself to comment,
“Yeeeoww! That’s gotta hurt! I bet Taurog’s wishing now that he’d invested in CASE. And that’s the end of his reign of terror, folks. He won’t be bringing that ’Mech back into combat for quite some time. The UrbanMech might be almost a Medium, but trying to take on two opponents at the same time, a Javelin and a Jenner, that add up to more than twice your weight, doesn’t go over well in any ’Mech. ”
Sonja was not enjoying this at all, but by the enthusiastic tone of Duncan Fisher’s running commentary, apparently some people seemed to. She had contained her discontent as long as she could. But it was no use. She’d had enough. Bursting into tears, she pulled away from Caleb’s strong grip and fighting like a little child to get away from a parent, she rushed up the aisle to the exit. Caleb chased after her, and pulling her to him, soothed her ruffled feathers,
“Hey, girl, I had no idea you really felt that way! I thought you were just trying to come on to me.”
“Haven’t I been telling you? I can’t stand it! I don’t want to be here! And if this is what you do, maybe I’d better not go out with you any more. You might kill someone, or maim them for life. And worse, what if you were killed or hurt? I couldn’t take it Caleb. No, no, no!” She rushed into the parking garage and stood alone in the dark.
“But Sonja, honey, none of the ’Mech pilots are actually going to die. Look, don’t you see me every day? I’m fine aren’t I? Even in real combat, ’Mech pilots don’t get killed that often. That is what the ejector pod is for. And this is just a sporting event. No one is even trying to kill the other pilot, just tear up his ’Mech. It looks a lot worse than it is.” She began to relax in his arms, and he continued.
“Come on, trust me, girl! We have a future together, and no one is going to take that from us.”
“Caleb. You didn’t finish that sentence. Aren’t you supposed to say, ‘no one is going to take that from us AS LONG AS I’M ALIVE?’”
“I guarantee you, I’ll always be here for you, Sonja. I will. I promise.” And he kissed her to silence her fears.
As the night sky outside her window was lit with the pyrotechnics of a DropShip burning toward the upper atmosphere, she still remembered the kiss, the promise, and especially the fear. Holding Bandit closer, she watched as angry weapons fire shot up from the ground, in a futile attempt to swat the Union back down. Then the noise of fighting seemed to drop by half as the DropShip slowly vanished from sight.
A sound in the hall took her attention away from the night sky. “My light! Turn it off!” she thought, but it was too late. The door opened and a large walking bush holding an assault rifle came into the office. Silently stepping to the side, the bush gave way to a broad-shouldered man wearing a militia lieutenant’s uniform. Closing the door, he announced, “We have much to talk about.”
Sonja, almost paralyzed with surprise, asked, “Why me?”
“You are the liaison officer aren’t you? For the mercenary unit, the Dogs?”
“Yes. Who are you?” Putting Bandit down, Sonja stared first at the man in the bush, then back at the seated officer.
“Lieutenant Gregory Roland, ma’am. My men and I have come to the conclusion that things will only get worse from here on out. And we want to get out of here before they do. But the new government isn’t going to be willing to allow any militia to leave the planet until they’re no longer afraid of invasion. The way things are going, an invasion by somebody is probable. And we’re not waiting for it to come. If there was any chance of peace and a normal life returning to this planet, we would do our duty and defend our homes, but we don’t intend to raise our families in a war zone inside a failed state.
“We need your unit to remove both us and our dependents. We want them slipped out of the capital to your base camp, and then taken off world. We are ready to move on this at a moment’s notice.
Sonja looked at him, “But we don’t have the transport assets required. The planetary government arranged our journey here and they were supposed to arrange for our departure. If, as you say, the new government is so afraid, then they will probably find excuses to trap us here as well.”
“We have a plan for that; however it will require all of us to cooperate. In order for it to work, we will have to leave immediately.” The lieutenant looked squarely at her, his presence almost commanding her assent.
“Our contract still has a week left to run. I certainly can’t make any agreement to break it. I’m only the liaison officer. You’ll have to discuss that with Caleb himself.” Sonja parried.
“The longer we take to start, the riskier it becomes. The rebels will be able to consolidate their control of the capital soon, and then they’ll begin to take interest if our dependents and families are packing up to leave. We must act now. I was hoping you could help us. I had heard that you weren’t a career officer, and might have some pity on civilians. Is that correct?“ His commanding presence melting slightly, the look of desperation in the man’s eyes reached inside her and touched a nerve.
Thinking again of the Dogs’ friends and family on Outreach, amidst the “Robes” vicious attacks, and then the nuclear warfare administered there by the Blakists; and finally of her own family and friends on Solaris 7 behind a veil of silence since the Blakists took it, Sonja shivered. Her heart went out to the lieutenant. With a deep breath of assent, she pulled out her office stationery pad and proffered it to the lieutenant. This time, something had to be done.
“I suppose under the circumstances, I can tentatively agree. But it’s not set until you talk to Caleb. If you write a message to him, I’ll have someone take it to him and you can set up a meeting. No one should take note of one of our people heading out to the base camp.”

1300 hours
25 October, 3069

A whole week since the pirate DropShips had been sighted, and yet their landing site seemed just as far from discovery as it had ever been. The command van’s map was now speckled with pins; their tags indicating raids, skirmishes, and sightings. Still no apparent pattern had emerged. Each officer silently stared at the puzzle, occasionally examining a tag for specific information.
A communicator crackled to life, breaking the silence.
“This is Sniffer Three. I have contact. A large raiding column with a mixed company of ’Mechs, headed west, out of the mountains. “
Caleb listened to the exact coordinates, poring over the map in search of the pirates’ probable target. As he was about to come to the same conclusion himself, Cahill announced, “It’s got to be the logging camp. They’re probably after the forestry ’Mechs.”
Sergeant Pavel Ivanoff’s voice intruded, “Shall I harass the column sir?”
“No. Your Sprint’s medium laser is only intended for emergencies. Your armor is too light to risk combat. You know your lance is only out there to use your active probes. The Yellow Jackets will intercept and harass. When they arrive, resume your search pattern for their LZ.”
Caleb turned to the other officers, “I want the infantry company and Speed Lance to beat that column to the logging camp and begin evacuation and ambush preparations. The First Line Lance is to head out immediately as support. I’ll hold the Second Line Lance in reserve. When the two combat VTOL lances intercept that column, they are to remain at maximum range and harass until the ground forces engage. “
Turning back to the communicator, Caleb’s voice was forceful. “I need an exact force description, speed and heading. Update every fifteen minutes.”
As the officers left, Caleb calculated how much sooner than the pirates his infantry would arrive at the target. The Dogs should have enough time to evacuate the logging camp, and then dig in. He was closer than the raiding column, and his father had specifically chosen the Blizzard infantry transports (along with their escort of Regulator hover tanks) for their high speed. Speed Lance, with its thirty-five ton Owens’s would arrive shortly thereafter. But the line lance, with its mid-speed Maelstroms (Stark had defined ’Mechs by their speed class, making the Maelstrom a “medium” ’Mech) would arrive at about the same time as the pirates.
This was satisfactory. Even without time to prepare an ambush, they easily outweighed anything in the pirate column. The pirates seemed to be deploying only one company of ’Mechs for this raid, so Caleb had held back the Second Line Lance, with its Black Hawk-KU’s. Their OmniTech and Jump Jets made them a versatile reaction force if any other pirate forces involved in recent raids chose to reveal themselves or to attack his base camp. And his father’s personal Kodiak (now Caleb’s Command ’Mech) would provide a nasty surprise of its own. Stark Doberman had personally captured the Kodiak during the initial Clan Invasion. It was the only ’Mech that hadn’t been sold in the Dog’s reorganization, since its Clan technology was superior to any available replacement.

2030 hours
October 25, 3069

After a short nap between search shifts, Pavel was back in the air attempting to shadow the pirate forces retreating from the logging camp skirmish. Half the pirate force was still conducting a slow combat withdrawal in order to buy time for the rest. The second half were dispersing, after snatching two forestry ’Mechs and assorted other loot. But from the combat chatter he had heard, Pavel was sure that the raid had not been profitable for the pirates.
Most of the fleeing pirates he was tracking were in transport vehicles. The remaining pirate ’Mechs had been needed for delaying action. Nevertheless, there was at least one BattleMech with cargo nets that had been eluding him in the narrow mountain passes by frequently shutting down. The two forestry ’Mechs, whose pilots seemed less experienced, should have been perfectly easy to follow thanks to the logging company’s extravagance in upgrading to fusion engines. But the magnetic anomalies caused by the ore deposits in the area were interfering with their signatures.
Ivanoff kept up a running patter with himself every time he entered his cockpit. It helped to fill the time and the silence.
“Pavel, my boy, ignore the transport vehicles. Their engines are too small, and they’re not fusion. You’ll never track them out here! Too many sensor anomalies.” Shrugging his tense shoulders, he complained to himself, “Why do I always draw the terrain filled with ore deposits? It’s just not fair.”
“Hey, hey, hey now, do I detect a BattleMech startup? Whoa, there, slow up! We’re coming to get you, you elusive little bugger.” He banked hard right, but just then another light on his panel bagan to blink. There was an even larger reading at the extreme northern edge of his sensors where the standard search pattern had not yet reached.
“You’re too large to be an ore deposit anomaly. What do you think, Pavel, ol’ boy? Well, sir, I have a hunch….” He broke off pursuit of the fleeing pirates, and turned his VTOL in the direction of the new signal. As he got closer to the blip on his scope, he began to fly lower and maneuver to place a line of low hills between himself and what he was now sure was the pirate’s base camp. After arriving at those hills, he landed. Then, with his binoculars, Pavel scrambled to the top of the peak.
“Whoaaa, boy! Would you look at that. I’ve hit the jackpot today!” he crowed to himself, and then rushed back to his Sprint. Jamming his communicator headset back on, he reported in.
“I now have visual confirmation of six DropShips clustered together in a small river valley. They can’t have any more. The militia reported only one JumpShip at the pirate point. Even a Star Lord can’t carry any more than that, and I doubt pirates would have anything bigger.” After giving the coordinates, he started up his VTOL again. “Maybe I’ll get a bonus and a weekend pass for this find.”
Rising in the air, he laughed to himself, “Stupid pirates! They should have split up when they first arrived. Instead they’re clustered together like a flock of chickens, waiting for us to take them all at once!
“I’m mighty tempted to fly in and lop off a few of their heads with my medium laser. It would be like old times, just like when Grandma sent me out to chase chickens for a family reunion picnic. Fried chicken was everyone’s favorite. And I had to catch and butcher the lot.
“EEE-haw!” he hollered. “Scatter, chickens! I intend to chop a few heads today too.” His heart raced a little, as his appetite for the chase was whetted.
But, then thinking about what he had just said, Pavel resisted the temptation. Regretfully he admitted he would probably have the same trouble now that he had then.
“If I do use my laser, instead of obeying orders, those brainless pirates would scatter just like the chickens always did. And who knows how long it would take for me to track them down again! Nope, I expect Doberman is right. He wants to hit them with the whole unit and all at one time, doing enough damage to drive them off planet.
“You’re right, Doberman. You’re always right,” he said aloud to his absent commander.
Nevertheless, Ivanoff couldn’t help but wish, right about now, that he had been assigned to a combat VTOL instead of to the scout lance.
“Pavel, your piloting is too good,” he told himself, as he flew back to base camp. “Perhaps you could request a transfer to one of the combat lances in lieu of a bonus. It galls me to be the one doing all the chasing, but never the chopping.”




Chapter Two
Capital City, Lahti
Free Worlds League
10:00 hours
26 October 3069

The AG, his monocle sparkling in the sunlight, was droning on with his victory speech, after the liberation of Capital City.
“This is a great and glorious day. Our capital and indeed, our whole planet are now breathing the fresh air of freedom. We know that our enemies intend to return, but we will be waiting for them and they will pay a heavy price.
“To paraphrase an ancient leader of another free people who faced overwhelming odds, ‘We will fight them at the Jump Points, we will fight them at the landing zones, and we will fight them in the streets. We will never, ever surrender!”
Cheers exploded from the crowd, and during this tumult, Lieutenant Roland, standing among them, saw a manhole near the dais open, almost unnoticed because of the noise. A head and an arm suddenly popped out and lobbed a grenade at the AG.
Roland yelled, “Get that man!” and his platoon, to the man, bumped through the panicking crowd, scrambling for the manhole cover that had just slammed down again. Others were sent around the entire area, checking buildings for another manhole cover which might give outlet to the assassin’s escape. The Company Commander stood near the dais, where the Attorney General had collapsed into a quivering mass of jelly. The stocky ComStar ROM contact attempted to haul the AG to his feet, and drag him away to safety. Medics rushed to aid the militia officers on the dais who had been caught in the blast. The security detail on the manhunt, returned to report.
“I haven’t found anyone down this alley, Captain. But we did find the closest manhole. It is near the central high riser.”
“Well, Lieutenant? Did you check the high riser?”
“Yes, sir. My team was very thorough. Unless they were cliff hanging, no one got by us.”
The Captain gave Roland a grim look, then spoke to the entire contingent assembled in the street.
“Men, I don’t have to remind you how crucial this mission is. The Blakist guerrillas have made one attempt on the Attorney General, and will try another. We must stop them cold now. We are drawing a line of containment and you are the exterminators of this vermin. A map of the Capital City sewer system is now being uploaded to all officers’ and NCO’s Noteputers. You are to enter the manholes indicated in red and check the branches of the sewer assigned to your unit.”
“Specifically, your assignments are the following. Able Platoon?”
“Yes sir?”
“You take the north.”
“Will do, Captain.”
“ Baker Platoon, you take the south branch, and don’t forget that expansion they added two years ago.”
Looking up, the Captain interrupted himself, “That reminds me, if any of you run into a gate down there, shoot out the lock and go through. These guerillas may have keys.”
“Now, Charlie Platoon, you draw the east, and Delta Platoon?”
“Sir?” The Captain looked at Roland.
“The west is yours. You’re short two men. Can you handle the whole route?”
“Yes, sir! Will do sir.” Lieutenant Roland snapped off a crisp salute.
“Get to it then. All units are to report back here when you’ve cleared your sectors.”
Gregory Roland groaned inside as he looked over his map. How could he make the rendezvous with the mercenaries now? If the Blakist guerrillas hadn’t made an attempt on the Attorney General, he would have been able to slip away already. Now he and his men would have to spend who knows how long searching the sewers for any more assassins that might be lurking. Speaking under his breath, he urged himself on, mimicking the Company Commander.
“Well, ‘get to it then’ Greg. You have a meeting to go to. There’s a chance Doberman will still be there. He needs those ships as badly as you do.” Then he hustled his men down the manhole.

Lake Serene, Somerset Forest
Lahti, Free Worlds League
14:45 hours
26 October 3069

The note that one of the office staff had handed to Caleb ten minutes ago was as hard to read as a doctor’s prescription. He’d read it over and over. But it revealed nothing new. He saw the scrawl again in his mind’s eye as he drove; and again he wondered why he’d decided to cooperate. Maybe because it was written on Sonja’s office letterhead.
“We have heard you are interested in acquiring ships. In return for your services, we can provide aid in securing the ships you desire. You would be wise to accept this offer, since the new government will never help you. If you are interested, come alone to a meeting with us. On your map, locate Lake Serene, and go to the north shore. There you will see a pier. Follow the shoreline east for two miles. You will find a cabin in a clearing. Take the key from under the mat, enter and wait. I will join you at 1500 hours sharp.” The note was signed, “Lieutenant Roland.”
Well, there was the cabin. And here he was, at 1450. Approaching the area, he scanned it for a trap. If it were pirates, he was dead already. But there was a chance. How would a pirate get hold of his wife’s stationery?
Caleb laughed to himself. He hadn’t thought anyone still left the key “under the mat.” But sure enough, the key was there.

1600 hours
October 26, 3069

Driving down the winding forest road to his father’s fishing lodge near the lake, Gregory Roland felt the pressure; but there had been no way to communicate the time change. “If he’s there, good; if not, I’m out of luck, that’s all,” he said to himself.
As he rounded the last curve in the road, the cabin came into sight. Greatly relieved, he sighted a jeep parked outside. The mercenary was still waiting.
Inside, Caleb thought irritatedly that “Lieutenant Roland” wasn’t very punctual. He was already an hour late. If he didn’t show up soon, Caleb would return to his base camp, writing off the mysterious message as a loss.
Just as he was about to do so, he heard a vehicle pull up outside. He peered out the window at the truck and the men dismounting. Eight soldiers in ghillie suits were taking up sentry posts in the woods around the cabin. Three men were headed for the cabin door; a tall red-headed man in a militia lieutenant’s uniform; an even taller gray-haired man in a business suit; and a short, padded fellow in coveralls. Caleb reseated himself at the dining table on a chair facing the doorway, and placed his laser pistol in front of him. If they were pirates in disguise, he was ready.
“Good evening,” the Lieutenant said as he held the door open for the other two.
“I am Lieutenant Gregory Roland. This,” he pointed to the older gentleman, “is my father, William Roland, owner of our local brewery. And this is Juan Post, late of The Word of Blake.”
Moving closer, Roland said, “We have a proposal to make. You know that the Governor and his toaster-worshipping buddies have fled the planet, vowing to return to crush us.”
“I had heard the news.” Caleb watched this man closely as he continued.
“Most of their troops have escaped the Attorney General’s assault on the capital, and melted into the countryside to begin their campaign of terror, and intend to keep us in a state of chaos until the Governor or his psychotic allies can return.” Caleb grunted his assent.
Greg, irritated at life, raised his voice a little,
“As if that wasn’t bad enough, our little coalition is now starting to squabble over who will head the new government and which, if any, faction in the disintegrating League we will join. With the Hegemony so close, recent pirate raids getting bigger, and no one to operate or repair the HPG but the AG’s single ComStar ROM contact, this isn’t a very healthy place to live any more.” Again Caleb grunted, and the man continued.
“It is debatable whether the government that employed you is even still in existence. And since your contract is near expiration anyway, here is our offer.” Roland, braced himself on the back of a chair and leaned forward.
“In return for aid in securing the ships, as well as passage to the Rim Collection where we have friends, we offer you a JumpShip and a full load of DropShips as payment. These are worth far more than what you have been paid or what our new government could afford to offer you. The Governor seems to have taken most of the treasury with him. “
Caleb uncrossed his arms. “You have used the phrase ‘aid in securing the ships’ twice already. Once in your note, and again just now. I assume the catch is that we are talking about the pirates’ ships?”
Roland’s father, now seated at the table, shrugged. “Yes. Of course. We have a plan, but we cannot accomplish it ourselves. We have been preparing to implement it ever since Juan informed us that his former ‘friends’ had contacted a passing merchant JumpShip at the Zenith Point, and that the Governor was loading up a DropShip to rendezvous with it.”
“Why did he tell you this?” Doberman suspiciously eyed Juan.
I had been thinking about leaving already,” Juan interjected, “I had a cousin who was in the crowd on Atreus. It was hard enough for me to leave ComStar. I really didn’t want to believe that the Word had gone astray too. But they made the decision for me when they ordered me to sabotage the HPG after they left. I had to do something. Mr. Roland was the only person I knew on the Rebel side who wouldn’t lynch me on sight. So I came to him.”
“Fair enough,” Caleb shifted his gaze from Juan to the younger Roland.
“But now what? Capturing those vessels won’t be so easy. How do you propose we secure them before they take off for another landing sight? They may even return to their JumpShip and leave the system. “
“First we will need to locate their DropShips,” the Lieutenant began.
“That’s already been done,” Caleb inserted.
“Good. Now here is what we figure to do,” Roland, his father and Juan all leaned forward over a map on the table, and Caleb came closer as they explained their plan. When he was finished, Roland said,
“I have arranged with your wife for the dependents of all those involved in this plan to be packed up and slipped out of the capital to your base camp. This removal is already being implemented.”
Caleb raised his eyebrows; Sonja hadn’t informed him of any such thing. He’d have to have a talk with that girl. The Lieutenant’s voice captured his attention again.
“Since the AG’s forces don’t yet have full control of the capital, they should not notice this slow trickle of emigration until after we are already gone. Your wife has assured me that your infantry company is trained to operate DropShips and JumpShips. Is that correct?”
Caleb nodded.
“Then we should only need the cooperation of a few pirates, just long enough to talk to their JumpShip. That will allow us to dock.”
“Have you also planned how to get their cooperation?” Caleb challenged the men at the table.
“Matter of fact we do, sir.” William Roland interjected. He’d been patient during this briefing, but the mercenary’s attitude had been less than positive. Why was he hesitating? Did he want off the planet or not?
“We shouldn’t have any trouble gaining their cooperation, because we can simply dump those who refuse to help us out the airlock. Those who do cooperate will be turned over to the authorities for trial at our next stop on a League world. I think they’ll choose to live. Is that enough of a plan to satisfy you?”
Surprised at the older man’s vehemence, Caleb assented; then Gregory went on,
“Your current contract doesn’t provide you the option of recovering salvage. However, we are abandoning our holdings here, so we propose to pay you with their ships. We will keep the rest of the pirate salvage, their ’Mechs, vehicles and so forth. They will be sold to provide us with funds for our new life in the Rim Collection.” Roland’s steady eyes surveyed Caleb. “Is this contract acceptable to you?”
Caleb took his time considering the offer. Technically, his contract had another week to run before it expired. But what was left of the planetary government certainly was in no condition to file any complaint with the MRBC, if it could even still purport to be his original employer. And he could always claim breach of contract on their part for failing to support him during this most recent pirate raid.
Those ships were certainly a tempting offer, although it would mean having to add dedicated crews to his salary rolls. Beyond their value in C-Bills, owning his own transports would allow him to take many contracts that he would otherwise not be able to. These ships would be a giant leap forward in Stark’s plan to complete his “Company Combat Team” concept, by obtaining aerospace, artillery, and transport assets.
“Very well. There should be enough room in the vessels for everything we intend to take with us. The pirates, presumably, brought enough cargo capacity for the booty they came to collect, besides the space allotted for their own crew. An awful lot of them won’t be returning, including about two lances of ’Mechs and a full company of infantry they lost in just the most recent skirmish, although it was the largest. There should be space for you and your dependents. But I must insist that before you load anything more than your loved ones, we load my equipment.”
The three men looked at each other, relieved that the contract had been accepted, and nodded their heads. The deal was made. Now to implement the plan.

Capital City Outskirts, Business District
Lahti, Free Worlds League
20:00 hours
26 October 3069

A large sign cut in the shape of an ancient drinking horn overflowing with foam, and “Roland’s Brewery” inscribed across it in green and gold, was hanging on a warehouse at the front of a large industrial complex which was littered with several giant tanks, a few scattered buildings and four silos. Behind the locked gates, there were two tractor-trailer rigs filled with cases of bottled beer; eight stakebeds, and six bobtail tanker trucks. Dressed as convicts Cahill and his men were assembled near the three bobtails with red tags in the windshield.
Jacques rehearsed the cover story they were to give the pirates.
“Who are you?”
“We’re criminals who have escaped from the local prison.”
“How?” Cahill asked, with a school teacher’s tone.
“The Blakists attacked it.”
Again he quizzed them.
“Why?”
“It was part of the Blakists’ plan, as they left the planet, to leave our world in chaos so that their return and second takeover would be easier.”
“You, as prisoners, wouldn’t know that private. If asked for the reason why the Blakists would let you loose, you should say that you don’t know why. Let them deduce the reason. All you have to do is to appear at their camp and let them know you are eager to join up as pirates. As prisoners, you each should think of a back history as murderers or thieves; your rap sheet should be something that would complement their crew. And you can tell them that as a token of good faith and a show of your skills, you’ve stolen these truckloads of beer, hoping to exchange it for transportation off Lahti and membership in their band. Indicate you are ready to party with them right now, so they know you are offering them a good product. They should then take you at face value.” Taking a breath, as the looks of appreciation spread over the militia’s faces, Cahill continued.
“Each of the stakebeds has one pallet of unspiked bottled beer under a tarp. If someone is insisting that you imbibe, take a bottle of that. But, go easy on it anyway. We want you sober.
“But don’t share it. Be sure to herd all the pirates over to the beer on tap, urging them that it is instantly available. Now, remember, the beer on tap is spiked. None of you are to sample it, it is quite powerful.
“Again, DO NOT DRINK THE BEER! Just hold your mugs. Pretend to drink and be drunken, but spill it, or give it away. Encourage them to party, but keep your wits about you. Have you got that?”
The men nodded, but one man spoke up.
“Sir?”
“Yes corporal?”
“What do we do when the pirates are crocked?”
“Call it in and the rest of the unit will make their move. You head for the DropShips and secure their crews. Try to take them alive in case we need them, but take whatever measures are necessary to subdue any who offer resistance. DO NOT DAMAGE THE SHIP’S SYSTEMS. Some of them do not react well to laser fire.”
Cahill heard the corporal mutter under his breath, “Yeah. Like me!” A wave of laughter rippled through the soldiers, and their leader awaited their silence with a stern look; then continued.
“Remember, it is particularly important that the ship’s command staffs are gotten down to the party. They must be taken alive, and we can sober them up later. We don’t want the JumpShip thinking something is wrong because they are talking to some flunky instead of a DropShip Captain.”
“Yes sir.”
“And if we don’t dock with the JumpShip, we are just as stuck on this rock as if we never took the DropShips. So don’t blow this for us. Obey your orders.
“Now I will emphasize this again. We don’t need any battles inside the ships. No damage to the equipment, and no damage to any of you, do you understand? We need every one of you to operate those ships. Now, is everyone clear on your priorities?”
The entire group saluted and shouted, “Yes, sir!” The sound echoed like Davion Assault Guards on parade. He dismissed them, and the horde of men rushed for the trucks. Operation Oktoberfest was under way.

22:00 hours
October 31, 3069

The plan had gone off without a hitch. Doberman’s Dogs were now mobile. “We’re off this Rock! Cahill crowed as he entered the coordinates for the first jump into the ship’s computer, “Rim Collection here we come!”

Epilogue

Temporary Quarters, First Company Combat Team, Doberman’s Dogs of War
Maroo, Gillfillan’s Gold
Rim Collection
1500 hours
April 30, 3070

Gillfillan’s Gold wasn’t exactly a tourist attraction. But after their long journey in space with only infrequent visits to planets they were passing while their JumpShip recharged, all of the men and their dependents had enjoyed spending some time with real dirt beneath their feet. But they all knew that they couldn’t stay here forever. The Rim Collection couldn’t afford to hire any more Mercs besides Abel’s Aces, and if they spent much more time here than was necessary to recover from their trip, they might go bankrupt. Fortunately, the rotating shore leaves during recharges had mitigated much of the effect of prolonged space travel.
Colonel Doberman had called all of the unit’s officers to discuss their next destination, and they were now just arriving. He still felt the newness of that title, but Jacques had finally convinced him to institute a formal rank structure for the officers instead of just positions, as Stark had operated the unit.
“Well, it’s obvious that we can’t go back to Solaris,” Jacques began.
“Or Outreach!” snorted Lieutenant Culpepper, the leader of the battle armor platoon.
“We could go to Herotitus,” suggested Lieutenant Ivanoff, now promoted to command a combat lance.
“And pick up penny-ante contracts from the Taurians?”
Pavel shot Culpepper a dirty look for that jibe.
Caleb cleared his throat to assert control of the conversation, and then spoke.
“We are already on one edge of the Inner Sphere. Traveling to Herotitus is out of the question anyway. Until we choose a new home, we’re dragging our own JumpShip with us, so we can’t even try to leapfrog our DropShips to fresh JumpShips along the way. I had considered Galatea, but it’s too close to Terra and the Blakies for comfort. That would seem to leave Arc-Royal. It’s our best bet for connections as well, because my grandfather is still a semi-retired tech for the Kells.”
“It may be far from Terra, but it’s just a couple of jumps from the Clans.” Pavel offered.
“Yes, but they don’t throw nukes around,” Culpepper retorted, with undisguised derision.
“The Clans still pose a serious threat. Perhaps you’d enjoy becoming one of their bondsmen?” Major Cahill inserted, attempting to offer some relief to Lieutenant Ivanoff.
“I’d already considered the Clans,” said Caleb, “but being Mercenaries, we can’t exactly lead a safe life anyway. And as Culpepper pointed out, they’re not in the habit of throwing nuclear tantrums. With the Kell Hounds and the exiled Wolves living there, Arc-Royal should be as safe a place as our dependents could hope for”
“Unless anyone else has something significant to add, I believe the Colonel has come to a decision.” Jacques voice bristled with a soft finality.
After waiting a full minute for further comments, Caleb dismissed the gathering and began composing a message to his grandfather on Arc-Royal.