Part 671: Luthien Invasion Campaign Vote

“They’re now landing in a dozen sectors,” Star Colonel Shivali Lassenerra ran her left hand through her close-cropped brown hair. Her strong fingers curled, massaging her scalp as more scouting reports rolled in on her monitor. She tried to get a feel for the numbers they faced, but it was simply too much. The so-called “Draconis Suns” was dropping dozens of regiments, more than enough to overwhelm the elements of Alpha and Delta Galaxies they had on hand with numbers alone—provided enough of them made it safely to the ground.

The left corner of her mouth curled into a faint frown as she considered possibilities. The right side of her face was as devoid of expression as always, the burns she’d suffered in her youth had left her sheathed in synthetic skin and robbed her of “extraneous” muscles not required for eating. Her right eye was ringed with neurocircuitry, allowing her to interface with the biomechanical clone the MedTechs had grown to replace the eye she’d lost. She’d nearly given all for her Clan, and she’d have gladly done so again. “We can’t stop more than a fraction of them.”

“Let them land,” the Khan spoke, his deep basso voice rumbling like distant thunder.

Shivali spun in place, her gray eyes striking and intense as a distant thunderstorm. Her dark lips curled into an uncomfortable scowl—it was so difficult to look properly angry when the right of her face simply couldn’t obey. The Khan was the oldest man Shivali had ever met. Well into his seventies, Grier Seidman had assumed control of the Clan in unusual circumstances. He was the only man who had served twice as Khan, having stepped down once in his youth in favor of younger generations. She wondered if, perhaps, he was going mad in his old age.

“Bring our pilots in to rest and recover,” Grier ordered calmly. “We cannot stop the landings now, rather than letting them pick us apart piecemeal we will gather our forces here in the Imperial City for a final stand. Our genetic repositories in the homeworlds have been stolen, our bloodlines defiled, and the so-called Stone Lions are already nibbling on our periphery holdings.”

Grier stood, his hands balling into fists. “If the Hell’s Horses are to die, we will die with our feet on the ground and our eyes open. We will make our enemies remember our name and our rage as we fight against the fading of our light.” He paused, and eyes so dark they almost looked black stared into Shivali’s own. “We will make the Draconis Suns fear our warriors—and covet them. When the last of the Hell’s Horses falls, let it be with our teeth on the throat of our betrayers.”


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“They’ve pulled back their fighters,” A powerfully-built young man in a Chu-sa’s uniform offered Hanse Davion a datapad. Hanse looked it over even as his chief Doctor scowled and urged him to stay still.

“Please, Highness. We must begin the injections at once, before the coolant poisoning can take hold.”

Hanse held up a hand, waving his doctor away. “This won’t be long. The Clans are massing in Imperial City?”

“That’s what it looks like,” Chu-sa Jeffrey Kusunoki saluted. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at the unnatural act, but strange times made for strange bedfellows. “They’ve given up on stopping our DropShips, the rest of our forces are landing at our beachheads in good order. We’ve lost a little less than a regiment, all told.”

“Not as bad as we were expecting,” Hanse mused, rubbing his chin. He was stripped to the waist, and while he lacked the timeless vitality of a true Japanese like Kusunoki, he still showed admirable strength and vitality at fifty-two. If Jeffrey himself was half as strong at that age, he believed he would have lived a fortuitous life indeed. “They’ve set up a CAP cordon around the city itself, to deter us from making bombing runs. I’d like to try to keep damage to the Imperial City as light as possible,” he paused, and Chu-sa Kusunoki’s estimation of the main raised ever so slightly.

“Send the word to assemble our forces here, here, and here,” Hanse tapped three points on the map Kusunoki had handed him, then passed the tablet back to the field officer. “We’ll stand on the Tairakana Plains, and invite them to face us in the open where their weapons will have the greatest advantage. They’ll rise to that challenge, I think—and we’ll encircle them and either destroy them, or compel a surrender.”


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“I am curious,” the fat Buddha asked over a cup of tea. “How many more are you?”

Korean Robert sat in seiza, his legs folded beneath him politely. He’d accepted a glass of tea himself, which he sipped as politely as he could manage. That he was being interrogated was no small surprise, the Dragon could not permit a force of BattleMechs to roam free piloted by civilians and some of the “enemy.” They did not yet understand the Clans, Robert knew. To know the Clans was to hate them. His grip tightened on the teacup until his knuckles turned white.

“I do not know,” he answered honestly, slipping into the Clan speaking pattern out of habit. Japanese was usually safe enough, but the fat Buddha had spoken in English—and so it was in English that Robert replied. “There are rumors: that the Yamaguchi-gumi hid away as many of Luthien’s defenders as they could after Takashi fell. The Hell’s Horses have not been kind to the Yakuza on Luthien, once they learned to identify Irizumi they began a purge of all defense-critical industries. Our network existed only on Konpei Island, if there are any other cells—I do not know how to contact them.”

“But they may still rise up to assist us,” the fat Buddha had been about to say ‘interfere,’ Robert thought. The man pushed a sheet of parchment across the table. “We would like your lance to help us bring the resistance into the fold, safely,” Chandrasekhar Kurita murmured. “You are Luthien natives, and you have BattleMechs of your own. This is a commission, from the Coordinator-Prince. And a commendation. Any brave enough to join our forces shall receive a field commission, and all charges of cowardice and desertion will be ignored for all former DCMS members who wish to—”

“I accept,” Robert did not hesitate. Interrupting a Kurita was perhaps a death sentence, but he was accomplishing nothing here.

Chandrasekhar Kurita glowered for only a moment. When he spoke again, he was dangerously cordial. “Then welcome, Leftenant,” he gave the Federated Suns rank. Robert wondered if that was significant. “To the Armed Forces of the Draconis Suns.”



Vote
A) Join a Clan Hell’s Horses unit
B) Join a Draconis Suns unit
C) Join a Resistance unit