BattleTech: Betrayal of Ideals: BattleTech

Dedication

To two deserving people:

First, Brent Evans of Catalyst Games Labs—longtime friend and comrade in battle. This is Brent’s favorite story—so it is fitting that he receive it in his name.

And to my grandson, Trenton Davis Hester. I hope one day he is old enough to read this and enjoy it.

Prologue

Operation KLONDIKE

Chamberlin’s Crossing

Circe

The Pentagon Worlds

Clan Space

5 July 2821

Clan Wolverine Khan Sarah McEvedy looked across the turbulent river that snaked about the valley. The rains of the last two days had churned it up, with nasty whitecaps churning where it banked sharply. The only way across was an arching stone bridge just above the frothing brown waters. On the far bank was the burned out shell of a small settlement, and huddled in that were the last elements of the Rasmussen Elite. To most, the village looked abandoned. Her trained eye saw the tank tread marks in the wet grass, the footprints of BattleMechs sunken but clearly visible.

The fighting for Circe had been rough, and the Elite had tried poise themselves as equals to the Clans, which would have been laughable if they were not so well armed. They were good fighters, even McEvedy had to give them that. One-on-one, they were quite competent. The fighting had taught her a great deal about her foe, though. They lack coordination. They seek out fights one-against-one because it fits their style. It does not fit mine.

Wolverine actual to Wolverine Theta, she said over her Guillotine’s comm channel. Paint me a picture.

The Elite are using the remains of the village of Skavka for cover, my Khan, came the voice of Marcelo Gao. I am picking up reactor signatures of eight BattleMechs—about a company of armor, some hidden in those trees just beyond the village. Another two companies of infantry, irregular formations."

And I am here with five BattleMechs and some mobile artillery behind the lines. What kind of BattleMechs, Theta?

There was a slight pause. Hard to say. All are FrankenMechs sir, medium to assault classes—no lights. The phrase was not lost on her. Since the Wolverines had dropped on Circe and engaged the Rasmussen Elite, they had not fielded a single ’Mech that was not made up of parts from a dozen others. A mix of arms, legs, and torsos had offered a few surprises. Mostly it had provided the Wolverines with victories. The cobbled-together FrankenMechs were, in a few cases, falling apart as they charged into battle.

She drank in the information carefully. Her thoughts were interrupted by SaKhan Dwight Robertson at her side. Khan McEvedy, we are outnumbered here. It might be best to wait until Sobral is here with Claw Star.

Her mind raced with thoughts of tactics. Negative, Dwight. We’ve got them here, now. We wait an hour and they may redeploy, split up. This is the last of the Elite. We take them out here, we will have them once and for all.

Their machines are garbage, but they are good individually, he prodded back. He knows not to push it with me…that is wise.

Then we will not engage these thugs individually. We work best coordinated—so that is what we will do.

Your plan, then? Robertson pressed.

She switched to the tactical channel for her entire command Star, the Wolverine’s Bite. I will challenge their leader, this Gustav Kran, try and get him to engage. If that doesn’t work, our artillery will move them along. When they come in close, we will not engage with them one-on-one. We will coordinate and concentrate our fire, take out the ’Mechs quickly, then the rest.

Those are not the guidelines given to us by the ilKhan, SaKhan Robertson replied.

"It is an interpretation of those guidelines—my interpretation. Using the artillery is merely me pulling in non-bid forces—a minor ding to my honor. We are best when working together. We will form an arc on our side of the bridge. They will rush in and find themselves bottlenecked on our side of the river. We will have interlocking fields of fire from enfilade positions. It will be over quickly."

As you wish, my Khan, Robertson replied. She could hear the hesitancy in his voice. He was like that until the shooting started…a quirky little trait.

Switching to a broadband channel, she cleared her voice slightly and broadcast. Gustav Kran of the Rasmussen Elite. This is Khan Sarah McEvedy of Clan Wolverine, the leader of your opposing force. You outnumber and outgun us. I say we end this fight now, if you have the stomach or balls for it. Come here, we await you, if you are half the man you believe. She let her words sting hard, hitting his ego.

A gravelly voice, with a deep Scandinavian accent came back, complete with a hiss and crackle of static. My big red balls are just fine, woman. I did not come to lead the Elite because of my stupidity—I will not do your bidding. If you want to end this fight, you can come here.

I think differently, she replied, switching to her tactical channel. Ravager Battery, target the following coordinates—three-niner-niner-one, point five-three-zero. HEAP beehive rounds. Fire for effect. Bring the rain.

Affirmative, my Khan, said Daniel Hammerick, who commanded the lone artillery battery of the Wolverines.

The air roared overheard as the shells streamed in on the village amid the copse of trees. Explosions sent billowing black and orange clouds curling inward and upward as they went off. In one blast she could make out a body being tossed some ten meters into the air. Hammerick was right on target.

She switched back to the broadcast channel. Very well, Kran, if you will not fight us directly, I will not risk the lives of my troops on you. I will merely wait an hour or so, then scoop up what’s left of your big red balls to hang in my cockpit.

What came back was a howl, a raving, guttural scream. Out of the burning village came the Rasmussen Elite—en masse. Their ’Mechs were just as Gao had described them, FrankenMechs. Behind them was a company of ground armor, and it too was a hodge-podge of parts—misshapen armored plates spot-welded onto the frames of tanks that had seen better days a decade ago. Most billowed black clouds of diesel smoke as they rumbled toward the arching stone bridge over the river.

A laser shot from the lead BattleMech stabbed into her Guillotine, slicing up her left torso as it seared the armor that had just been replaced there the day before. McEvedy brought her medium lasers onto the same target interlock circuit and aimed at the lead ’Mech, which was coming up on her battlecomputer’s warbook as both a Marauder and a Bombardier. She fired, and three of her brilliant red beams found their mark on the left side of the monstrosity. Two hit the arm, sending what she assumed was a large laser flailing back to be crushed under the treads of one of the approaching tanks. The massive ’Mech reeled to one side from the hit, twisting at the waist.

Pell mell, engage multiple targets, she commanded. She bit her lower lip with the order. Nicholas would never approve. To reinforce the order, she aimed her large laser in her left arm at another ’Mech, this one a mix of a Shadowhawk and Griffin, and fired. It tore into one of the ’Mech’s legs, sending armor scattering across the stone bridge surface.

The Elite rushed right at the Wolverines as their armor reached the bridge, clogging it with no hope of escape. One of the Elite ’Mechs dropped under a single volley from Robertson’s Black Knight, plowing into the wet sod right in front of him. Dwight stepped forward, blazing away at Gustav Kran’s ’Mech from the side.

The Elite warrior turned, and McEvedy unleashed a salvo of short-range missiles at him at nearly point-blank range. It hit the torso and cockpit of the ugly BattleMech. The assault ’Mech seemed to collapse as another Wolverine dumped in a blast of PPC fire, sending blue arcs of discharging particles dancing over the creation, sparking and searing as armor plating flew right in front of her own Guillotine. Kran’s BattleMech fell face first into the grass, plowing a furrow as it slid. Wisps of steam rose from the wet sod coating the ’Mech.

A wave of short-range missiles made her own ’Mech vibrate as they tore into her center torso just below her cockpit. She reeled about. Wolverines! she bellowed, rushing forward into the middle of the attack force, firing in multiple directions at once. The other Wolverines of her command Star did the same—all blazing away. The air filled with missile smoke trails, stabbing lasers, and the white-blue flash of PPC fire.

It was over in eleven minutes.

Near the end, the armor and infantry had rushed in, only to meet the fate of the Elite’s Mechs. Lu Kosh was dead—his Lancelot had been savaged in a flurry of kicks and punches by three of the Elite’s ’Mechs. McEvedy had not shown them an milligram of mercy. Only a handful of the Elite had survived the onslaught. She surveyed the carnage and smoldering ruins of her foe and popped open her neurohelmet to let in some air. It is over…

Khan McEvedy, a deep voice said over her communications channel. She knew it instantly. Nicholas Kerensky.

IlKhan. I was unaware you were nearby. You could have joined us in the fight. You must have seen the odds we were facing.

I witnessed the Wolverine’s actions. You violated my expressed ROEs with such a battle. His tone was scornful, like an angry parent.

Sarah gritted her teeth at his words. My Khan, I merely expanded my interpretation of your rules. We had the Elite in one place, concentrated. We were outnumbered. One-on-one combat would have resulted in our destruction. I simply employed a Grand Melee approach.

Your concentration of fire against lesser foes lacked honor, he replied angrily. She could even mentally picture his face as he spoke. She knew his face was getting red even without seeing it. While you accept the loss of honor, your victory is tainted. As one of my Clans, you have summarily tainted me as well. There it is, him taking it personally…again.

These enemies were unworthy of the honor of our rules of engagement, my Khan. My action saved precious lives.

You reach, Sarah—you reach too far. My ROEs were not subject to your interpretation.

I only sought to save my Wolverines undue—

He cut her off. "Your Wolverines? Negative, Sarah. They are my Wolverines. You serve at my discretion."

She’d had this argument with him before…and it had resulted in a Circle of Equals and her defeat. This is not the time or the place to push this matter with Nicholas. My apologies, ilKhan. I meant no disrespect.

You have always been egotistical, Sarah, came another voice on the channel, that of Khan Mitchell Loris of Clan Mongoose. Nicholas was broadcasting in the open. He is doing this to publically dress me down. We saw the engagement on the  long-range sensors. A more prudent commander would have accepted the odds and won honorably—one-against-one. Your flagrant disregard for the rules will be your undoing. Loris always enjoys it when I am struggling—when I am down.

Khan Loris, this matter is between the ilKhan and I—unless you want to face me in a Circle of Equals, she spat back.

Nicholas cut off any response from the leader of the Mongoose Clan. Enough! When this fighting is over, Sarah, there will be new rules governing our honor. I will not forget this incident—nor should you. You took a victory I should have been proud of and tainted it. Honor is not something to be trifled with. Such behavior will not be tolerated again. Are we clear, query affirmative?

She dipped her head as she did when her own father had chided her in her youth. Affirmative, my Khan.

His rigidity will one day crush us under his weight—but today, now, is not the time to argue it.

Book I

Foundations of Fate

Chapter One

The Great Hall

Strana Mechty

Clan Space

12 June 2822

Khan Sarah McEvedy walked around the construction site, carefully eyeing the work in progress. The Great Hall’s cornerstone had been laid long ago, but progress had been slow, not due to motivation or desire, but in the detail of the craftsmanship. The stones for this structure, the seat of government for the Clans, were carved individually by hand on each one of the Pentagon worlds, then shipped to Strana Mechty. An equal number of stones from each world were to be employed in the grand structure. As she watched the stonemasons work, she wondered if she would ever see the completion of the structure.

As a team of men hoisted a block of marble up with a block and tackle, she surveyed the form of the building. Yes, it was to be a wondrous hall, a monument to the Clans and Nicholas Kerensky, the ilKhan, but at the same time it was to appear austere and even plain. How they would ever balance that mix was beyond her.

She chuckled to herself. If nothing else, it was a monument to the Clans themselves. The constant struggle to mix the ways of the past and the ways of Nicholas’s vision of the future…a vision that seemed to constantly evolve and change. Andery understood that.

Adjusting her uniform jacket against the chill of the evening air, she watched the workers struggle with the block, fighting not only it but the pull of gravity, the twists of the rope, and their own muscles. Yes, this was a fitting image of the Clans, at least in the last few months. There had always been an underlying tension among her peers, the khans, the rulers of each Clan. It was borne in the competitive nature of their existence, the fact that they were pitted against each other throughout their lives. This struggle seemed more prevalent though, at least as of late. The debates in the temporary Hall of Khans, a makeshift command post left over from the time of the Great Relief, had carried a sharper edge to them. The arguments had taken on a more personal tone. McEvedy herself had been pulled into three Trials of Grievance recently with other Khans, almost unheard of a few years before.

Worse yet, she had seen alliances forming. In the past, they had been one brotherhood of warriors under Nicholas’s banner. But lately she had seen the changes. There were the huddled, whispered meetings in the hallways and back offices. There was obviously aligning of voting. It won’t be too long before we have to form a new caste—the politicians, she had said sarcastically in one debate—one that had garnered her icy glares from some of her peers. Sarah had stayed away from any alliances, implied or otherwise. There was something distasteful about Clans working with each other against the benefit of others.

I don’t care about politics. I am a Wolverine. Khan McEvedy hoped that that would be enough in the years to come. Nicholas had asked her to stay a few days after the session for dinner, and she had been looking forward to it. They used to eat together all the time, before Operation Klondike, before the loss of Andery. During the Pentagon Civil War, they had dined in tents and over bonfires as battles raged. Those were the days—we had a cause, a purpose. The fighting had wrapped up weeks earlier, but peace was already uncomfortable for McEvedy and the other Khans. There was a chafing that came with peace. The Clans had been engineered for war.

Nicholas had been a unifying figure, despite his personality quirks. With the death of his father, Nicholas had taken on the image of the old man, he had offered hope where hope had been lost. He offered the people a future. During those dinners of years past, they had sat and talked about what the worlds would be like when the war was over. It was as if they were on a holy quest. The future was far away and was held up like the Holy Grail.

It had been like that since Andery’s death for her. The future was harder to see. Part of it was that Andery had burned with a streak of independence that she admired, cherished. Another part of it was that deep in her soul, she felt that Nicholas may have played some role in his death.

Adding to some of the new stresses the Clans were feeling was that several generations of the warrior caste were beginning to emerge. The original Khans that Nicholas had chosen were beginning to dwindle, replaced with younger warriors—warriors that had not fought in the civil war. They did not have the bonds that tied the Clans together.

This was not the image that Sarah McEvedy had envisioned. Time had changed Nicholas and the rest of them. His own cropped, salt-and-pepper hair told part of the story, the scars on his body and neck told the rest. Nicholas had always been a dreamer, always cast in his father’s shadow, always struggling to leave his own mark in the universe. He had with the formation of the Clans. Now there were no enemies to fight. Nicholas and the Khans had to face to the reality of a warrior people without a foe.

Sarah walked around the construction site and the mud built up on her boots. They became heavy, and no amount of effort seemed to shake the clay off. After a few moment, she ignored the extra weight. The construction workers, each from different Clans assigned to the building project, watched her out of the corners of their eyes. The Wolverine Khan could feel their stares. Not too many Khans bothered to come and watch the lower castes work. McEvedy felt she had an obligation to come and bear witness to the work being done. This is where we will lead our people, it is only fitting that we come here to watch it be built.

She headed down the hill to the command post that had been converted years earlier to the seat of government. The ramshackle buildings, a patchwork of temporary shelters, had seen better years. Contrasted to the work going on above them on the hill, they seemed like where paupers lived rather than a center of government.

She stomped hard on the paving stones to get the mud off as she entered the structure. Hanging her uniform coat up, she noticed that several of the other pegs held coats worn by other Khans. Will they be joining us for dinner as well?

She looked at the patches on the shoulders. The first one was the Widowmakers. That would be Khan Jason Karrige. Khan McEvedy winced at the thought of Khan Karrige joining her and Nicholas. His Widowmakers were a little extreme, even by Clan standards.

The other jacket was a little smaller and more appealing. Joyce Merrell, Khan of the Snow Ravens. Her presence would be much more pleasant. While Khan Merrell was far from being an ally of McEvedy and her Wolverines, they did share the same values and she appeared to be open to new ideas and thoughts, as opposed to Karrige and his Widowmakers. Merrell was one of the shrinking number of Khans from the old days, from the beginning of the Clans.

Checking her boots, she strode through the makeshift building as she had hundreds of times before. The hallways were crowded with couriers, clerks, administrative staff, and a handful of officers. She came to an intersection in the hall and scanned the hustle and bustle everywhere. McEvedy spotted Khan Karrige going over a report with a junior officer. He made eye contact with her, but did not offer even a bow. After all these years, he is still bitter over that loss in battle. It was an incident that had taken place during the Pentagon Civil War, and while McEvedy had managed to put it behind her, Karrige had taken it personally.

She walked into the officers’ dining hall. There were a scattering of warriors from different Clans, most of which only gave her a passing glance. Few Wolverine warriors were present, which was not uncommon. Her troops ate alone, as was tradition. Khan McEvedy didn’t mind. Sitting with other warriors and fraternizing often led to information being passed. If her warriors wanted to eat alone, she was not going to discourage it. If they want to think of us as arrogant, let them.

The ilKhan’s dining room was a small room off the officers’ hall. It was small, unadorned, in fact, quite plain. The window gave a view of the city. Nicholas stood at parade rest, looking out the window, ignoring her at first, staring out at the city. Master of all he surveys… From behind, the height, the shape of his almost bald head, his martial bearing; for just a moment Khan McEvedy thought it was his blessed father, Aleksandr.

As Nicholas turned, the Wolverine Khan saw the few subtle differences in the face. There was more. She had known Aleksandr Kerensky, and had a cherished holoimage of her being presented a commendation by him. There had been a warmth to his expression. With his son, there was none of that warmth.

He gestured to the table where the food was waiting on warming plates. It is good to see you, Khan McEvedy. I am pleased that you could join me.

Sarah waited until Nicholas sat before joining him at the table. She had once seen someone before sit down before the ilKhan, and get dressed down for his actions, to the point of a Circle of Equals. There were quirks in Nicholas’s personality, things that people didn’t expect. Those that worked close to him learned to work around them. They avoided deliberately setting him off. Sarah only deliberately set him off when it was important, where the risk was worth it.

The ilKhan preferred his steak rare, and did not salt or pepper the food. Again, it was one of the little twists in his personality that McEvedy noted, and then attempted to ignore. These quirks were numerous, and speaking about them was all but forbidden. Little would be discussed until the main course was done—that was his way.

Once Nicholas finished his steak, he paused and rested his forearms on the edge of the table. Now, and only now, would conversation begin.

How are my Wolverines, Sarah? he queried.

They are well, ilKhan. The use of the title was important. Nicholas could speak informally if he chose, but that was not a luxury for even his Khans.

I have heard that your harvests have produced a surplus. This is welcome news, given how some of your brethren have fared.

We have indeed, she said. There was a slight pause on McEvedy’s part. The harvest report information had just come to her attention three days ago. How had the ilKhan heard of it so quickly? More importantly, who else knew? We are more than willing to share our bounty with those less fortunate, of course.

Of course, Nicholas said, staring at his plate, pushing his whipped garlic potatoes around as if he were a sculptor. "When I heard of your fortune, I also heard that you achieved this by allowing some members of other castes to—what was the word used? ‘migrate?’—to your labor caste. Is that true Sarah, quiaff?"

Affirmative, she replied slowly and carefully. So that is what this is about. It had to be the Smoke Jaguars, Widowmakers, or the Jade Falcons that were in an uproar about this. They were among the most hard-line traditionalists.

I must find out how they learned of this and plug that leak. She wanted to offer an explanation, but held off. Nicholas often was given to a tantrum, and interrupting that could be worse than the offense that triggered it in the first place. I did not mention it before because it seemed so minor, ilKhan. It was an internal affair of my people.

This disturbs me, Nicholas said in a calm tone, still not looking into the eyes of the Wolverine Khan. I created the caste system with purpose, a purpose that I thought you understood. Having our people in castes removed some of the societal tensions and rifts that our forbearers dealt with. Castes remove the drive of people to attempt to better themselves through bringing civil disorder. I thought you understood that. With his last words, his icy stare bored into McEvedy’s eyes.

I do understand, the Wolverine Khan replied. "At the same time, it was you who said that the caste system was a matter of necessity. I believe the phrase you used was, ‘for the duration of the crisis facing our people.’ The civil war is over, ilKhan, and we have brought peace to our people. Some of my castes were chafing, and I felt it