Just the way the Jade Falcon Watch said it would be. The merchants had muttered veiled warnings, but these were disregarded.
Chaffee was easy.
For the first twenty-four hours.
It was a not particularly appealing world, hot and relatively dry, orbiting too close for comfort to its white sun. Although possessing some valuable minerals and metal ores, Chaffee had no particular industry; its half-billion population was sufficiently occupied eking out a living from agriculture and keeping at bay the amazingly diverse and contentious fauna. Safaris to hunt the various horrors, from hectare-sized swarms of tiny acid beetles to pack- predating aliosaurs, had been the major source of off-planet income. Like Northwind in the Republic, the hyperpulse implosion had meant economic depression since it basically put an end to casual interstellar tourism.
The inhabitants of Chaffee endured. They were used to privation simply by dint of getting up every morning.
The system did retain one feature of marked interest to outsiders. It was a highly convenient jumping-off point for far richer precincts—including Prefecture IX of The Republic of the Sphere.
It had changed hands repeatedly during both the Federated Commonwealth’s breakup and the Word of Blake Jihad. The contending forces had no interest instaying in the system, and less in straying down to the high-gravity surface of Chaffee itself. They fought, died and passed on, leaving small mark on either the world or its scattered, self-reliant inhabitants.
But Chaffee’s luck had played out.
The Jade Falcondesant required a solid foothold in the Inner Sphere. Chaffee’s location made it an excellent prospective base, not just for the invasion of the Prefecture beyond the frontier and the eventual taking of Skye, but for the fervently hoped-for follow-up: a great Crusade by the Jade FalconTouman, to reclaim sacred Terra and liberate humankind in Kerensky’s holy name.
Poor, uncomfortable and sparsely settled as it was, Chaffee was anticipated to be relatively easy to seize and likewise to hold. Life was hard on Chaffee. Surely its people could readily see the benefits of adopting Clan ways— and providing fresh Clanners, in time, as well as immediate resupply.
So it was that Chaffee was chosen as the point at which themaskirovka was stripped away, and the desant began in lethal earnest.
Chaffee’s proximity point lay an inconvenient twenty-four days out at a standard one-gee acceleration. Jade Falcon merchants had obtained coordinates for a pirate point only five days out. Overruling the objection of his sibkin subordinates, Bec Malthus declined to make use of it.
The problem with pirate points, aside from finding them in the first place, was that if you tried jumping to them, you didn’t always come out where you intended to. Or maybe at all; whether the vessels that over the centuries had been lost on known pirate-point jumps came out in some other galaxy, some other time, or never anywhere, was a matter of heated debate today among the tiny minority of the scientific-minded
who still paid attention to such issues. The Supreme Commander was unwilling to risk having his entire fleet, on whose wings rode all Turkina’s hopes, jump out of Whittington never to be seen again by human eyes. Two later jumps would require the use of pirate points by virtue of totally unsustainable flight times from the proximity points; but these would involve only portions of the expeditionary force, not its entirety.
Instead, the invaders adopted the expedient of accelerated boosting: three hours at two gravities, three hours at one, then back to two and so on. Although less enervating than the approach Countess Tara had made to their final objective unbeknownst to them, it was a grinding regimen even for Clanners. But vastly less taxing than a straight two-gee shot would be. And the DropShips’ orbit was calculated so that the final twenty-four hours would be at a benign one gee, allowing the warriors to recover.
And besides, Chaffee would be a walkover.
Once more Bec Malthus called for no bidding. Nor did the invaders bother broadcasting a formal challenge to the planetary authorities. With no observation station at either jump point, nor pesky telescopes pointed out normal to the plane ecliptic, Chaffee like Porrima received no advance warning of its peril until drive flames burned nova in its skies, some fourteen days after the fleet emerged into the system.
A Cluster from each Galaxy was committed to the assault alongside Turkina Keshik. Chaffee’s eastern hemisphere was dominated by a supercontinent named Addisonia, mountainous, and in its northern latitudes temperate and well-forested. Almost all the planet’s cities, such as they were, were located along its northeastern seacoasts. Aleks, leading his second Cluster, and Malvina, leading her first, attacked the two next-largest population centers, cities of eighty-five thousand and fifty thousand, respectively. For the Keshik, itself actually the Turkina Galaxy’s First Cluster, substantially reinforced for the invasion, and for himself, Beckett Malthus claimed the honor of seizing the capital city of McCauliffe on Addisonia’s northeastern peninsula, with its population of just over a million and the planet’s lone spaceport.
Changes in the Falcon military, ultimately mandated by economic and political pressures brought about by the Military Materiel Redemption Program, colloquially known as the BattleMech Buyback, of the cursed Devlin Stone, had been reflected in the Keshik’s structure. Two new nominal Trinaries had been added years back: Foxtrot, granted the nickname Turkina Lightning and consisting of three Stars of VTOLs, and Gamma, primarily armored vehicles, known semiofficially as Turkina’s Hammer and in-unit as the Gamma Hammas. The slurred pronunciation was affected to display the unanswerable superiority of anyone serving in the Keshik, hand-picked as they had been by Khan Jana Pryde—somewhat defensively, of course, since true old-school Invasion-era Falcons would have sneered at mere armored fighting vehicles being included in the Keshik.
They would have molted on the spot at what had been done specifically for thedesant : Khan Jana Pryde had decreed two further Trinaries, an Eyrie and even more heretical, a Solahma—and worst of all, in both casesmechanized infantry . She had convened an assembly of every Keshik warrior to announce her mandate. Since everyone in Turkina Keshik served at the Khan’s pleasure—granted, that could be said of virtually everyone of any import in all Clan Jade Falcon, except perhaps the Loremaster, whose position was supposed to be above politics— she could issue such a fiat. And make it stick: “Any warrior,” she declared, “who believes his or her honor fatally impugned by serving alongside your new comrades has my permission to accept reassignment elsewhere.”
Her tone had suggested, quite strongly, that anyone who did so object would find herself instantaneously reassigned to thedezgra Zeta Galaxy, plying a wrench with a nice new caste tattoo on her shoulder.
“And anyone,” she had added, lowering her voice, while the female Jade Falcon perched on her shoulder spread its wings in response to a hand-signal, “who harbors reservations about serving with your new comrades of the Turkina Keshik, and acts upon those reservations, shall be cast forth from the nest of Clan Jade Falcon as unworthy and without honor.”
A couple of Bec Malthus’ creatures in the Keshik—the man himself stood behind his Khan’s right shoulder, beaming heartily, a place he had spent her whole public career—had cried out, “Seyla/” pretty smartly at this. It was gilding the lily.
Pretty much everyone in the Clan who doubted that Khan Jana Pryde was capable of doingexactly what she said she would was already dead.
Expecting no serious opposition and eager to blood his Keshik, Malthus dropped hisOverlord C -class command DropShip, theBec de Corbin, carrying his ’Mech force and most of his armor, alongside the Union C -class vesselCaracara with his VTOLs and infantry, directly onto McCauliffe’s small spaceport. He let loose a wing of his aerospace Trinary, the Turkina Fighters, to fly around and blow things up.
It was unnecessary. The small contingent of clerks, customs officials, civilian cops, and technicians on hand fled into the gray dusk at the first sign of attack. The port was deserted by the time the jacks of the two landing craft settled above the blast pits.
Malthus had sent out a Star of his Trinary Delta Elementals with a few machine-gun-armed Nacon armored scout hovercraft to secure the terminal buildings and the hulk of an ancient Inner SphereUnion DropShip that had been blasted off its jacks during some prior conflict and subsequently dragged off the apron by prime movers and dumped. Presumably, it had fallen during the wars of the last century’s latter half, but by its decrepit state and the port’s general air of lassitude and decay it might have lain there since the Star League fell. The Falcons encountered no opposition. Indeed, they encountered no one at alleven the commissary staff had run off into the enclosing fields of low, olive-green ground cover.
Facing no aerial opposition whatever, the canny Galaxy Commander called back his Echo Wing One fighters and grounded them on the apron near the offloading DropShips. No point exposing such rare and precious assets to
