Battletech Shattered Sphere: The Arcadian Free March

[Big Steve]

While I consider this broadly canon, it was the result of a joke on Discord where I asked what fluff people wanted next and someone replied "Your government's stance on propane and propane accessories". So I wrote it.

Slacker's response was the one I particularly enjoyed and laughed at.

"I love that Steve is such a maximum troll he put together a post on propane BBQs. He is the shitlord and we are all his minions."

And without further ado...

Laws of the Free March on Potentially Hazardous Fuels and Substances


Substances like propane have been in use for over a millennium by Humanity, generally as gas-burning furnaces, cooking devices, or as fuel for the engines of work vehicles such as forklifts and ice resurfacing machines. Many of these substances are carbon-based petroleum or byproducts of petroleum refining or extraction, as well as natural gas processing. Because they pose hazard risks, they are regulated by the common and civil laws of the Free March's inhabited worlds.

The only law of the Free March on these matters is the Petroleum Product Control Act of 2958, which establishes a minimum guideline for the worlds of the Free March regarding the manufacture, transport, sale, and usage of these products. Beyond these guidelines, the worlds of the Free March have their own regulatory schemes.

To use an example, the regulation of propane. The PPCA provides that propane be mixed with an olfactory additive to ensure it is smelled if leaking from a container, that it be transported under hazardous signage reflecting its combustive possibility and the risks of inhalation, and that commercially-available tanks of the material be clearly labeled and manufactured to specific quality for the purposes of minimizing risk to consumers, including overfill protection devices.

The use of propane varies by world. According to data by the Free March Office of Energy Supply, Concord is the greatest consumer of the fuel, beating out Togwotee and Mariefred. Its most popular use among these worlds is for cooking by fueling portable barbecue grills, a device that is also the most popular on Concord but has wide popularity in Anglo-American communities across the Free March, where it is often employed for large gatherings and celebrations.

Another primary use, as a heating source, is seen in Mariefred's place as the third-greatest consumer of the gas, as the planet's plentiful supply of easily-accessed hydrocarbons makes it the Free March's largest producer of propane. It is a popular fuel for the furnaces of housing in rural and semi-rural areas of the planet, with a number of private services selling the substance by monthly order.

As noted, regulations on propane can vary by planet. Zwenkau, for instance, requires all propane containers not only be engineered to PPCA specs, they must also employ a dual-valve system and be of red color, while requiring empty propane tanks be inspected before they can be refilled and sold. A number of propane-fueled grills and stoves available to consumers on other worlds are not sold on Zwenkau as they do not fit the stringent guidelines the Zwenkau Bundestag has established for such things. Togwotee also requires a dual-valve system, but only requires labeling of the tank, and has more lenient regulations on cooking devices in comparison to Zwenkau. Nestor likewise requires propane tanks be of specific color, but does not mandate the dual valve. Mariefred requires special labeling, a dual-valve, and specific safety features on barbecue grills.

The only world more stringent than Zwenkau is Bondurant, where the Tara Plant Explosion of 2914 that leveled half of the town and killed several hundred people prompted the curtailing of all petroleum product use in the public commercial marketplace. Given the planet's use of a Star League-era microwave satellite power generation network and an accompanying capability for wide scale use of electric cooking, it was not seen as a great loss, despite the protests from the American-descended communities in Bondurant's Steuben-Hill Mountain District. The Steuben-Hill District Rebellion of 2930-2937 was partially attributed to the ban on propane-fueled barbecues and their unpopularity.

 

[Big Steve]

Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
30 December 3032


The capital city of the Arcadian Free March stretched out from the balcony of the Ducal Palace. Home to the planet's rulers since the era of the Star League, and the world's time in the Lyran Commonwealth, the Palace enjoyed its place on a promontory overlooking the harbor and Sinclair Bay beyond it. From her place on the balcony, March-Princess Sara-Marie Proctor could see the combination of fishing vessels, pleasure craft, and cargo barges that filled her capital on the daily basis.

Her homeworld was a planet of quirks. Sara-Marie mused, with a quiet grin, on a planet named for a reputedly idyllic region of Greece on Terra that had only a small Greek-speaking minority (her paternal grandfather, Baron Julio Kalios, had come from that community) and with cities named for everything from mid-2nd Millennium painters to old New England towns. Her capital was no different. Supposedly the old Terran surveyor, Henry Sinclair, named the settlement after the legendary Rose Line so important to esoterics and Grail scholars on Terra. Perhaps he felt inspired by the countryside. A couple hours' maglev trip would whisk one away to the environs of Loch Clydesford and the cool, green-covered mountainside of the planet's temperate zone. The ancestral Proctor hometown of New Salem was an hour's maglev trip to the east of that, on the Plymouth Peninsula of the Northern Ocean.

Baroness of New Salem. It was one of her lesser titles, a noble investiture to her grandmother to cement her acclamation as Duchess of Arcadia. The family kept a small estate there for vacation purposes, as much as the ruling family of a Successor State ever got such reprieves from the tasks of state.

Enough of letting my mind wander. Sara-Marie re-entered her personal study. Her eyes took in the paperwork that represented her duties of state, waiting ever so patiently for her at her desk. Above the ornate desk, a portrait of her grandmother in her prime of life continued its quiet vigil of her descendants. The oil painting was made by Tristan de Cunhal, one of the Terran Union's greatest painters of the 30th Century, depicting Duchess Sara Proctor of Arcadia a few years after her victory over the cruel "Prince and High Lord of Arcadia", Carl Tabot. Her grandmother, for all her reputation, had not been an exceptionally beautiful woman. Her face was plain, roundish, perhaps a little rosy. De Cunhal nevertheless caught that shine in her blue eyes, the glint of steel that turned the daughter of New Salem farmers into one of the most romantic adventuresses in the history of the Inner Sphere. A woman who claimed the throne of her homeworld by dint of blood and sweat and tears.

She wished she could remember more about her departed grandmother. Sara had children only later in life, when she was past forty years of age, and Sara-Marie's father William had himself married late as well after serving a long career as a MechWarrior of the Arcadian Guards. She had only wisps of memory as a small child, remembering a white-haired old woman who treated her kindly before she was gone.

Before she could turn her attention to the monotony of State, Sara-Marie's desk vid-phone came to life. The face of her husband, Prince-Consort Thomas Heresford, came into view. "Thomas. Anything I should be worried about?"

"Nothing but the drama one has with a sixteen year old pining for a girl he cannot have," Thomas guffawed. A nobleman of the major world Concord, his marriage to Sara-Marie was one of those arranged marriages that proved stronger than the usual noble match. What they had was love of a sort. Not the fiery, passionate love that poets and musicians touted, certainly, even if they'd had five children. It was the love of two people who knew what duty meant and helped one another bear the burden. "I am more worried about you, dear. I'm told Alex is being a headache."

The invocation of "Alex" - Alexander Proctor, the son of her uncle Jacob and a ranking General of the Armed Forces of the Free March - prompted a sigh and a nod. "The expansionists will not be completely denied, whatever sentiment may wish. I will deal with him as I must."

"Your darling niece will not be happy."

"No, but I am March-Princess, and the future of our people hangs on the razor's edge. I fully expect her to be engaged in the Skye War relief drives anyway." She settled into the desk chair. "You will be back for the New Year's Ball?"

"Of course. It's my place to be at your side."

And it will make the social duties tolerable. Already she could see the line of honorees, the writers and musicians and scholars and business magnates and military officers she would be expected to grant titles to as part of the New Year's Honors List. The list had to be assembled meticulously to keep the people of twenty worlds happy.

If Alex gets his way, it will be more than twenty worlds soon enough… She turned her attention to the paperwork and got to it, wandering what 3033 would bring to the Free March.

 

[Big Steve]

Arcadian Guards Base
Fort Defiance, Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
31 December 3032


The morning's routines were a comfort to Thomas Proctor, Prince of Arcadia and heir to the throne of the Free March. The twenty-six year-old man, with his brown hair cut to the right-swept military perfection expected of the AFFM, preferred the bivouac and the barracks to the social affairs that his station required his attendance in. This evening would be no exception, with the New Year's Eve Ball as a sort of preliminaries for the New Year's Ball and Honors that he, likewise, would be expected to attend.

War is spreading across the Inner Sphere. Skye, Hesperus, New Dallas… and look at what's been done to Andurien. Not to mention Lancaster. And I have to go dress up to socialize.

The thought aggravated him in the midst of his usual favored part of the morning; piloting rounds. To enjoy the moment, and ready himself, he strode into the 'Mech hangar in cooling suit BDUs. It was a particular innovation from the cooling vests and light clothes that MechWarriors had worn for so long, one that the Free March had every right to be proud of. The twin gold bar with a hawk that marked him as a Captain was one of the few adornments, as was the patch of the Arcadian Guards, a hawk with swept-wings bearing a sword in its talons, a sheared pair of manacles in its wake. His great-grandmother had adopted that patch while leading the War of Liberation against Carl Tabot, and the Arcadian Guards bore it with pride.

For Thomas, there was an even greater reminder of his great-grandmother, the foundress of the Free March. It loomed ahead in the berth where he'd left it the prior day: Sara Proctor's Black Knight.

The machine that killed the Slaver Lord wasn't a standard Black Knight. It was a 6b variant, built right here on Arcadia in Kong Interstellar's BattleMech Factory in the Star League-era industrial complexes outside of the city of Roslyn. Sara claimed the first one to come off the resumed assembly lines when her forces captured the city in mid-2927, a replacement for the Crusader she'd had shot out from under her in a skirmish. Whatever lack of romanticism might come from having not won the war in the 'Mech she started it in, Thomas felt Sara more than made up for it by slaying Tabot in her new machine. She would never fire the guns of her 'Mech in anger again, it was said, as if she and the machine had seen their fill of bloodshed.

It still went down in legend as the Liberator, passed down from Sara to her son William, to William's daughter, and now, to Thomas himself.

The humanoid machine was painted in the red and blue dress colors of the Arcadian Guards. The unit patch was painted in exquisite detail on the chest, over where a person's heart would be. The family coat of arms - the sword of light and gold severing the chain linking shackles on a shield, the family motto wrapped about the emblem - was likewise present on the opposite breast of the machine. The weapons were all energy models, Star League technology, with the PPC an extended range weapon and the large lasers of the Pulse variety. It would run hot, but it could devastate 'Mechs of its weight class with accurate fire.

Not that I would know.

He readied to climb up the gantry to the cockpit when he noticed movement beside him. The long dark hair and sharp features of his cousin, Captain Angelina Grimke-Proctor, prompted his immediate attention. "So, do you think we could just go on extended maneuvers with our companies, Tom?" she asked in a bemused soprano. "We could avoid the entire miserable social occasion."

"Knowing my mother and your father, Brigadier van Reiter himself will get on the comms and call us back in," Thomas sighed.

"Probably," she agreed. By blood they were distant cousins, her maternal grandfather the uncle of Thomas' mother, but as they were born in the same year and raised in the Ducal Palace and the New Salem estate, Thomas felt Angelina to be more his sister than his actual sisters. "Your mother is going to try to hook you up again."

"She worries."

"What, that you'll be like your Grandpa Will? March-Prince William didn't marry young, after all."

Thomas shook his head. "I don't intend to repeat history. If someone proper comes along, well, I'll let things fall where they may."

"And if your parents don't need to marry you off for politics," Angelina pointed out, crossing her arms.

"Yes. True."

"Well, I'm told Duke Rayhan's got a couple lovely daughters, when he lets them out of the house," Angelina grumbled. The reference to the Duke of Dar-es-Salaam brought a twitch to her face. The Rayhans were mostly reconciled to their status in the Free March, but old pride and religious differences could still cause rankling, and Angelina had no love for the strict Islamic lifestyle the Duke and his nobles maintained. "A marriage alliance would consolidate things."

"Or cause even more problems, unless you think the people of Dar-es-Salaam want a Christian Duke," Thomas pointed out. He gestured upward before tapping his timepiece on the outside of his suit. "We don't have a lot of time left. I'd like some time on the range before spending the next two days in my dress reds pressing hands with half of the Free March."

"Fair enough." Angelina stepped away. Her own Black Knight was across the way. "One of these days we're going to need to run Bravo and Charlie Companies through another war game, you know. You might even win next time!"

He flashed her a grin as his reply before scaling up the gantry to his cockpit hatch.

 

[Big Steve]

Heiermark Suites
Sannazaro, Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
1 January 3033

The warm yellow sun that brought life to Arcadia lit up the coastal suites facing to the east on Sannazaro's sunny shoreline. In the Heiermark, one of the mid-range beach hotels that catered to Arcadia's vacation-goers, the windows auto-tinted to prevent the light from becoming too harsh.

Regardless of this, the internal clock of Lieutenant Danielle Verdes of the Arcadian Guards, 2nd Battalion, woke her at about 0615 Local Arcadian Time. On base she'd be fifteen minutes late for morning reveille, but like many officers and troops of the Guards she'd won leave for New Year's. It was a welcome respite from the rigors of serving in the premier unit of the AFFM.

Danielle - or Dani to friends and her closest comrades - got out of the bed and headed toward the bathroom. She stood facing the mirror for a moment with her emerald green eyes. Her dark hair was disheveled, flowing down to her shoulders in clumps of twisted locks that she would have to straighten out following her morning shower. Her skin's dark bronze tone was a useful trait for a MechWarrior, given how even the AFFM's cooling suits didn't prevent the occasional sunburn from a 'Mech overheating from heavy weapons fire, and her natural skin tone did a lot to resist it.

That thought brought a bit of a half-smile to her face. Dani hadn't intended to be a MechWarrior at all. She accepted a berth at the Military Sciences Academy in Ayrshire because she wanted to finish her engineering degree (and get away from her mother for other reasons). The AFFM needed engineers just as much as any service, after all, and while some of the protocol and conventions of military service rankled, it wasn't insurmountable. She'd do her time and go into the civilian economy with her AFFM service as a lure for any number of firms.

But the neuro-aptitude tests changed all that. They showed she had a natural capability to be a skilled MechWarrior. The same brain that made engineering such a fun challenge allowed her to efficiently operate BattleMechs. The AFFM pushed and pushed until she finally agreed to join the MechWarrior officers' program in adjunct of her Engineering Corps classes. She graduated as a Lieutenant either way, but with her Engineering course studies incomplete, she was assigned to a line regiment.

Not just any line regiment, either. Because of her high course scores and skill, she'd been brought into the unit for new graduates: the Arcadian Guards, one of the AFFM's elites, equipped with only the best Star League-level technology. In her case, an SLDF-built Marauder-2R model was assigned to her and a berth as the Command Lance Lieutenant for the commander of Charlie Company, Prince Thomas himself. It was the kind of posting most of her classmates would have possibly killed for.

She hated it.

Oh, the Prince was fine enough, if you let him run around in his great-grandmother's legendary 'Mech and play soldier. If anything, she sympathized with his disdain for his social role. But unlike Thomas Proctor, she wasn't following anything close to the life plan she'd had starting out. She wasn't an engineer yet, and the AFFM was unlikely to let her transfer into the Engineering Corps until she'd put in another several years as a MechWarrior. She was part of the most storied unit in the AFFM, with all the crushing social expectations that led to. In a battle the life of the Free March's heir was almost literally in her hands, and given the state of the Inner Sphere… she could feel the day where she'd be fighting cresting toward her like a wave.

The only amelioration of this condition was something that complicated it further.

She was in love.

"Dani." The voice spoke softly, indeed, a little groggily. Dani turned away from the mirror and toward the figure rising from the other side of the bed.

Lieutenant Rebekah Shameel - "Becca" to friends and comrades - was a classmate at Ayrshire. They'd been too busy studying and training there to be more than friends, but once they were clear of the Academy and had personal time, things changed. There were the usual clumsy social cues, the little smiles and private hand-holding, and eventually, even after their posting to the Arcadian Guards, they accepted what they felt. Military regulations complicated things, but their equivalent rank and differing postings - Becca was an Archer-2Rb pilot in 2nd Battalion's Fire Support Company - meant they were on the safe side of the fraternization rules. For now, anyway.

"The AFFM's got our internal clocks set," Dani opined as Becca finished sitting up. "And I figured the wine would undo that. And staying up past midnight."

"Dear Adonai, my head hurts," Becca murmured. "I didn't drink that much last night, did I?"

Memories of the previous night made Dani's smile turn bemused. "You went a bit harder than usual. Now all I have to do is introduce you to the joys of a BLT, and your journey to the Gentile Side will be complete."

That won her a playful glare. Becca was from one of the Mizrahi Jewish communities in the Free March, on Gienah, and could be self-conscious about it from time to time. She wasn't the most observant as it was, but she drew the line at pork products. "You've corrupted me enough. My parents are still hoping I'll serve out my AFFM time and come back to Eilat and marry a nice man, a rabbi or a doctor, and raise little babies for them to spoil and plan bar mitzvahs for."

"Take it from someone who has been there, Becca. They find out eventually, and it can make it worse."

"No." Becca shook her head. "Not the 'come out' speech again."

I'm just trying to help. Nevertheless Dani let the matter drop. We're supposed to be enjoying a leave together. Pretend we're a normal couple. Ignore that the AFFM might transfer either of us one day, or that Colonel Kosinski might order us to stop if she fears a scandal. Ignore that we might die… Dani returned to the bed and sat down, letting her wrap an arm around Becca's bare shoulders. She pulled her close, took a long look into those soft brown eyes, and planted a heartfelt kiss on Becca's mouth. The kiss was quietly returned until both needed air. "It's still been worth it," she insisted.

"Yes." Becca leaned against her. "Adonai help me, it has been."

They remained silent, allowing both to wake up further and fight off the haze from the night's wine, some of which still stained the bed from some of the ways they imbibed it during the height of the festivities. I wonder if the maids will talk.

"Well, we have three days of leave left," Becca said. "And I still want to see the Liberation Memorial. It's one of those things you're supposed to see in Sannazaro."

Dani nodded. The marble plinth was dedicated to all of the people who died defeating Prince Tabot and liberating the enslaved citizens of Sannazaro. As the second city of Arcadia, Sannazaro had particularly profound memories of the Age of Chains. Dani remembered the documentaries as a child, the holovid footage of the chained up work gangs, the camps… the slave markets.

Well, that's why the AFFM is supposed to exist. To break chains. It was more a lie than a truth, but the lie could still be pleasant. "Alright, there's the Liberation Memorial today, and the Star League Museum is supposed to have some exhibits of old technology that I'd like to see. Maybe we can also catch a hopper and visit the Verdant Isles? A day out there before we return from leave, maybe a rented bungalow to spend an evening in…"

Her suggestions for the romantic getaway in Arcadia's most lovely tropical islands were cut off by a tone from the nightstand. Becca was closer and scooped up her noteputer before Dani could get to her own. Her eyes passed over text flashing on the screen, at an angle Dani couldn't read it from. Her brow creased and her jaw dropped open a little. 'What is it?" Dani asked.

"It's a notification from the AFFM Personnel Network," Becca said. "They just canceled our leaves. We have to report back to Fort Defiance today."

Dani's only reply was a bewildered frown of surprise.



AFMS Ranger
AFFM Naval Training Range, McAffe System
Arcadian Free March


The first morning of 3033 greeted Princess Melissa Proctor like most mornings did while she was on active deployment. She woke from her bunk, in a room shared with three other pilots of the Ranger's Aerospace Group, and made her usual visit to the head and the pilot shower room. Space on a combat DropShip was at a premium and the shower stalls traded size for privacy, giving her little room to move as she washed. Once she was out, a towel draped around her shoulders and another drawing the water from her dark brown hair, she fixed her equally-brown eyes on the messages showing on her personal noteputer. Her parents, older brother Thomas, twin brother Mark, and younger siblings Abigail and William (Abby and Willy as she knew them) each sent her a vid message wishing her a Happy New Year. Undoubtedly they were recorded, not simply to allow a longer delivery time and lower costs from ComStar, but the busy social schedule of the family over New Year's was not conducive to sending live calls over the HPG network. She'd sent her own similar message to the others the same way given her own duties as a Flight Lieutenant on the Ranger made a live call equally difficult.

Most of the family was on Arcadia, but duty held her and her twin brother Mark away. The Ranger, and her partner ship the jump-capable corvette Eagle, were in the McAffe System for training and patrol, and Mark was a Lieutenant in the 1st Free March Cavalry on Gienah. This wasn't the first year the family was not able to gather for the holidays on Arcadia, but it still made her melancholy for when they were children and could at least spend these days together.

After Melissa saw to her messages, she prepped for the rest of her day. The meeting of the Flight Lieutenants of her assigned wing passed without incident. Her squadron CO, Squadron Captain Wendy Harrison, approved her and her wingman getting a slot in the training flights for the day, allowing her to make up her flight hours after a bout with the "Gienah flu" around Christmas kept her in the Ranger infirmary.

After changing into her flight suit she met her wingman, Lieutenant Fariq Karim al-Khomsi, outside of the port hangar deck. He was from Dar-es-Salaam and was, like many of his world, a devout Sunni Muslim. "Lieutenant," he said, his English accented from Arabic being his first language. "I hope you have enjoyed your Christian New Year."

"It feels like any other morning," she admitted. "But thank you. Ready to hit vacuum?"

Fariq gestured toward the hatch leading through the hangar's protective bulkhead. "After you, Highness."

She gave him a sardonic look for using the formal style. It was a joke more than anything, but if overheard it would result in some undesired taunts and jokes in the pilot wardroom later. Among AFFM pilots, or at least the naval aerospace contingent, nobility were expected to go by rank and given name, maybe a callsign, but never their formal style. "God made the vacuum of space to make Mankind truly equal", the saying went. She briefly considered referring to him as Lordship - his father was the Bey of Daryanah, a city on Dar-es-Salaam's western sea - before deciding to let it slide with a grunt.

Stepping through the opened hatch brought her into the hangar. It faced toward the Ranger's port side. While the vessel was so big it was considered incapable of atmospheric landing, it still had a roughly aerodyne shape. The Free March based the Ranger and her sisters on the Vengeance-class DropShips of the Star League, but modified into dedicated carriers with enough hanger space that the AFFM had yet to actually fill out the full capacity of it's carriers. It simply hadn't had the production capacity to build the desired number of aerospace fighters to man all four ships to full wing capacity. As it stood, each carrier enjoyed the employment of four wings of fighters.

Multiple hangers gave each wing its own hanger space. The port side hanger they entered was for the medium fighter wing of the ship's ASG (Aerospace Group), designated the 10th Naval Aerospace Wing by the AFFM. The 10th employed LTN-G15b SLDF-style Lightning fighters, a model that the AFFM luckily acquired the schematics and license to produce despite the advanced Gauss Rifle built into the fighter's main body. The cockpit was located above the muzzle of the Gauss Rifle with sensitive electronics protected from the electro-magnetic discharge of the weapon by crafted insulation. Wing-mounted medium lasers, two normal models and two pulse-fire ones, gave extra punch once the range was closed, but that main gun was what made the Lightning a deadly long-range fighter.

The flight crew had her fighter and Fariq's prepared. She looked over the cursive script of her name painted on the space below the cockpit canopy and felt a surge of pride. She was the first of the Proctors since her great-grandmother Sara to try her hand at any piloting, and even the Liberator herself was said to have been more of a DropShip captain than a proper pilot. Flying fifty tons of armor, fusion engine, and alloyed steel through the void of space or any number of atmospheres was a dangerous, difficult job, and she'd trained long and hard to prove she could fly with the best pilots in the Inner Sphere. She carefully made her pre-flight inspection and checks before signaling for the air crew to help her into the fighter. She slipped on her Star League-designed neurohelmet before connecting it to the fighter's systems, while the enlisted man standing over her on a ladder plugged her flight suit's coolant lines into the cockpit tanks. She tested the pedals, the flight controls, and the touchpad interfaces before giving the crewman a thumb's up. He locked her cockpit into place and climbed down.

A minute later, a placement vehicle rolled up and hitched her Lightning to its cables. Another vehicle did the same with Fariq's fighter. Together they were pulled into place at the hanger's launch catapults, where other members of the air crew locked them into place. Melissa took in a final breath and waited for the launch lights to start flashing from red to orange, signalling they were charging the EM catapult that would push her fighter into space. Behind her the air crew finished sealing the launch tube's airlock door to protect the deck's atmosphere.

Seconds felt like minutes, but finally the light over her head turned to orange. Another half a minute later it went yellow, and the Traffic Controllers for the Ranger patched into her comms. "Charlie One, Charlie Two, you are clear for launch. Standby for release."

"Charlie One, ready for launch."

"Charlie Two, ready for launch," Fariq echoed.

The last seconds passed. The light flashed green.

The raw acceleration of the catapult pushing her craft out of the tube always hit Melissa hard enough to knock the air out of her lungs. It didn't matter how much she prepared for it, it always happened, and she always had to expend a lot of will to overcome it. Even as she drew in the first first post-launch breath, she let her delta-v carry her further away from the Ranger before applying pressure to her acceleration pedals. The GM 200 fusion engines that powered her fighter drew in more of the helium-3 fuel from the tanks, intensifying the fusion reaction powering her craft and directing the byproduct into thrust. She gradually pushed the thrust up to a respectable acceleration while bringing the fighter on course to the targeting field.

The empty void of space was something pilots were trained to deal with. Human minds didn't always react well to it. But Melissa found something of a comfort in being out here. Free from gravity, free from the aerodynamic rules that governed atmospheric flight… free from the sometimes oppressive social expectations of being second in line to the throne (or perhaps third, the order of inheritance got tricky with twins).

She never doubted her parents love, of course, and she remembered fondly growing up with her older brother, her fraternal twin brother, and eventually her younger siblings. But even as children they'd learned there were Rules and Responsibilities. They were Proctors, the descendants of the Liberator, who reportedly romanced the princes of a dozen planets, fought off mercenaries and pirates on twice as many worlds, and eventually liberated her own homeworld and became ruler of the planet by her own hand (well, so to speak). Her blood flowed in their veins and her legacy was the burden on their shoulders.

On top of that, their mother was the March-Princess, and a bad sickness or a terrible accident - or even an assassin's bullet - might yet place the crown on any of their heads.

Either way, for the good of their people, they had to behave a certain way in public. Say certain things, go and do certain things.

But out here, she wasn't a Princess of the Free March. She was a pilot of the AFFM sitting on fifty tons of fusion plant and steel, and that was all that mattered.

"Charlie One to Ranger Actual, we're on course for target training. Everything ready in the range?"

"All targets are at safe delta-V, Charlie One. Simulation sensors set and drones are ready for operation. You're… standby."

"Ranger Actual?" Melissa wondered what might have prompted the standby order. She eased off the throttle and reduced her acceleration toward the target zone.

Another voice came in, crackling with a strong German tone. Melissa recognized it immediately as Commander Karl Reiher, the Ranger's CAG (Commander Aerospace Group). "Charlie Flight, you will break off your training run now and commence CAP."

CAP? Melissa wondered if something was wrong. The Ranger already had a squadron of its light fighter contingent on Combat Air Patrol as standard operating practice. Why would they be adding to the CAP?

The question could wait. Right now Reiher was waiting for the only response that she could properly give. "Roger that, Ranger Actual. Coming back for CAP duty."

Without being prompted, Fariq spoke. "On your wing, Charlie One." Her sensors showed his fighter move almost perfectly in time with hers. Without atmosphere their turn was more of a spin, changing their heading back toward the Ranger. At first their thrust had to cancel out their previous delta-v, but within five seconds they were on their way back.

"I wonder what happened," Melissa said, having swapped her radio to the tight-beam link connecting her to Fariq. "An enlarged CAP implies they expect an attack."

"Or that we're about to embark on an active operation," Fariq noted. "Either way, we will serve, and Allah will see to what comes."

"I suppose so," she answered, settling in for the monotony of a CAP flight. At least I'm still out here, she thought, while her cockpit displayed the distant form of the Ranger and the fighters already surrounding her.

 

[Big Steve]

Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
31 December 3032

The New Year's Eve Ball left Sara-Marie tired and ready to retire for the night. Only the quiet summons her chamberlain passed on kept her from returning to her bedroom to rest with her husband.

Instead, she found herself in a crowd of uniformed men and women, the leaders of the AFFM, wearing their red dress uniforms with blue trim and golden epaulettes. The stars on their collars marked their ranks as generals. At the head of the table the AFFM's Chief of Staff, General Lewis Harding, saluted respectfully. He was a commoner from Concord who rose through deserved merit. If he were from Arcadia or another world of the Free March he would have bowed at the waist, but Concord's people did not defer to nobility so easily. She was used to it, indeed, she found her husband's people to be refreshing with such lack of obeisance. "Serene Highness," he said, using her style fully with his gravelly voice.

Beside him was the quiet countenance of Her Grace Mary Katzenburg, Chief of Naval Operations and the Duchess of Hyde. She saluted as well. Military protocol was more important to her than social conventions. General Sir Moshe Golan, a tan-skinned Mizrahi Jew from Gienah, likewise saluted. He served as the AFFM's Air Marshal, the highest ranking officer to serve in the aerospace forces. Lastly she noted the stern presence of the Count of Ritterwald on Mariefred, General Manfred von Halbach. He was the AFFM's Field Marshal, the senior commander of the BattleMech regiments and other ground forces that defended the Free March's planets.

The other officers, almost all older than Sarie-Marie, made their salutes in turn. She recognized the head of the AFFM Planning Staff for the intent gaze he directed at her. Lord Alexander Proctor was a cousin, the son of her father's younger brother, although her father's late marriage meant Alexander had over a decade on her age-wise. He was a life-long AFFM man, like his father Jacob, and even his daughters and son were all in AFFM red. His wife was the Landgravine of Lowen on Hyde, though he remained officially an ennobled citizen of Arcadia.

When she nodded and the salutes were released, Alexander's eyes remained on her for a moment longer, the crow's feet beside his eyes the product of age and stress. He waited while Sara-Marie took a seat at the smaller table beside theirs, allowing the Command Staff to all look toward her. General Harding took the lead, as was appropriate. "We thank you, Highness, for taking the time to see us before the night was over. Time is running short."

"There have been new developments in the war?" she asked.

"Skye and the Interstellar Council are collapsing," stated another relative. Alexander's sister Tabitha, a noblewoman in her own right styled the Countess of Parnon as a reward for her decades of AFFM service, looked something like what Sara-Marie expected she would be like in twenty years, undoubtedly aided by her time with AFFM Intelligence. "Tabby" (whom no one would ever call such to her face) maintained a grim countenance befitting her wrinkled face and snow-colored hair. She tapped at a computer control and activated a holo-map of this side of the Inner Sphere. Several worlds were no longer showing IGC colors. "The Marik Commonwealth has already successfully detached the Grand Duchy of Zion from the Council. We expect the complete disintegration of the rest of the IGC and its war effort in the coming months, and while some of their worlds may go over to the Consolidant or other powers, we expect Marik will make a number of gains as well. The same is true of Skye, and we anticipate many of their worlds will end up under New Commonwealth or Consolidant control." Tabitha nodded gravely. "I have spoken with our top analysts and they concur with these assessments universally. Our neighbors are about to get much stronger."

"And you fear they will turn towards us at some point."

"It is an undeniable possibility, and poses an existential threat to the Free March," Alexander said.

Sara-Marie folded her hands on the table. "I have personally spoken with the ambassadors of the belligerents, and all expressed their continued peaceful intentions towards us. While I am not naive enough to believe such unconditionally, I fail to see any immediate threat. Neither side will want to introduce ten more BattleMech line regiments to the ranks of their enemies at this juncture. They need time to end the war, replenish their forces, and defend their new holdings. We can use that time."

"Indeed, and that is why we are here, Your Serene Highness." Alexander used the full formal style with clear deference. As far as Sara-Marie could tell, this meant he was trying to be respectful, and thus, trying to win her over immediately.

At the press of a key by Alexander, the map highlighted five worlds within one jump of the Free March's systems. One, Kitzingen, was Coreward of Eilenburg and Dar-es-Salaam. Fianna was another, in the direction of the DefHes Consolidant. Amity, Sheridan, and Gannett were all within one jump of McAffe and Concord, and at times each was the source of aggravating raids on Free March worlds. "The orders are ready. The ships are in place. We can have the units embarking in two days."

So it comes to this then. "You wish to secure the independent worlds before anyone else can?"

"Or before they can establish further defenses and force us to greater lengths to secure them," Harding confirmed.

"Negotiations with Duke Hatzfeld are continuing…"

"He is stalling. That much our intelligence has made clear," said Tabitha. "The Kitzingen defensive forces have been increasing their tempo of training. They know either we or Donegal will come for them. Hatzfeld is too arrogant, he believes he can play us against each other and retain his independence. His daughter is more pliable."

In other words, you would remove Duke Hatzfeld and convince his daughter to accept the Free March. "And you believe we can win with minimal bloodshed?"

"This is what the Arcadian Rangers train for, ma'am. We anticipate that if they do resist, the Rangers will be quite capable of breaking up their defenses. The 24th Militia Brigade will help mop up and secure the planet." Tabitha pressed another key. More worlds lit up. "We feel just as confident about the other worlds, particularly Fianna. The Arcadian Guards alone will make swift work of their militia if they try to fight."

Sara-Marie noted the listed units. Much of the line strength of the AFFM was being committed, including over two-thirds of their naval assets. "Five worlds. You know this will not be ignored by the other planets. Or the other governments."

"They all have their own concerns. And this is just the first wave," said Alexander. "Your Serene Highness, we have a year, maybe two, to consolidate our borders and bring new worlds into the Free March. By then the Skye War will be over, and whatever its ultimate outcome, we will face stronger opposition to any expansion. Our independence itself could be threatened. You speak of time? This is what we must do with our time. These worlds have resources. They will strengthen the economy of the Free March. Every world we add will give us the means to expand our forces and remain competitive. If we fail to take this opportunity, we will eventually be surrounded, and most likely, conquered or suborned."

It was clear that those at the table were all in agreement. The AFFM was officially asking her to let them loose upon the independent worlds.

Sara-Marie wasn't naive, whatever her thoughts. Whatever their ideals, her realm was not innocent of aggression. The Free March's expansion had always been a combination of diplomatic persuasion and military coercion. Dar-es-Salaam, in particular, resisted for years before they accepted the Free March. Father, you would give the order in a heartbeat, I know this, she thought, speaking to the spirit of a man who departed her life a quarter century ago. I know my duty too. But I think of the suffering of these people. The soldiers who will die. My sons, my daughter, who may face battle… That thought struck her particularly hard. She noted the Arcadian Guards were slated for one of the attack forces, so Thomas would be leaving, as were the 1st Free March Cavalry and her second son Mark. And Melissa's ship is in another attack force. Lord my God, three of my little ones face the fire.

"Highness?" Harding's voice sounded almost gentle. "I have had my disagreements with General Proctor, but I have to concur. The race for territory has consumed the Inner Sphere, and we are three years behind the other realms. We must act now, or the Free March may not survive to see its centennial."

"So that is to be it, then?" Sara-Marie asked. "We face the point of the blade, and our choices, my choice, is down to two: Expand… or Die."

"That is the choice, Highness," Alexander said.

A glance at the clock told her that she could beg this off. It was almost midnight. She had the New Year's Honors Ball tomorrow. She could reconvene them then, or the day after, or even the day after that, before making her final decision. They'd have to understand, given her many duties as March-Princess.

But that was the thing about duty. However her heart may quail at times over the necessities of her station, Sara-Marie would not, could not, shirk it. She was the granddaughter of the Liberator. The legacy of Sara Proctor, of all the men and women who died fighting so that Arcadia and her neighbors could be free, was on her shoulders. The responsibility lay with her and no other.

"Then my duty is clear," she said aloud, ending the silence in the room. "Expand."

Color lit up outside the windows of the Ducal Palace, a display of fireworks marking the coming of midnight to the celebrants of Roslyn.

The year 3033 had come, and with it, a new course for the Arcadian Free March.

 

[Big Steve]

Government Palace
Winchester, Sheridan
Arcadian Free March
15 February 3033


Lieutenant General Eleutherios Louganis stepped down from the DropShip AFMS Lochley and approached the collection of richly-attired and more plainly-dressed figures waiting for him. His staff followed him, as did the commanding officers of the regiments under his command. Brigadier Erwin Fischer of the Proctor Light Horse cut an impressive figure in his AFFM dress reds, his regiment's insignia displayed proudly on his shoulder. His counterpart in the 1st Free March Regiment, Brigadier Donald Harrington, was a big man, wide shoulders and barrel chest, who could be quite intimidating. Brigadier Sean Douglas of the 21st Free March Militia wore a subdued expression on his face. Louganis didn't know the man very well and wondered if he'd been hoping to smell battle smoke to advance his career.

But it was not to be. The men and women before them were the reason why. The political and civil leaders on Sheridan, upon discovering the scope of the AFFM contingent sent to secure their world for the Free March, prevailed upon the planet's noble ruler Count Brian O'Dell to surrender instead of fighting with his far out-matched, outnumbered militia and household troops. It had undoubtedly spared many lives, hundreds easy, if not thousands. General Louganis had indeed prayed thanks to the saints for their intercession in preventing bloodshed. He'd had his fill of battle in the fighting with Dar-es-Salaam as a junior officer.

Count O'Dell was not a big man, but he had a certain air of pride to him. "General Louganis," the Count began, his voice a Celtic brogue. "Ye've come t' end my world's independence."

"Such is the times, Count. If it were not us, it would be Kashamarka Antisuyu, or the Mariks." Louganis shook his head. "The Inner Sphere is changing. The powerful are consolidating. If the Free March sits idle, we too will be conquered."

"And 'tis better t' be th' conqueror than th' conquered, ye think?" O'Dell nodded. "Aye, I can understand that. Alright then, bring the paper. As much as it burns my pride, I'll sign with a clean soul."

At a hand gesture, one of Louganis' staff officers led a work crew from the Lochley forward. They set up a table. Louganis' Chief of Staff, Major General Karla von Essen, placed the printed paper upon it. They all watched as Count O'Dell signed the instrument. "Welcome to the Arcadian Free March, Your Lordship," Louganis said. "I understand your feelings about the occasion, but in the coming months and years, I think you will find your world enriched by its association with the Free March."

"We shall see, General," O'Dell said, resignation in his voice. "God knows we shall see."



Outside Armagh
Fianna
22 February 3033


These people are insane, thought Dani.

Her ruined New Year's leave was weeks past, and after spending those weeks piled into the DropShips assigned to the Arcadian Guards, they'd finally reached their unexpected destination: the independent world of Fianna. Given the disparity in capability and firepower, Fianna's militias were no match for the Guards. With the 3rd Free March Regiment and the 23rd Free March Militia accompanying them, they had no hope.

And yet they were fighting.

A Cicada with the armor clearly half-repaired came into her sights, accompanied by a Shadow Hawk and a Jenner. She spit the crosshairs of her targeting display over them and watched the holographic icon turn gold. With a couple of finger strokes both of her Marauder's extended range PPCs erupted with azure lightning. One of the shots was a glancing blow on the Shadow Hawk, sloughing armor just below the shoulder auto-cannon, but the other hit was dead on the machine's torso. Its scourged armor failed at the fury of the excited particles, allowing the remaining energy of the shot to melt and blast through the Shadow Hawk's gyro. The medium-weight 'Mech collapsed to the ground.

The Cicada and Jenner charged. Dani could understand why; at range, they were hopelessly outmatched, but if they could get into close range they might get lucky with kicks and other close-range attacks.

While her PPC capacitors recharged, she switched targets. The autocannon mounted over her cockpit thundered, spewing golden fire as it hurtled several shells across the distance and into the Cicada. The rounds blasted through armor and ripped up the machinery of one of the 'Mech's lasers.

A moment later two streams of emerald darts sawed through her target's right hip, severing the leg cleanly. The Cicada toppled. Beside her, Prince Thomas' Black Knight was already directing its fury against the Jenner. It was just about in range for its short-range missiles when the right arm PPC of the Black Knight split the top of the 'Mech's torso open, just barely missing the cockpit. Barely a moment later an explosion flowered from the Jenner. Ammunition hit, Dani thought. They're down.

"Looks like that's the end of resistance here," Prince Thomas remarked over the company command channel. "Charlie Company, move forward." He put his 'Mech into a jog. Dani did likewise.

Over her head, LRMs streaked through the air, undoubtedly fired by their support company. Somewhere behind her was Becca and her Archer, contributing to ending this ridiculous fight.

We're conquering them, Dani thought. Wouldn't we fight if it was the other way around? Isn't that the entire point of the Free March? She kept her machine moving while wondering about that. Why they were here, attacking this planet, telling these people they had to join the Free March. I guess they're not the first world the March has forced in. They're probably not going to be the last…

She shook her head. Focus, Dani. Keep the Prince alive. That's your job. You're his Lance Lieutenant, you keep him alive. "Command Lance, keep the pace," she said into the comm line. "The job's almost done, but they might try to surprise us with something."

As it turned out, they didn't.



New Haven
Amity
3 March 3033


2nd Lieutenant Jack Hall of the 7th Urban Combat Team moved his Hunchback forward through the hail of SRM fire. Ahead the platoon of heavy tanks held one of the vital roads into the city center, and after weeks of brutal urban combat he was ready to just end this fight.

The 4th Free March Regiment had gone in alone, expecting a barely-functional militia force. After all, hadn't Amity repeatedly failed to prevent pirate bands and the like from using their world as a base to strike the Free March? Certainly they couldn't be that well-armed.

Unfortunately, Military Intelligence once again proved itself an oxymoron. The Amity Defense Force turned out to have an entire battalion of heavy armor, and their forces were proving to be tenacious defensive fighters.

Two such tanks, identified by his systems as a pair of Brutus heavy tanks, were hull-down against a broken structure. This gave their large lasers and two-salvo SRM launcher clearance to fire, and fire they did, a full barrage toward him and the Hunchback of his partner, 2nd Lieutenant Roger Tamlin. Each took a missile, while emerald light sliced armor from their machines. He tried to center his crosshairs on the machines to return the favor, but the distance was still too far, and the angle bad. His main auto-cannon was more likely to waste its burst on the rubble in front of them than the actual tanks.

"Where's our backup?" Tamlin asked irritably. "They've got the range on us. We can't get close enough without getting sliced up."

"Don't know," he answered. "This is Delta 3 to Delta Lead. They've got this way covered."

"Understood, Delta 3," Lieutenant Lowe, their lance commander, spoke with a German accent from her homeworld of Mariefred. "Do what you can. Infantry support is moving up. We're almost to the city center."

"Copy," Hall answered. He scowled. I'd love to hear those assholes in the Concord Borderers talk about our unit now. We're not so shiny anymore, are we? And we've definitely seen more action than them…

A pair of laser beams carving through his 'Mech's left arm proved sufficient to return his attention to the fight.


Ducal Palace
Gelsenkirchen
Kitzingen
16 February 3033


The image on the holotanks didn't lie. Everyone could see the red showing on the face of Duke Georg Hatzfeld as he watched the heavily armed DropShips burning in via a holovid display, followed by larger, more conventional combat transports.

His daughter, Katarina, stood nearby, waiting quietly while her father's officers made clear the trouble they were in. "Our BattleMechs are barely-functioning museum pieces, Your Grace," one officer was insisting. "We have some tanks, yes, but the insignia on those ships is of the Arcadian Rangers. They're known for training in combat drop operations. We can't guarantee they won't land right on top of the palace!"

"We have a couple of Partisan vehicles, do we not?' Hatzfeld asked, his tone harsh. "We can shoot them down."

"Aerospace fighters, certainly, but combat assault DropShips?"

Another of the officers spoke up. "Besides, one of the Partisan vehicles is still non-functional. Our machine shops can't produce the…"

"I don't care!" Hatzfeld shouted. "I am not going to bow the knee to those insufferable Proctors!" Spittle erupted from his lips. "My family has ruled this world for five hundred years! Five hundred years! Their so-called 'March-Princess' is the granddaughter of a common whore! Utterly unworthy of such a claimed station!"

"Their terms would leave the family in its station, Your Grace…"

"That's not good enough!"

"Sir." The chamberlain, Wilhelm von Luck, stepped forward. "I understand your frustration, but think of our people. Kitzingen will suffer if we fight, and it is a hopeless cause."

"No. No, it cannot be hopeless." He raised a finger toward one of the officers. "Get me the ComStar office. I will appeal to House Steiner. They, at least, are of true blood. Certainly they will support my independent rule…"

"More likely they would restore us to being their vassals as well, father," Katarina remarked.

She was rather stunned at the fury with which her father turned on her. "What would you have me do?!" he raged. "I am trying to save our family's honor! The Hatzfelds will be degraded to bend a knee to that so-called Proctor dynasty! They are our inferiors!"

"They command twenty worlds. We command one," she replied coldly. "They have many times more militia 'Mech units than we do, and ten line regiments aside. They have WarShips. Many more fighters. Whatever the origin of their dynasty, there is no denying their power. We would be better off recognizing that than clinging to the illusion was can remain independent!"

"Ungrateful girl! Have you no shame? No sense of our family's…" He stopped mid-sentence, clutching at his chest. "No sense of… pride!?"

She shook her head. "I did not want to have to do this. Whatever insults you hurl, I do love you. But I think Milton was wrong." At his confused look, she said, "Reigning in Hell is still to be in Hell. I would rather serve in the splendor of Heaven, or as the case may be, I would rather exercise our rights as planetary rulers in the Free March's Ducal Council." She turned her eyes to von Luck. "Chamberlain, my father is clearly ill. And, quite possibly, mad. He is unfit to continue ruling at this moment, so I shall rule in his stead." She gave each of the figures in the room a careful look. If any resisted her, she would have to fight, and she would rather not. Her father, still in the agony of the attack claiming him, stared at her. "Summon medical aid immediately, and connect me to the Free March's commander. I have a surrender to negotiate."

"You can't…!" her father protested. His face was turning purple.

"To save our family's position, I can, and I will," she replied. She again swept the room with her eyes, looking for any sign of challenge.

As she'd hoped, none was to be found.



On Approach to Gatlinville
Gannett
Arcadian Free March
2 March 3033


Brigadier Erica Tasker's brown eyes glanced out of the command vehicle moving her and her staff along the road leading into Gannett's capital city. All along the roadway, she could see the burning remains of the Gannett militia's vehicles that her brigade had swept away.

But yet, they hurt us.

She thought of the dour expression on Colonel Mayfield's face. She looked like she'd suffered a bereavement, and Brigadier Tasker thought that appropriate. During the 1st Free March Cavalry's approach to Gannett, unexpectedly heavy aerospace resistance had done quite a lot of damage to the 11th Aerospace Group's fighters. It got worse after they landed and the Gannettians - or was it "Gannetters"? - unveiled their battalion of anti-air vehicles. Now an entire wing of her command was gone. Twenty fighters wiped out utterly, the entire light fighter contingent in her force.

They'd been avenged, at least. The Aerospace contingent had, regardless of the loss, gotten them to the ground, and from there the Free March Cavalry dominated the battle. The Gannett militia forces were helpless to resist the striking moves of Tasker's battalions. Now Count Rawlins was seeking terms and it was Tasker's duty, as head of the task force, to present the terms her superiors laid out for all the target worlds.

Five worlds. In three months, we've added a quarter more worlds than we had before. We should have known we would incur losses along the way. Her mind wandered to the reports from Amity, where the 4th Free March Regiment was still fighting with organized enemy forces and suffering noticeable losses. But this is what we must do. The Free March must survive.

"Seeing this makes me sick," grumbled Colonel Joshua Chambers. Her XO scowled at the metal skeleton of a burnt out SRM Carrier. "Once we were planetside, they couldn't hold us back. They didn't have the troops. But they tried anyway. Got their own people killed."

"It's in the nature of things," she replied. "People don't always recognize when they're conquered."

"Pride goeth before a fall," Chambers recited. "Too many people forget that these days. Tell me this is over, at least?"

"Their government leadership surrendered before we left. Most of their troops are standing down." And we'll have time to give the men the chance to celebrate their victory before the next wave begins. Lord Alexander's not going to let things sit idle, that I'm sure...

 

[Big Steve]

Ducal Palace
Forsyth, Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
6 January 3033


State paperwork proved to be useful for March-Princess Sara-Marie given her mood. Three of her children and thousands more of her subjects were already in space, heading for the worlds the AFFM selected as their initial targets. No matter what she or those around her tried, she couldn't quite work the knot out of her stomach, a knot she knew wouldn't go away any time soon. They will send them on in time. There are other worlds to secure. You know this. Abby and Will are safe, but your other babies will be in repeated danger this year.

Her intercom buzzed. "Your Serene Highness, your niece is here."

Well, thank the Lord, I have a distraction. She tapped the key on her desk. "Send her in." She reached to a document pad she'd set aside that morning and placed it on the center of her desk before rising.

The double doors opened wide. Two infantry soldiers in special AFFM BDUs of red and blue, members of the ceremonial Household Guards, stood at their places and did nothing as a woman in a light blue blouse and calf-length dark blue dress skirt walked in. Her niece, Doctor Rachel Elizabeth Proctor, had a slight tan and long, strawberry blond hair pulled into a ponytail, with her face having the round Proctor shape and the shining blue eyes common to the family. She got the hair tone from the Smythes, a baronial family from Ford that Sara-Marie's sister Gabrielle married into (and quite young, something she and her father both had not been happy with). She was the eldest of Gabrielle's children with the now-Baron Smythe and had in recent years completed her medical doctorate courses at the University of Sannazaro's College of Medicine. "You wanted to see me, Aunt Sara?"

"I always want to see you, Rachel," Sara-Marie assured her. Long before she'd become pregnant with Tom, much less married her husband Thomas, taking care of and helping to raise her niece was an important part of her life. She considered her part in Rachel's early childhood to have been important training for her own children, and the two formed a bond in those days that still held (if sometimes being strained). "How is your practice?"

"I'm a junior member of the office, so I deal with the annoying work," Rachel answered, grinning. She approached as Sara-Marie stepped around her desk. They met and exchanged a tight hug. "How is your Kingdom?"

"Realm," Sara-Marie corrected cheerfully. At a young age Rachel had trouble disassociating the character of the Free March from the fairy tales' kingdoms she learned of growing up. When Sara-Marie was freshly on the throne a six year old Rachel even caused a slight gaffe, easily pardoned, by calling her "Queen" and "Your Majesty" during a social occasion the children were part of. "March, more properly."

"Free March." Rachel grinned at adding the all-important adjective.

"Yes. An important word, not to be left out." Sara-Marie released the hug and returned to her seat, prompting Rachel to take one of the guest chairs on the opposite side of the desk. "As for my work, right now, things are quiet."

The look on her niece's face told her she'd said the wrong thing. "You make it sound like they won't be for long," Rachel said. She frowned. "Does this have to do with why most of the troops on the planet are suddenly gone?"

Sara-Marie shook her head. "The AFFM is conducting a large-scale, multi-system operation, that is all I can say."

"But that's no better than what the press releases… Oh no. Oh no." Rachel frowned and shook her head. "Uncle Alex is behind this, isn't he? He's got you intervening in the war, or wait… expansion? We're going to scramble for more worlds like every other Successor State? Don't tell me, I know you can't. I just can't… have you seen what all this fighting has done to these worlds, Aunt? Have you?"

"I am not blind to the suffering it's caused, no," Sara-Marie said, firmly. "But it is a matter I cannot talk about. Lives depend on it."

Resignation showed on the younger Proctor's face. "Oh, my darling Aunt Sara, I was hoping you'd keep us out of this. But it's the times, isn't it? I was just hoping we'd not be the ones doing the killing." She shook her head. "Why else do you think I use every ounce of social influence I have to promote the war relief?"

"I always imagined you did it because you are a Proctor, and our family's always had a compassionate streak."

"Most have," Rachel snarled, clearly thinking of her much older cousin again. She shook her head. "I wish you hadn't called me here… why did you call me here, actually?"

"Because I need to ask something of you. A family and state issue."

Rachel's eyes narrowed. "You're not trying to get me into the Health Office again, are you? Because you know what I want."

"To make your own way and earn your accomplishments as a doctor, not because you are House Proctor and seventh in line for the throne," Sara said. "It is that latter part, though, that is the reason we're speaking, and no, I don't mean to bring up that there's a new vacancy in the line. Your cousins are fine."

"I imagined not." Still, there was a flicker of relief on Rachel's face. "It's a state function, is it? Here on Arcadia or off-world?"

"Off-world," Sara-Marie answered.

"Okay, how many jumps? One or two?"

"More like twenty or so."

Rachel's eyes widened in shock. To say she was bewildered would be an understatement. "Twe-... twenty? You're talking about going across the Inner Sphere! Where could you possibly need me to go for a state function that far away?!"

"New Avalon."

After several moments of still reeling from the distance quoted, understanding dawned on the other woman's face. "The wedding. You want me to represent the Free March at the First Prince's wedding?"

"The Free March and our family, yes."

"Isn't there an ambassador present already?"

"No, just a minister, and not even a member of our nobility. I'm told by the Chamberlain and the Protocol Office that, for reasons of prestige and diplomacy, we should send someone of a higher social rank to join our diplomatic representation," Sara-Marie explained. "And I certainly cannot go, and I will not subject Thomas to the trip. Tom is the only one old enough among the children to be appropriate, and he is with his regiment. Your mother's flare-up of Sarton's Disease means I can't send her without causing her undue stress and risk. You're the next one in line, and at the proper rank in the family to still meet propriety."

"But… my practice." Rachel frowned. "I'd have to get a leave of absence. I'd be gone for months, half a year maybe. Would I even make it in time for the wedding?"

"The scheduling is tighter than we'd prefer, but the invitations were finally transmitted and a reading of JumpShip and DropShip schedules by the Foreign Office confirms it's doable. You wouldn't be on the same ship the entire way, the best we can do is keep your DropShip transfers down to about four. You'd still arrive by April and be there for the ceremony."

"I…" Rachel shook her head. "You're asking an awful lot of me, Aunt Sara. You're uprooting my life!"

"I know. I'd intended to send your mother and father, but you know I can't. That leaves you." Sara-Marie leaned forward. "I could ask others. Your brother…"

"He's a lout. He'd be a disaster," Rachel sniffed dismissively. There was little love lost between her and her brother Roger. Given how much of a dissolute, lazy skirt-chaser he was, Sara-Marie didn't much approve of her spoiled nephew either. "The First Prince isn't the kind of man you guzzle Ford-made Scotch with while comparing stories about seducing serving girls or how much worth is in the latest tennis racquet."

"I agree that he's not, but I have to send someone. Distance aside, there is value in establishing a relationship with House Davion, now that it's on the rise again. Attending the First Prince's nuptials is an easy way to start."

"And the further you go down the list, the weaker the gesture is." Rachel let out a sigh. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath, as if to sigh again. "I need to clear this with Doctor Kostakis."

"I'm sure the good Doctor knew this might happen when he brought you in, Rachel," Sara-Marie noted. "I'd be happy to explain the matter to him, if you need it."

"Have the March-Princess show up at the office? You might just give him a heart attack, Aunt Sara. No, I can handle it." Rachel ran a hand through her hair, clearly deep in thought. "Someone will have to take care of Frisky. They don't allow cats on passenger DropShips, I'm sure."

"Abby does love animals," Sara-Marie suggested. "Frisky will have to adjust, but she will take good care of him, I'm sure."

Thinking of her cousin Abigail, the fourth of Sara-Marie's children, brought a grin to Rachel's face. "She's going to be a great veterinarian one day, if you don't let Alex and the others browbeat her into AFFM service."

"I'm sure she will." Sara-Marie was indeed already of a mind to let Abby pursue a civilian life, although tradition was strong in any family and she'd face resistance over it. "So you'll do it?"

"How can I say 'no' to my Auntie Sara?" Rachel replied with a smile. "And I'll get to see some sights, I guess. Maybe even visit Terra on the return trip. See Massachusetts and New Hampshire and the places our ancestors came from."

"I won't object, and I'll make sure your expenses are paid. I'll have the Foreign Office authorize an account for you through ComStar."

"Alright. I guess I'd better get going… wait. Wedding gifts. What are we giving them?"

"The usual. We'll send them in a diplomatic pouch, probably jewelry or some work of fine art for the Grand Duchess and admission into the Order of St. Michael for the First Prince. The Protocol Office is deciding it with the aid of Minister Vyshinsky on New Avalon."

"There may be something more," Rachel said. "I read something in a medical journal a month or so ago, the First Prince suffered some kind of accident when he was piloting a 'Mech. Feedback into his neurohelmet or the like. He suffers from Webster's Syndrome brought on by the damage of the feedback."

"A MechWarrior sickness, right?"

"MechWarriors, aerospace pilots, even WorkMech pilots, anyone who uses a neurohelmet can develop the condition. It's usually just chronic headaches and not severe, but here in the Free March we treat it with Arcadian Mugwort… the herb, I mean. You mix it with a couple other chemicals and it helps with the neuro-transmitters and reduces the intensity of the pain. I can bring him a supply of it."

Sara-Marie grinned and nodded. "That sounds excellent. I will bring it up with the Protocol Office. I'm sure MIIO will examine the samples you bring, but I suspect it will be more appreciated than the GCSM." By the latter she meant the Knight's Grand Cross of St. Michael, the highest grade of the Order of St. Michael and the medal the Protocol Office insisted on as the only one that would meet propriety.

"Medals and honors don't alleviate neurological pain, or so my expensive education has told me," Rachel said drolly. She shook her head. "I can't believe I've let you talk me into this. I must be crazy."

"You're just being a good niece to your poor, beleaguered Auntie Sara, Rachel." Sara-Marie gave her a warm smile. "And I am sorry that this might disrupt your life plans in any way."

"Well, there are other practices if the partners don't like me being gone," Rachel sighed. "Maybe I'll sign up for the Rural Medical Service after all, and just hope and pray they don't send me to Dar-es-Salaam. Anything else, Aunt?"

"Since I'm imposing on you so much, I wouldn't want to do more. But I would be pleased if you told me how your practice is going. Perhaps I'll even feel so guilty I change my mind?"

At that, Rachel laughed. "Fat chance of that, Auntie. But I'll be glad to tell you how things are going. For one thing, just before Christmas I had to spend an hour pulling a tiny Christmas tree angel out of a little girl's sinuses."

"Oh dear…"

 

[Big Steve]

Outside Larkville, Amity
Arcadian Free March
4 April 3033


The insurgent troopers filled the air with automatic weapons fire, but it did little to dissuade Lance Corporal Harry Lewis from moving toward their position. Their weapons were dangerous to normal infantry, but against the armor plate of his Grenadier battle armor they might as well have been pebbles. The HUD in the suit visor confirmed the direction they were firing from and the IR scan mode showed their locations across the tree line. One squad was using a fallen tree as cover to anchor the center of their line.

Beside him Private 1st Class Ana Makarova sprayed return fire toward their position. Her Grenadier was armed with a machine gun on the right arm instead of the flamer built into his. A curse in Russian crackled over their comm-line. "These bastards don't know when to quit," the twenty-two year old said angrily.

"They're fighting awfully hard for an insurgent cell in the boonies," Lewis agreed. A native of Concord, a lot of his vernacular came from that world.

"Cut the chatter." The harsh tone came from their squad leader, Corporal Elena Andreas. A Greek Arcadian, her suit stepped up between them. "They're defending something, and the Lieutenant wants to know what. Move!"

At that command Lewis and the others, six in all with Corporal Andreas counted, moved forward. Lewis readied himself for a more dangerous weapon to be revealed, perhaps some salvaged laser or an armor-piercing recoilless rifle or the like, but the worst to come was a hail of frag grenades that blackened the green and brown of his suit without breaking through. Corporal Andreas triggered her jumpjets and prompted the squad to do the same, sending them flying into the air and out of the gulley leading into the ridge line. "Grenades!"

The Grenadier suit was aptly named; whatever the right arm weapon, the shoulder had a grenade launcher built into it and a supply of ammo within an armored magazine on the back. The basic targeting systems showed Lewis the likely impact zone of his weapon, changing every moment as his altitude and velocity shifted. He lowered his shoulders to ensure the grenade would land behind the fallen tree and triggered the shot with the ring finger of his left hand.

Six grenades landed in the insurgent line. Three of them ran, but none escaped the resulting blasts. The automatic fire died, the only sound in the forested area that of the jets built into the battle armor. As a unit they cut power to the jets and came in for a landing among the bloody chaos of their handiwork.

Lewis was the first to see the cabin. Nestled among the woods under the canopy of the temperate rainforests around Larkville, the cabin would have evaded noticed from aerial surveillance. Even IR had missed it, hinting that the interior was lined with insulation. That alone meant they'd found something important, not just some "get out of civilization" getaway of a private citizen.

The battle-clawed left hand of Andreas' suit raised in a gesture toward the cabin. Lewis and Makarova took point, advancing on the structure.

That was when he heard the first scream.

"Double time!" Andreas shouted, and the entire squad charged in. It took only seconds to finish advancing to the door while the rapid thundercracks of a pistol sounded from within. Lewis crashed through it, creating a rain of wooden chunks.

He pivoted immediately toward the shooter, a man standing in the far corner in a worn-down Amity Defense Force uniform and with an unkempt appearance no military would have tolerated. He turned toward Lewis with a wild look in his eyes and a snarl on his lips. It was an expression Lewis would never forget. "Gun down!" he shouted, his voice booming over the suit's external speaker. "Gun down now!"

The man didn't obey. He turned to his left and brought the gun to bear again.

He never got the chance to fire it. Lewis's right arm shot forward and the manipulator hand of his suit took both gun and hand, smashing both. An agonized scream echoed in the cabin. You're lucky I didn't just fry you, buddy, was the thought that went through Lewis' head.

"Bozhe moi…"

Makrova's horrified mutter drew Lewis' attention to the rest of the cabin. "Good Lord," he added in shock.


Hours Later


Brigadier Lawrence Adkins, Commanding Officer of the 4th Free March Regiment, watched the holovid recording with a grim countenance. His fists clenched on the surface of the tropical hardwood table they were resting on. To his left, Lieutenant Colonel Ernst von der Tann's face was paling. The commander of the 25th Free March Infantry, a native of Mariefred, his own troops were the recorders of the offending video through the systems of their battle armor suits. To his right, his executive officer Colonel Nigel Shawcross had a similarly pale expression, although Adkins thought it was rage more than anything. The Ford-born MechWarrior's pale green eyes filled with tears.

As the video played, soldiers in Grenadier battle armor were guiding a line of people out of a forest cabin near Larkville. Their clothing looked old and worn, as if it were the only thing they'd been wearing for months if not longer. A few of the younger adults were in the tattered remains of blouses and shirts. Their wrists were universally bruised, implying prolonged binding.

"How many were there?" Adkins asked.

"Lieutenant Hutchins' platoon counted fifty," von der Tann said in a hoarse voice. "They were taken to the cabin while we burned in-system and have been there for weeks." He took a drink of water, clearly wishing it was something harder. "The guard inside started shooting them when he realized his comrades had been killed. He managed to hit ten before he was subdued. Three were clean head shots, immediate death. Two more died before the corpsman on scene could stabilize them. Five are in various conditions, I am told, at least two critical."

"So this is what the insurgents are fighting for?" Shawcross gasped in disgust. "To, what, hide their trafficking victims?"

"We're trying to find out. Our Military Police detachment has primarily been concerned with counterintelligence and tactical counter-insurgence, not human trafficking." The fourth voice was the lone female one in the room. Lt. Colonel Adora Carrero was from Gienah, a light-skinned woman with blond hair pulled into a bun at the back of her head. Her blue eyes shined with intensity at the sight on the monitor. An infantry officer of skill with battle armor, she was currently on the 4th Free March Regiment's staff, responsible for coordinating the support departments such as supply and, in this case, law enforcement and investigation. "Authorities on Concord have seen evidence that Amity was one of the local clearing houses for trafficking networks, but we had little idea of the scope of the operation. From what Corporal Andreas and Lieutenant Hutchins reported of their preliminary interviews, these people seem to be from the worlds of Andurien attacked in the recent invasion, mostly Mosiro. Most likely they were refugees who fled the planet and were caught up by traffickers while trying to get to safety."

"The Amity Defense Force is, or was I suppose, clearly mixed up in it," Shawcross said. "Maybe that's where they got those heavy tanks they held the capital with."

"I've already asked MCIS to start an immediate investigation," Carrero affirmed. "Their local agent is already heading out to interview the captured insurgent and the victims."

"Keep me appraised of the investigation," said Adkins. "I want our efforts to uproot the insurgents intensified. If they've got more captives, we need to find them. Have the MPs and our MI staff cooperate. And see to the comfort of these people, they've suffered enough. You're dismissed."

"Yes sir," Carrero replied. She saluted and departed the room.

Adkins watched her go and looked back out at the skyline of New Haven through the window. The 4th FMR was using the Amity Defense Force's old HQ in the capital, as despite the battle damage the administrative buildings were still structurally sound and intact. The city itself was already healing from the wounds of the fighting, he noted, but now he sourly wondered how much of the funds local authorities were employing to rebuild came from human trafficking or other criminal endeavors. Amity was the source of the attacks on Concord in 3014 and 3022. We shouldn't be surprised to find roaches under this particular stone.

At least my soldiers died for something, in the end. Whomever in Amity's old government helped this sort of thing, it's over. They'll not be ensnaring more poor souls.

"Gentlemen, you are dismissed," he said quietly. "I think I need to get a drink."

 

[Big Steve]

O'Toole Keep
Killarney, Fianna
Arcadian Free March
7 April 3033


The town of Killarney was ten kilometers from the outskirts of Armagh, a mid-sized township of about forty thousand souls in its jurisdiction that primarily worked in local agriculture and the service economy while the wealthier residents were professionals who were employed in the planetary capital. It was one of about seven such towns outside of Armagh, in this case dominated by the sight of O'Toole Keep on one of the hills outside the town center. The keep was home once to the Barons of Killarney, the O'Tooles, but the last O'Toole heir died a generation past, a victim of the late Landgrave of Fianna Walter Essert.

As the Keep had defaulted to the planetary government upon the last O'Toole dying, it was fair game for the AFFM to use as a barracks. The 2nd Battalion of the Arcadian Guards shared it with a battery from the Guards Artillery. Their BattleMechs filled the 'Mech hanger of the estate as well as a couple of modular prefab hangars outside of the Keep's walls. The artillery vehicles had the courtyard, and everyone was in bedrooms (company commanders and up getting their own).

The Keep was built to emulate the castles of Ireland on Terra, particularly Donegal Castle, although the walls were more for show than any kind of military fortification against modern weapons. The estate within was fully modern as well, with the best luxuries an independent world could keep through the Succession Wars.

From the top of one of the walls, Dani and Becca looked out over the green fields and the forested mountains in the distance. Killarney was a clump of buildings on four main streets that crossed one another, although in nothing like a grid square. Killarney wasn't some meticulously planned early colony town with the roads laid out in a grid, it was an organically-built community with twisting and winding roads passing shops and homes and the town's Catholic parish church dedicated to St. Thomas.

"It's a beautiful planet," Becca said. "It reminds me a bit of Gienah."

"Gienah's nice. I just wish the people here were nicer."

"We can't really blame them for being upset with us, we took their world."

"Yeah, and we knocked over that crazy old German guy who made them use signs in German and tried to outlaw Gaelic," Dani guffawed. "The old coot was crazy. I heard he rushed his Centurion right at the 1st Battalion."

"Well, at least they've got a chance to elect a new ruler who isn't insane, and under Free March law, they can have signs as they please." Becca leaned against the inner wall. "It's better than what they're finding on Amity."

Dani scowled. "I saw the vids on the AFFM News Service. It was disgusting what they did to those people. I hope they finish wiping the insurgents out soon."

"Amity's hardly the only world with this problem, I bet. I mean, criminals are everywhere. They might even be moving these people through the Free March, and we just haven't caught them." A faint grin crossed her face. "Why is it we're talking about depressing stuff?"

"Because we've been cooped up here since the planet fell, we're not allowed off-base, and there's not a lot to do but run the field exercises and deal with military paperwork. Speaking of which…" Dani checked her watch. "I'd better get back to the offices. His Highness has company paperwork to finish and I've draw the short straw on making sure he does."

"Alright." Becca peeked around them before stepping up and pressing her lips to Dani's for a goodbye kiss. "Maybe, if we end up on another world after this one, they'll greet us as liberators and we'll get some of our lost leave time back?"

"That would be nice," Dani sighed.



Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Arcadia
Arcadian Free March


The minister from the People's State of Andurien left the room, leaving Sara-Marie in a dour mood. They hadn't argued, not exactly, and Andurien was thankful for the recovery of their nationals, but given how much their worlds had suffered, learning the likely fate of some of their missing people was a depressing thought to go with it all. Some of that attitude rubbed off on Sara-Marie.

When her secretary buzzed over a newcomer and the door opened again, it was her cousin Alexander. He was, as always, in his red AFFM uniform, his square of four stars on the collar and the ribbons on the right of his chest marking his commendations: the Silver Wing, the Arcadian Service Cross, the Military Cross of Valor, the Knight-Commander's Cross of the Order of St. Michael, all of them a testament to his participation in the conflicts of her father's reign. He saluted crisply at her. "Your Serene Highness, thank you for your time."

"Don't mention it, cousin," she said. "Is there an issue?"

"We've finalized our planning, Highness." He nodded. "I can give you the target list now if you wish."

The smile faded from Sara-Marie's face, a grim reminder of what the world was coming to. "Very well." She listened to him recite the worlds. "You are pushing our forces harder. Wouldn't a slower pace convince more worlds to avoid hopeless resistance and reduce our losses?"

"We haven't the luxury of a slower pace, given Marik's recent moves. Their attacks these past few months were aimed at us, Highness. We have to secure what worlds we can while we can, or this will be for nothing, and we won't get the resources we need."

"So more of our people will have to die, then. Including those who will be our people when this is done."

"That is our military necessity. They know what they signed up for."

The words hit her in the wrong place. Sara-Marie glared at her cousin and shouted, "That doesn't mean we can just wash our hands of their blood! We have to live with causing their deaths! I have to live with it! I have to send my children to fight!"

While Alexander's expression didn't change, an icy cold filled his voice. "So do I, Highness. I'll remind you my daughter serves with the Prince in the Arcadian Guards. All four of my children are in front-line regiments. And I have to live with the knowledge my plans may kill them."

While his tone remained reserve, the rebuke was unmistakable. Sara-Marie sighed and shook her head. "Alex, it's not going to stop, is it?"

"Unlikely, Sara." He took her use of his name with such familiarity as a sign to do the same. They weren't ruling sovereign and faithful general, they were family fearing for their children. "I fear Andurien and Skye and Lancaster, it was all just the opening round. War is coming to the Inner Sphere the likes of which hasn't been seen in two hundred years. All we can do is pray to the Lord God that He protect us from the worst of it."

 

[Big Steve]

(Post vetted by Slacker)



Mount Davion Reception Hall
Avalon City, New Avalon
April 29 3033


After ten and a half weeks of travel on five different DropShips (due to a scheduling complication in Tikonov), Rachel made it to New Avalon with a couple weeks to spare for the wedding. She took up residence in the Free March Embassy building at Minister Sergei Vyshinsky's insistence and spent the time visiting various landmarks and museums in and around Avalon City, sometimes just for an excuse to jog and maintain her exercise regimen. A week before the wedding Minister Vyshinsky insisted on holding a function at the Embassy to formally introduce her to Avalon City's upper crust, which disappointed him given the relative paucity of the attendees with high society resting itself up for the First Prince's Wedding (capitalization included).

That day finally arrived, and after the requisite marriage ceremony in the style of the New Avalon Catholic Church (a rather different experience for Rachel given her Congregationalist and Anglican upbringing), a reception scheduled to last four hours began. Given it was expected the newlyweds would meet with each visiting contingent from other states, Rachel was compelled by protocol to remain at the side of Minister Vyshinsky and his wife Lyudmila until First Prince Ian and Archduchess Maria passed.

Currently the diplomat's wife was grousing about the ceremony from a religious standpoint, preferring the Russian Orthodox style practiced on their homeworld of Giausar. Rachel said nothing to interrupt while trying to avoid boredom. To give herself something to do she visually scanned the crowd, taking in all of the different types of uniforms and formal dress. She noted the Crucis Pact officers' uniforms were predominately white as opposed to the red of the AFFM. A number wore cavalry spurs on their uniform boots, something she found peculiar until Vyshinsky explained it was a tradition from the days of the Federation Suns, marking them as MechWarriors and the descendants of Terran cavalrymen of old.

As for the civilians, they had various styles coming from their nations and homeworlds. Rachel was no exception, as she brought her best dress on the trip with her (and nearly lost it in a luggage mix-up at Marlette). It was a sleeveless, high-cut silk dress made from a species of silkworms from Hollabrunn, with blue above the waist and rich red below it. It split at her thighs to make walking easier and flatter her calves. Sapphires and rubies glittered on her neck, set into a gold necklace given to her by the Minister as a gift (much to his wife's annoyance, although that didn't keep Rachel from intending to gift it to her before she left New Avalon). White opera gloves went up past her elbow, covering much of the skin on her bare arms. A pair of glittering black high heels rounded out the ensemble as the most aggravating of it.

After finishing off a hors d'oeuvre and freeing her hands, Rachel accepted a glass of wedding champagne form a passing server in Davion livery. She sipped at the golden fluid and enjoyed the taste, reminding her of a wine made from the vineyard on her father's land on Ford. I'd better pace myself, Auntie Sara won't forgive me if I get sloshed before I meet the First Prince.

"My Lady, he's coming."

The soft Russian accented voice of Minister Vyshinsky drew Rachel's attention to the approaching power couple. In that moment she felt a sudden urge to run and hide in the bathroom. I'm not ready for this! she wailed inside, and weeks of pent-up nervousness finally threatened to choke all speech from her. She was a doctor, not a stateswoman or military officer or whoever regularly spoke with ruling sovereigns. This was outside of her job description.

"Minister Vyshinsky." First Prince Ian clearly recognized the man, although Maria didn't seem to. "Thank you for coming."

"Your Highness." Vyshinsky bowed partially and exactly. His wife curtsied and, almost by automatic, Rachel did so as well. "I was grateful for the invitation, and for the chance to extend the Free March's congratulations for your newfound happiness. May I introduce March-Princess Sara-Marie's personal representative? This is Her Ladyship Doctor Rachel Proctor-Smythe, eldest niece of the March-Princess."

Both of the newlyweds looked at Rachel, and for a moment she wanted to disappear or shrink or teleport magically back to her apartment in Roslyn to snuggle Frisky and forget that she was here, in front of the First Prince of the Crucis Pact, and he was speaking to her.

Get a grip, Rachel, get a grip, you know nobility, it's no big deal. He's probably like Auntie Sara. Just remember that, he's like Auntie Sara.

Rachel bowed her head respectfully without letting too much time pass. "Your Highness," she said politely.

"Your Ladyship. It must have been quite a journey for you to come to New Avalon from Arcadia."

"Twenty-two jumps and five ships, Highness, through three different realms before I reached the Pact. But I got here in time to visit much of your lovely capital city, and I'm grateful for that."

"I'm happy to hear that."

"So your people were the ones who sent those lovely de Cunhal portraits?" Archduchess Maria smiled. "He was one of the greats of the last century."

Rachel was thankful she'd looked up the artist when she was told what the art being gifted was. She'd grown up with one of his works, the portrait of her great grand-mother Sara, but had little knowledge of him until then. Adding Maria to the list of "they're just like mum and dad and Auntie Sara," Rachel started speaking. "He was a brilliant artist, and his style evokes the old 18th and 19th Century painters from Terra while still having a unique quality and coloration to them. He painted my great-grandmother after receiving asylum on Arcadia, before she founded the Free March, and gifted all of his remaining works to the Proctor family when he passed away."

"I'd heard he lived his final years outside of the Terran Union, I just didn't know where," Maria replied. "EIther way, it is lovely art, and I'm grateful for the gesture."

"The gifts were generous," Ian agreed. "Although I'm curious about the package of bottles. My security service tells me they're a medicinal compound?"

"Yes, Highness." Oh thank you Lord he's talking medicine, I can do medicine. Rachel nodded and smiled. "They're a compound treatment we've developed for neurological ailments that uses Arcadian mugwort, a medicinal herb from my homeworld. It's not a miracle cure or anything, but our experience shows that minor relief of neurologically-derived pain is common in most Webster's Syndrome sufferers, and greater relief is reported in about sixty percent of cases. I heard you suffered from Webster's or a related condition, so I suggested it to my aunt and she agreed to send some. Along with a medal." Immediately she regretted herself. Ugh, why did I say that? Look at him, he's got medals enough, I'm sure he's going to care about another lump of metal and ribbon!

"So I've been told," Ian said, smiling as well. It helped Rachel deal with her anxiety to see he wasn't offended. "I'll see what my doctors say, but I hope this compound works for me as well as it has for your people. I'm sure there are plenty of local remedies for ailments across the Inner Sphere that would make a lot of lives better if we shared them with one another. I'll remember this gesture, Doctor."

"I'm honored and flattered, Highness, and I agree. I've been reading your medical journals and think there's some wonderful opportunities for treatments to cross borders."

"It's something to work for."

Rachel noticed Maria tug slightly at Ian's arm. The two bowed slightly, a final parting gesture, and Rachel and the Vyshinskys answered it. "Please, I hope you enjoy the reception, Doctor, and have a safe trip back to Arcadia. Give our best to March-Princess Sara-Marie when you see her." The royal couple continued on to mingle with more guests.

Rachel glanced nervously toward Vyshinsky. A small grin showed on his face and that of his wife's, although the latter's was more bemused than warm. "You did well enough, Ladyship," he said.

"He called me 'Doctor'," Rachel said. "Not 'Your Ladyship'."

"They are an astute couple, and it is plain from your lack of a personal title you are not seeking status as a noble," Vyshinsky explained. "It wouldn't be hard to guess you would prefer to be addressed as Doctor."

"Right." Rachel let out a breath. "Excuse me, but I need to go to the restroom."

"Must you? The Ambassador from Harsefeld is nearby, I should be introducing you to him…"

"Trust me, I've got to," she insisted, and with that, she left.

Fortunately, she got back in time to see Ian proclaim the rebirth of the Federated Suns, and thus witnessed history in the making

Unfortunately, she also got back in time to be introduced to every other delegate at the reception, which was decidedly less interesting and not very historical at all.

 

[Big Steve]

AFMS Hawk
Approaching Autumn Wind
Arcadian Free March
7 May 3033

Lieutenant General Sir Maurice Conway had a weakness for Glengarry Reserve that made the years of the Skye War particular hell. Due to the fighting the drink was growing rarer by the month in most of the Inner Sphere, and only the recent establishment of peace gave hope that just maybe he could replenish his supply before he finished it.

Regardless he considered the moment one to justify popping open a bottle. The government of Autumn Wind, who seemed particularly ill-equipped to defend their independence, surrendered once he arrived in system with the Hawk (a corvette), a carrier DropShip, and two line regiments of the Free March Army, namely the veterans of the Proctor Light Horse and the scrappy Concord Borderers. After overseeing the slugfest that resulted in the 4th Free March Regiment's landing on Amity, the chance to not order his men and women into combat was worth the drink.

Not an Assault 'Mech among our numbers, not even more than a few fast heavies, and we still got them to not fight. If only they were all so easy...

He finished pouring a tumbler of the beverage when the ship PA system squawked. "Lieutenant General Conway, sir, we have a situation."

Drawing in a sigh, Conway reached to the comm control on his desk. "Conway here, Lieutenant. What's going on?" Don't tell me they've changed their minds…

"Sir, we've got bogies at the station jump point. Their ident is showing as Marik Commonwealth, sir."

Conway's mood was instantly soured. He frowned and sighed. Well, at least the intel boys warned they might do this. "Maintain course for now and alert me if we get any communications. Ask Admiral Blücher to keep me appraised."

"Yes sir."

He brought up his noteputer and checked the letter of his orders. A part of him bristled at it: "Do not contest world if Marik forces arrive." But we're not contesting it, they surrendered! He read the orders a second and then a third time, but there was no denying the caution in them. The Free March was not going to pick a fight with the Marik Commonwealth. His orders in this situation were to withdraw rather than "continue offensive operations". He could only open fire in self-defense, at least by orders, if already planetside.

And yet… he wasn't on offensive operations, he was moving to garrison a surrendered planet as per his orders, so what was he to do? For that matter, what would it mean for the government on the planet, or the situation there? Damn Mariks just had to complicate things.

One thing was sure. He wasn't going to let that Glengarry Reserve go to waste. And he suspected he'd be needing more in the coming days, not realizing the Marik ships would eventually withdraw under their own orders.


AFMS Falcon
Zenith Jump Point, Coriscana System
Independent Space
28 April 3033

Rear Admiral Friedrich von Paulus looked at the icons on the holotank in the Falcon's command information center and scowled. The Marik ships coming up from the jump point were, all things considered, weaker than his force. The Falcon's armament and the CAG on the Formidable gave the Free March forces the edge in space. The same wouldn't be true if he let them land. They visibly had more troop transports, and some of the ship markings indicated the presence of the 2nd Atrean Hussars. While fitting trim sans their lost fighter wing, the Free March Cavalry wouldn't be able to fight two regiments and the local militia.

"Their escorts are lighter than ours." Beside von Paulus, Captain Georg Kirchner was like a wire under tension. The Free March Navy's pride felt like it was on the line. "We can scare them off while our regiment secures the planet."

"And if they make us fight, we provoke a war with the Marik Commonwealth," von Paulus sighed. "The orders from Arcadia are clear. 'Do not engage Marik forces, withdraw from system unless planet is taken'. The government here hasn't surrendered, so we can't claim to be defending our territory."

"At least check with Lord Salisbury before you give the order."

Von Paulus sighed at Kirchner's persistence. He recognized why the captain felt as he did. Withdrawing felt like cowardice. But we are not ready for such a conflict.

To make sure the forms were followed, von Paulus called up Lieutenant General Lord John Cecil, Marquess of Salisbury, on the ship's command commline. The voice of the nobleman from Ford boomed over the line. "Is there a problem, Admiral von Paulus?"

"Marik forces have jumped in-system, Lordship," von Paulus replied. While some noble officers preferred the use of the military "sir" and "ma'am", the Marquess was a blue-blood enough to want his proper style used. "They don't seem to have any attending WarShip escort, but given our orders…"

"Nothing for it, old boy. We knew they might do this. Follow our orders, we'll switch to our secondary target. Burn back for the jump point and have the JumpShips prepare our course to Rexburg."

"Yes, Lordship. I'll give the orders now." Von Paulus keyed the commline close. He glanced toward the scowling Kirchner. "It's out of our hands, Captain. We follow our orders, and we protect our worlds. Picking a fight at this time won't help with that."

"It is still humiliating," Kirchner fumed. The man looked sick to his stomach.

"We sacrifice our pride for our realm's well-being," von Paulus said softly. "Just as we would sacrifice our lives, if need be." He turned to the comm officer. "Send to all ships. 'Fall back to jump point. We are switching to secondary target.'"

"Aye sir!"

The fleet turned around.



1st Free March Regiment Field HQ
Midkiff
Arcadian Free March
25 May 3033

"...in summation, Brigadier, the unit has come through the fight with low casualties and even higher morale."

Colonel Aristotle Kotsopoulos finished his report in his Arcadian Greek accent. Brigadier Donald Harrington considered the paperwork before him before signing in. "The medal recommendations go out first, Colonel," he said firmly.

"Of course, sir. Anything else?"

Other then how lucky we are the Mariks didn't show? Since getting the attack orders through Lieutenant General Eleutherios Louganis, the commander of OpForce Razorback, Harrington was sure he'd be seeing the purple eagle of House Marik before he made landfall. Instead all he dealt with was a bunch of hardcore militia who thought they might stand a chance, not realizing he had two BattleMech regiments on hand. In the end, the 1st Regiment finished the fight before the 21st Militia Brigade could even finish setting up from their logistics transports.

Aloud he said, "Nothing. Our work is done here. I suspect we'll be leaving by the end of next month, so make sure the troops know not to get to comfortable."

"We'll be leaving the 21st Brigade, I imagine, to garrison the planet."

"Likely," he said, even as he wondered if Marik would take their success here lying down. We're just one jump from Campbelton. They can't like that on Atreus, not at all…



AFFM Bivouac
Hathaway Keep, Sterling
Arcadian Free March
17 June 3033


Not for the first time was Abdul Rahman Rayhan, Brigadier of the AFFM and nephew to the Amir of Dar-es-Salaam, grateful for the ingenuity of his fellow believers. The automated muezzin sound worked perfectly over the military tactical link, allowing the members of the Dar-es-Salaam Cavalry to keep to their prayers on time. Another innovation was a program that tracked the orbital movements of the planet that let them pray in the direction (very rough direction) of Mecca back on Terra.

With his midday prayers finished, Brigadier Rayhan departed his office and arrived on time for the meeting with Vice Admiral Dame Julia Andros. The only OpForce commander in the current operations to come from the Navy, she looked younger than she had to be, with piercing green eyes and a head of blond hair pulled into a strict, AFFM-regulation pony-tail.

He noted he wasn't alone. Brigadier Ioannis Papadoulos of the Arcadian Rangers was present, as was Colonel Abdul-Rahim Barak, a countryman and the XO of the Rangers. "Admiral, I can summon Colonel al-Banna if you wish…"

She shook her head. "That won't be necessary. I'm just here to check in on the final action report."

"There was very little of it," Barak said. "Our regiment dropped on their heads while the Cavalry cut through them like they were the chaff of the field. I cannot tell you why Allah moved them to resist, as the fighting was over in a couple of hours with minimal damage to our forces."

"At least the local nobles fully surrendered," Papadoulos said. "There will be no insurgency like on Amity. Has the Marchioness signed the affirmation?"

"She will be signing tomorrow, I'm assured," Admiral Andros said. "Since the local militia was broken up, for the time being your unit will be the garrison, Brigadier Rayhan."

"My men will comport themselves accordingly," Rayhan assured her, knowing full well her concern. The devotion of the Faithful from his homeworld sparked unkind rumors and suspicions, and the planet might become restive if his troops acted out of sorts. "I only hope we do not stay too long. My regiment longs for further opportunity to bring glory to the House of Rayhan, Inshallah."

"I'm sure Command will consider your unit for other assignments when they can get a garrison out here," Andros answered. "For the time being, both regiments will protect the planet, and I'll be on the Guardian standing overwatch. Now, for the fun part." She smiled wanly at them. "Procurement has a directive out requiring OpForce commanders and their subordinates to sign off together on documentation relating to offensive operations. I know you didn't take much in the way of equipment losses, but the repair orders and parts requisitions count for that."

Paperwork. Rayhan fought down a sigh. The bureaucrats of the AFFM will never cease to drown us in it. Allah save us from the paperpushers...




Skies over Jardine
Independent World
8 June 3033


Flak bursts and streams of light autocannon fire filled the air around Lieutenant Andrew Corcoran's Viper. He maneuvered the thirty-ton fighter as best as he could to evade the incoming fire from the battalions of anti-air artillery vehicles the Jardine defense forces were using to harass the DropShips of the 2nd Free March REgiment. Corcoran and his unit, the 19th Aerospace Wing, were tasked with providing support, and that meant going in for strafing runs.

It was easier said than done given the incoming fire.

"Keep it steady, boys and girls, steady on!" The slightly manic-sounding voice was of their commanding officer, Major Murdoch. "Howlin' Mad" Murdoch was an excellent pilot but many of his pilots, Corcoran included, thought him to be somewhat unhinged (if not completely crazy). "Deliver some presents to our welcoming party!"

Corcoran kept his Viper on course for a strafing run on one of the AA vehicles. His sensors showed the vehicle outlined against the jungle underbrush they were trying to use for cover. With just two medium lasers and a pair of SRM four-salvo launchers, he'd have to get fairly close, but the angle of attack was good and he'd get a shot in.

"I'm hit! I'm hit!"

"-direct strike on my wing, it's coming apart!"

"Steady on!"

This is bloody crazy, Corcoran thought. Not for the first time, he wondered if he'd have been better off finding another occupation. But his mother had his younger siblings to raise and they needed his military salary to make ends meet. It was why he was here and not back on McAffe, in his hometown of Roscommon in County Dunmore. The recruiters could say what they wanted about patriotism or service to the Free March, in the end, the prospect of steady pay and the veteran's benefits after retirement was what brought him to the AFFM.

Yet despite it all, he kept his Viper on course for the last necessary kilometer before triggering his weapons. The heat in his fighter spiked - among other defects, the Viper ran hot when going weapons free - while eight SRMs streaked from the wing launchers. A pair of ruby beams stabbed through the air to slice into the turret of the AA vehicle. It lost armor to the strike, and more as the missiles struck home with their enlarged warheads.

His attack alone hadn't done the job, but that of his wingman, Flight Lieutenant Nasira al-Zakariya, saw to it. A missile got into the vehicle's interior and went off, killing the crew. The gun fell silent. Together they broke from their attack run to make another. "Good shooting, Delta 4," she said, her voice thinly accented with Arabic. "Get ready for another—"

Lieutenant al-Zakariya's voice cut out abruptly. Corcoran glanced to his side and watched her Viper break apart in a fireball. Ammo hit. She's gone. Not even a chance to eject! He twisted his flight stick and banked his fighter, looking to gain more altitude and try another attack run.

The pain didn't come first. It was the shriek of metal, the brief sparking from his main display as it went dead. The flight stick suddenly felt heavier than he could ever imagine. So heavy he couldn't move it. Why…

And then he felt it. The blood on his head. The sharp agony in his right arm and side. He risked a glance down and noted the shrapnel sticking out of his flight suit, blood oozing around it.

The fighter twisted despite his grip on the stick. He tried to right it, relying on the neurohelmet to do so, and when he couldn't his left hand reached up to adjust the helmet. That was when he felt the other shard of shrapnel. The helmet stopped it from spearing him through the forehead, but it still got through enough to cut skin.

The fighter shuddered again. Another direct hit, and this time from a heavier gun. It went into a spin. I've lost a wing. I'm going down. He tried to move his right arm but couldn't, which led him to recognize the third piece that had broken through the armoring of his cockpit to spear his shoulder and pin it in place. A damn lucky shot. Saints preserve me, it was a damn lucky shot!

His breathing hurt. He felt like he was choking, and tried to cough it up. Blood shot out from his mouth. I'm dying, he realized. I'm hit in the lung.

Now the fighter was spinning rapidly, making him feel sick. The jungle appeared below him and approached with rapidity. He had no time to bail, even if he could get his left arm over quickly enough to pull the ejection lever. And even if he did, he'd be dead before he hit the ground.

"Hail Mary… full of grace…" More blood erupted from his mouth as he struggled to breath. The ground was moments away. All he had left was prayer. "...the Lord is with… thee…"

Impact.




Arcadian Guards HQ
Rothermere Heights, Idyeld
Arcadian Free March
27 June 3033


After weeks of in-system transits and the time taken to make the five jumps to cross the breadth of the Free March, the Arcadian Guards and 3rd Free March Regiment were barely on their appropriate timetable for the landings on Idyeld. And at the end of their journey, they had nothing waiting for them but occupation duty.

It hadn't taken long at all for the Duke of Idyeld, Roger Applegate, to decide on submission to the Free March. He didn't even let a day pass before signing his accession, and he insisted on throwing a ball for the regimental officers of the Guards and the 3rd Free March Regiment, to come on the first of the month.

For Thomas Proctor, this meant a return to the one thing he'd been happily free of lately, the social duties of his rank.

The prospect left him sour enough that he was only pecking at his meal in the officer's mess for the Guards. This brought him the attention of his cousin. Angelina sat across from him, in field BDUs like his, chewing on a chicken sandwich. Once she finished swallowing she said, "It's just one ball, Tom. You've been free of them for half a year now, surely it's not that great an imposition."

"Normally you would be right, and I recognize that as the Heir my presence will help smooth Ideyld's entry into the March," he replied. "But the Duke has a greater scheme in mind, going by what Lieutenant General Jenkins mentioned to me."

"Oh?"

"He has a daughter. Twenty-three years old, unmarried, and his heir."

Understanding dawned on her face. "Ah. You figure that he's got his eyes set on another prize, getting his grandchild on the Free March throne."

"He wouldn't be the first," Thomas grumbled. "Given my posting is public knowledge, I can't help but wonder if that is the reason he surrendered."

Angelina grinned. "Or maybe he heard what the Landgrave of Fianna tried and knew he'd end up causing the same. He couldn't have wanted to see his world wrecked trying to fight two line regiments with a bunch of infantry and some light armor, Tom."

"I can see that, but you know how nobility can be. If they can't hold power by force, they'll do it by marriage."

"I'm not sure why, he'll be dead long before any grandkid you sired would reach the throne."

Thomas shook his head. While they were both great MechWarriors and preferred military service, Thomas had something Angelina didn't, and that was an upbringing where exposure to noble society and their ways was constant. Angelina's father Lord Alexander, on the other hand, raised her to be a soldier and kept her from all but the most necessary social engagements.

In short, while they were both soldiers, he could at least think like a noble. Angelina thought like a soldier.

"So you disagree?" she asked.

"It's not about being alive when it happens, it's that it enriches his line," Thomas explained. "The Applegates would be a part of House Proctor's lineage, and there is prestige in that."

"Well, it would give the Proctors another world to rule too," Angelina pointed out. "Although I'm sure that'd get the other Dukes up in arms."

"It would, although by law they'd have no cause for complaint." Thomas finally resumed eating.

"Ever think about what it'll be like when you're March-Prince?"

He visibly shivered. "Don't even mention it. I wish for my mother to live a long and happy life. Lord forbid she's taken from me."

"Yes, Lord forbid," Angelina agreed. "But it's going to come one day. And then all your life will be politics and socializing. You'll be out of a 'Mech and behind a desk. Shouldn't you be ready for that?"

"I will endure it as a I must, as I already do, and that is all that matters," he insisted. Even as he spoke, the thought still haunted him.

Mother inherited young. And great-grandmother was not yet forty years of age when she killed the Slaver Lord and became Duchess of Arcadia. If I had to step in, could I bear it so well? When I feel crushed by boredom whenever I am at a ball? Could I navigate the ship of state like she has? Sacrifice so much of my time and wishes to the needs of the March?

God help me, I hope so.

 

[Big Steve]

Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
20 June 3033


Lord Edward Baden-Grey, Earl of Prestwick, was one of the grand old men of the Free March's political circles. He'd been the Duke of Ford's representative to the Ducal Council for years, even winning the Chair position for a year, and was considered the Free March's foremost figure on foreign policy. Given the old British traditions of the nobility on Ford he typically went by the name Lord Prestwick instead of Lord Edward or Lord Baden-Grey.

Now the balding, aged old man who once served her father was seated at March-Princess Sara-Marie's desk. In the office couch a dour-faced Lord Alexander was in his uniform, as always, accompanied by the Chief of Staff A paper in front of them laid out the final dispositions of their border treaty with Marik. "As we expected, the Mariks were not willing to cede Tania Australis as well," he said.

"So we give two worlds for one?" Alexander's voice betrayed his frustration. "There was fighting on Midkiff, I'll remind you. We took casualties."

"As His Excellency the Marik Ambassador reminded me, so did they on Gallatin," Lord Prestwick pointed out. "Greater than we did on Midkiff, by the reports."

"The important matter is the consolidation of our border. Midkiff is another jump away from our core space," General Kalling remarked. "Gallatin will be easier to shift reinforcements to."

"The Mariks consider accepting our occupation of the other worlds we've taken these past two months to be suitable compensation above Gallatin," Prestwick continued. "On the matter of swapping a second world for Autumn Wind, they were immovable." He glanced back at Alexander. "And while I understand the appearance of the arithmetic of our exchange, Lord Alexander, the Mariks have equal appreciation of arithmetic of another sort: the size of their military versus that of our own."

"Yes. It always comes down to that, doesn't it?" Alexander groused. "He who has the most BattleMechs makes the rules."

"These are the limits of diplomacy. That Marik negotiated confirms they are willing to have a peaceful border."

"For now, anyway."

Kalling's mouth twitched into a frown. Knowing his usual demeanor as Sara-Marie did, he was more upset by Lord Alexander's impertinence toward the Foreign Secretary than the discussion.

"The important matter is that we kept the peace," Prestwick said. His tone took on a certain bite as he added, "Considering the military's aggressive expansion to within a jump of a major core world of the Marik Commonwealth, we should be thankful we still have that."

Both uniformed men returned the sour look. "That's enough," Sara-Marie called out. "The tough decisions brought on by the new age of expansion in the Inner Sphere will always bring us situations such as these. Your counsel, all of your counsel, is appreciated."

"Thank you, Your Serene Highness," Prestwick said, his English accent as smooth as butter. "I live to serve."

"Keep me appraised of further developments. Go with God, Lord Prestwick."

After a gentlemanly nod, the old man left the room.

"Cousin, I do not appreciate you verbally sparring with the Secretary of the Foreign Office!" Sara-Marie abruptly declared, focusing her eyes on her older relative. "I understand your frustrations with our situation, I truly do, but what is done is done. We must be grateful the Mariks have chosen to surrender what they have. And at least our children are still safe." She said that knowing that Mark had yet again seen combat, even if Thomas and Melissa had not.

Alexander's jaw set, but after an intent look from Kalling, he nodded. "You are correct, HIghness, I was out of line, and I accept your rebuke."

"Very good. I don't want to see that display again, cousin." Sara-Marie allowed her voice to soften some. "You had other matters to explain?"

"The damage the 2nd Regiment took at Jardine was greater than we'd anticipated. It seems the local population had the resources to bring two battalions of anti-air vehicles into action. The 19th Aerospace Wing was wiped out to the last fighter, and the 2nd Regiment's transport DropShips were damaged during landing. It is clear, Your Serene Highness, that the current organization of our aerospace support assets is insufficient to the dangers our units face in combat situations."

"What do you propose?"

Kalling spoke up this time. "This coming year, we should see about giving each unit a full group of aerospace assets, including medium-weight fighters. Our expanded resources will permit us to begin such an expansion program, particularly with the expansion of Gienah Aerospace Industries' manufacturing facilities."

"We will see how the budget works out in the coming year."

"There are also other budgetary matters we must speak on…"

 

[Big Steve]

Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Arcadia
Arcadian Free March


Sara-Marie walked quietly towards the palace's ducal suites, the wing where she and her family lived and had something approaching a domestic life. She was ready for a little domestic tranquility after a day spent in the Laughlin Capital District touring government offices, dealing with an interview by a journalist not afraid to ask hard questions about the Free March's rapid expansion, and spending three hours in a Privy Council meeting to discuss the government budget plan for the rest of the year, culminating with the Council disagreeing with the idea of expanding the AFFM operational budget for the rest of the year. Given that there were a number on the Council who didn't agree with the rapid expansion of the Free March, that was not unexpected.

It was not tranquility that met her at the door to the family wing. The moment she owned the door a blur of black and brown and white flew from it. She barely had time to recover from the sight before Abigail Proctor, her younger daughter, got to the door and rushed through it. She was in a house gown of white that covered her from neck to ankles, her long locks of dark amber flowing down to her upper back. She was tall, big even, even among Proctors, with 185 centimeters to tower over Sara-Marie and the older twins while standing eye-to-eye with her eldest brother. Her soprano voice called out "Frisky!" as she ran past, a towel clutched in her hand.

"Abby!" Sara-Marie watched her daughter rush down the hall in pursuit of her niece Rachel's cat. At least the Council is gone and I do not have noble guets, she thought. It wouldn't do for a princess to be seen running the halls in pursuit of a cat. She stepped into their abode and the living area. The furnishings were fine wood-carved chairs and couches with cushioned linings. They faced a large holovid unit while two desks in another corner had personal computer systems installed in them. The holovid showed two BattleMechs fighting in what looked like melee combat, and Sara-Marie quickly noted it was likely a film, not some documentary or news story.

Her youngest, sixteen year old William - "Willy" - was spread out on one of the couches. He was only paying partial attention to the film, staring at an image on his noteputer. Sara-Marie darkly suspected it was a girl, and also suspected it was the daughter of the palace's lead maid. And while Sara-Marie was no snob, being the granddaughter of the most famous commoner-born Arcadian in the planet's history, she knew that not every commoner romance was a fairy tale come true. There were those who exploited such matches for various ends, including criminal ones. She didn't want to see her son caught by such.

Thomas seemed to be employing the movie for noise more than anything. His brown eye fixed on her immediately and she could tell he wanted to have a Frank Discussion. Figuring it was about Willy's crush, she nodded and led him to her study. Once the door was closed she asked, "Still the same girl?"

"Yes, but I have that in hand," he said. "It is Abby was must talk about."

"Oh?"

"She turns nineteen soon. She is of age, and if she is to join her age-appropriate class at Ayrshire, she needs to finalize her admission now. Certainly she has the grades for it."

Sara-Marie restrained the sigh she felt forming in her chest. She walked over to one of the pleasant leather-cushioned couches of the study and prompted her husband to sit beside her. "She does have the grades," Sara-Marie agreed. "And Alexander has inquired about her admission as well. His youngest will be a first year cadet as well, and he thought they might be well-served by studying for the admission exam together."

"And yet she has not started the studies. Nor has she scheduled the test. If she hasn't passed it in the next six weeks, she can't attend AMSA until next form after New Year's. I think we should speak to her."

Sara-Marie could tell this troubled her husband. At the same time, she thought of Rachel's words when they last spoke privately. Their wish for Abigail to pursue the studies she wished, not what tradition dictated. The tradition that she initially followed before her father's illness made it clear she needed to leave the AFFM to aid him.

"Tradition is important… but I admit, I wonder if she should have the freedom to choose her own life."

"She cannot, and you know this, Sara," Thomas said. "She is a direct heiress. It will be expected of her to serve. What she does after her service is another matter, but she must start there."

Their discussion had no chance to continue. The door opened and Abby entered, carrying Frisky in her arms wrapped in a towel. The cat seemed placated for the moment by the chase it gave her. "Mama, I wanted to say I'm sorry," the teenage girl said. "I know I almost ran into you, but I'd just given Frisky a bath and I didn't want him running out of the palace and getting dirty again."

"It's quite alright," Sara-Marie assured her.

"Abby, dear, your mother and I hae a question to ask," Thomas said. "Have you begun studying for the AMSA placement exam yet? You've not a lot of time."

There was no mistaking the pained look that came to their daughter's face, one she forced away after a few moments. "No, Papa, I haven't. I'll start right away," she promised. With that said, she left the room.

"She knows her duty, then," Thomas said with approval. "She will do well. I can see her in the battle armor infantry after she graduates."

Sara-Marie said nothing, only giving her husband a nod.




As the hour of midnight drew near, Sara-Marie readied for bed. Her husband was already retired and waiting for her, Willy was in his room, everything was ready for the end of the night.

What stopped her from returning to her bedroom was the soft sound coming from one of the other rooms. She approached the door to Abigail's room. Only as she drew near did she recognize the sound.

Weeping.

Gently she opened the door, letting the hall light spill into the dark room. This illuminated part of the dresser by the entrance, showing a stack of papers on it. Sara-Marie's eyes moved over and noticed the header on them.

University of New Omaha College of Veterinary Medicine.

Abigail turned on the bed, looking to her mother with reddened blue eyes. Dried tear showed on her face, as did the current wet ones. Frisky was beside her, nuzzling her face.

Sara-Marie quietly closed the door. "Abby? What's wrong?"

That brought another sob from Abby, who clenched one fist while the other wiped at her eyes. "Mama, I…. please… I don't want to go."

"To AMSA?"

"I don't want to be in the AFFM," Abby wept. "I want to go to veterinary school. I want to heal animals. I-I'm not like Tom or the others, I'm not a soldier…"

Sara-Marie swallowed and approached the bed. She sat down on it and invited Abby to embrace her. The younger woman did, as if she were ten years younger. "Your father has his expectations, and I have mine," she said, running a hand through Abby's locks of hair. "I know how crushing it can be to try and meet those."

"WIth Grandpa Will?" Given none of her children ever met her father, they all relied on her recollections and those of others.

"Yes. I went through training myself, though I hated it, because he expected it of me. I'd have gone through the entire four years and into the service if I had to just to please him."

"And now I have to." Abigail sounded miserable as she spoke. "Even if I don't want to… even if I can't. I have to because you're my mother. We're supposed to hate slavery like our great-grandmother, but we make ourselves slaves to tradition!"

"Abby…"

"I could renounce my title," she said. "Rachel said I could, if I had to. To be what I want to be."

The prospect of her daughter doing that filled Sara-Marie with dread. "That wouldn't help matters," she said. "You'd still be a target. The scandalvids would still send people to follow you, reporters would try to talk to you. Nothing you do will change the fact you are my daughter."

"But I could choose my education. I could choose to go to Concord and the veterinary school at New Omaha! They're the best in the Free March!"

"I'm sure they are. But I'm telling you…" Sara-Marie ran her hands down onto her daughter's face to wipe away tears. "...I'm telling you that you don't have to go that far. If you want to go to veterinary school instead, that is your choice, and I will support you."

Abby's eyes widened in surprise. "You… you would? Even against Alex and Papa and the others?"

Sara-Marie's voice grew firm. "I am the March-Princess. If I say you can, you can, and that is final." She gave Abby a pat on the cheek. "Now go to bed, Abby, and get your sleep. I'm sure New Omaha has admissions tests you need to pass as well."

For the rest of her life, Sara-Marie would never forget the look of sheer joy and gratitude on her daughter's face at her words.

 

[Big Steve]

(This post was in response to an in-game storyline/event involving an ethnic conflict in the former Draconis Combine and two of the Combine splinter states.)


St. Cameron War Cemetery
Near Mantinea, Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
12 June 3033


The sun shined brightly over the hilly fields outside of the city of Mantinea in the heartland of Arcadia's main continent. The city itself stood at the border area between the Anglo-Scottish districts further east and the Greek ones to the west, the major metropole of the Pan River Valley and a center for Arcadia's best agricultural land. It was a pleasant little city in a pleasant place to live.

Upon arrival at her current destination, Sara-Marie reflected that it had not always been so. Long before her birth, in Arcadia's Age of Chains, the Baron of Mantinea was one of Prince Tabot's vassals. The farms and ranches along the Pan River and its tributaries were tended not by the free landowning farmers of today but by forced laborers watched over by Tabot's troops. Mantinea was the breadbasket that fed Tabot's army and gave him the loyalty of the troops that made him the greatest of Arcadia's "rulers", or as posterity now called them, the greatest of the Arcadian Slaver Lords.

Naturally it made the liberation of Mantinea and the countryside around it a priority for Sara Proctor in her war, but it'd taken time to get the forces necessary. And the result…

The air-limo whirred to a stop at the entrance to the small chapel at the heart of the St. Cameron Cemetery. She emerged in the company of her husband and two youngest children. Given the nature of the ceremony she and Thomas were in AFFM uniform, with hers showing the unique gold hawk-on-silver square insignia as the ruler of the March while Thomas had the golden hawk-and-silver sword insignia of a Colonel instead of the three bar rank of a Major as he'd been when he'd retired at his wedding to Sara-Marie. The higher rank was his right by dint of being the ceremonial Colonel-in-Chief of the 1st Free March Regiment.

They walked on in a unit with long-practiced family discipline, knowing they were being recorded for later broadcast, while behind them other dignitaries from Roslyn and Laughlin came. Sara-Marie kept her eyes looking straight forward while enjoying, as she often did, Thomas' arm on hers.

She didn't need to turn her head to see the statues and graves. Each of these graves contained a Warrior Monk of St. Cameron, the oldest dating to 2927. Again, it was why they had come.

Inside the chapel, the assembled dignitaries were joined by those from Mantinea itself, the clergy and groundskeepers responsible for the site, and a representative from the Warrior Monks, a retired MechWarrior of the order spending his last days overseeing the site dedicated to his fallen brothers and sisters. The old man was nearly as old the cemetery itself, being near to the age that Sara-Marie's grandmother reached when she finally passed. Despite everything he was still dressed in the simple garb the Warrior Monks favored.

Once the chapel was full the ceremony began. The Anglican Church operated the chapel and conducted the memorial service in their fashion. Hymns and prayers were offered to the memory of the slain.

Finally, it came to Sara-Marie to speak. She ascended the pulpit and glanced at her notes, now showing digitally on a hidden screen. She never rested her eyes on them, preferring to keep them on the audience.

"We come again to this place as the Inner Sphere rings anew with the stories of the valor of the Warrior Monks," she began. "On Minakuchi, a new generation of their order has answered the call of the slain that rest here, fulfilling the vows that once led so many to serve the Liberator in her goal of saving Arcadia."

"Let our presence here be a reminder to these brave souls, now mourning their lost, that the people of Arcadia remember their part in the Liberation. We remember, with swelling hearts, the deeds of their forebearers on the Twelfth of June, 2927, when ninety Warrior Monks and their old BattleMechs were all that stood between the freed slaves of Mantinea and the forces of the Slaver Lord Tabot that sought their extermination. Our countrymen were spared murder that day by those ninety souls that laid down their lives, purchasing time with their life's blood for the Liberation Army to march to Mantinea's defense. If not for them, thousands of our people would have been slain."

"Their stand on Minakuchi did not have such a happy ending. The fate of those they died to protect is still unknown to us, and I hope and pray the Azami will recognize the evils done and draw back from the commission of more. But whatever their choice, we will remember. We will always remember."

"I invite Dame Janine Larry, the aunt of the slain hero of Minakuchi, to speak…"

The wizened old woman, a retired AFFM General in uniform for the occasion, rose and approached the pulpit, Sara-Marie withdrawing afterward.

After the speeches and eulogies were given, the gathered started their departures. "I know it is custom to do this every year, but this year seems particularly fitting for us to attend," said Thomas. "The news from the Rengo-Azami border is particularly bad."

"I know. Lord Prestwick believes I acted precipitously by giving the Monk-Colonel the GCSM, but it was right to do so. The Warrior Monks fought hard for our people a hundred years ago. We cannot forget them now."

"And if the Azami take offense?"

"Then they take offense. If they had not allowed conditions to get so bad on those worlds, this wouldn't have happened. They would have had no face to save." Even as she spoke Sara-Marie pondered how much she could stand on moral principle there. The worlds of the Free March had their own minorities, and the relations weren't always good. The Druze on Dar-es-Salaam, the Tanganyikan-descended communities on Mariefred, the Capellan expatriates on Concord… and perhaps even more now that the Free March had added more worlds.

But we do not allow such abuses. The AFFM would intervene before forcing the Warrior Monks or another to do so.

"I will leave the Azami response to God," Sara-Marie answered. "For now, we should go. The Baron of Mantinea's invitation is also customarily accepted, and his cook makes a remarkable baklava…"

 

[Big Steve]

The March Esplanade
Laughlin Capital District, Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
29 June 3033


The heart of the Laughlin Capital District was the March Esplanade, the long boulevard running north-south in the middle of the city within a city. To either side of the boulevard were lines of eateries and shops, and beyond them, the splendid courtyards and porticos leading to the Government Offices, where the leaders of the Free March government worked. At the north end of the Esplanade, its termination was marked by the Greek-columned Assembly Building, the center of legislative government for the entire Free March.

Toward the south end, facing the distant heart of the civilian government, was the Defense Center. These buildings lacked the classical grandeur of other government structures, representing function over form. Armored gates manned by trained security personnel manned the gates, which were also watched over by towering Black Knight BattleMechs.

While the entrance and exits were so well guarded, it didn't keep the civilian and even military staff of the center from crossing Jerricks Avenue to enjoy the presence of the Esplanade, and the various restaurants and eateries at the southern end often enjoyed the patronage of Defense Office and AFFM personnel.

Including the very highest.

Lady Tabitha Proctor sat at her table, quietly enjoying coffee and a gyro from a Greek family's eatery. Given her wizened face and snow-white hair fringed with gray, the grim look on her face didn't seem out of place to observers. And while it wasn't out of place in truth, it was also not a simple glowering look from an ancient warrior approaching the end of her career.

A man came up and sat across from her. Had the fellow in the civilian business coat and suit been any other, Lady Tabitha would have demanded he leave. Her blue eyes met his gray ones, which she thought perfectly suited him given his position, one so near her own. "Sir James," she said.

"Your Ladyship." Sir James Bronson spoke his English with the refined accent of a man from Ford. Even today Lady Tabitha didn't know if it was his original accent, given how extensively he'd been trained in the covert operations branch of the Free March's Security Information Service. He now served as the Director of that agency, the spy turned into the spymaster. "Greek cuisine. Quite unexpected for you."

Tabitha's countenance briefly gave way to a small grin. "My grandson swears by them. Trying one seemed the best thing to do."

"Off with his regiment, then? He's a 2nd Lieutenant in the 1st Regiment, 2nd Battalion. Pilots a Vindcator I believe?"

"Yes." She wasn't surprised Bronson knew about Peter's assignment. "They're going to relocate once the Mariks take formal possession of Midkiff."

"Ah, presumably off to another world," suggested SIr James. "Pingree, perhaps."

"There are still a few planets on our frontiers not yet secured, but Lord Alexander is seeing to the targeting plans. I have other matters of concern."

"As do we all."

The middle-aged man and elderly woman exchanged quiet looks. Lady Tabitha finally shook her head. "As impressive as ever, Sir James. I hope your agents in the field share your poker face."

"They wouldn't be in the field if they couldn't." With that Sir James gestured to the approaching waiter. "Coffee and two slices of tiropita, please." He returned his attention to Tabitha. "It's a cheese pastry, I think you'll enjoy it."

"We'll see."

"Am I correct in assuming you wished to speak to me off the record? About Bolan?" Seeing the look in her eyes, he nodded. "Of course."

"Our strategic projections and simulations are worrying," Tabitha confided. "Bolan itself is likely to fall in the next month or two. Several other worlds are in the same state or have already fallen, freeing the Marians for further attacks. The complete conquest of the Bolan Principality is considered inevitable by the end of next year, as early as a year from now. And we will have another of the Inner Sphere's expanding powers on our border and no more room for our own expansion."

"Has the Planning Staff considered going for Bolan worlds ourselves?"

"The idea came up, but there is skepticism we might even have a chance for it. The Marians are already attacking worlds in the vicinity of Bolan while we still need to secure Zvolen and the worlds beyond. It's possible we could take Gypsum, perhaps, if we're fast, willing to offend the Marians, and willing to look like jackals to the rest of the Inner Sphere."

A sardonic look came to his eyes. "I'm sure the people of Gypsum would feel differently. We won't turn any of them into slave."

Tabitha nodded, narrowing her eyes. "True. But we're not ready for a war with the Marians yet. Maybe not ever, without allies, and time will tell if we will find any. What we definitely need is better intelligence on Marian intentions. Have you learned anything new?"

"If I find anything, I'll let you know."

"So you have nothing yet?" Tabitha leveled a skeptical look at him. "SIS has operatives in Bolan, that I'm sure, given the reports on that Promised Land business. We need to know more if we're to construct a workable response."

"We know many things," Bronson conceded, "but how much of it is accurate? What is false data made to mislead, or misinterpreted data? That is, and always has been, the issue in intelligence operations, as you yourself are aware. We are always grasping at shadows." Sir James folded his hands on the table. "Trust us to do our jobs, Lady Tabitha, just as we trust Military Intelligence to do theirs."

"Fair enough." She took a drink of coffee. "Hopefully you will learn something from your people on Bolan."

As she expected, Bronson didn't reply.


Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Arcadia

The holovid footage coming from Bolan was sobering, as were the reports of the Ambassador, Sir Ian Stafford-Cripps. Sara-Marie read his missive while Lord Prestwick and General Harding waited quietly. "After Promised Land, we anticipated a response," he said. "But the scope… no, not at all. The sheer aggression of the Marian offensive is staggering compared to the complaint. It is like they are daring other states to stand in their way."

"They have turned the attack into an excuse for the outright conquest of Bolan," Harding said. "And unless Marik or DefHes openly intervene, they'll have it. We can't stop that. We'd have to pull regiments off garrison duty to intervene on Bolan, and we don't have the funds or supply stockpile to sustain a campaign, much less a major interstellar war at this juncture."

"So all we can do is ineffectually protest and hope other powers do the same," Sara-Marie noted. "How typical of things."

"To put it bluntly, Highness, we waited too long," Harding remarked. "If we had secured our frontiers two years ago, we would have the resources needed to have more options. As it stands, all we can do is adjust our deployments to deal with the prospect of Marian incursions onto our worlds. They will have to finish off Bolan first, of course, so we have some time to get more troops in line and secure more systems on the Bolan frontier. If they manage to make the Marians fight harder and inflict greater losses, we might have openings to secure Gypsum at the very least."

"That would undermine our position to the rest of the Inner Sphere," Prestwick protested.

"Mister Secretary, the rest of the Inner Sphere is not going to protect us anyway. We must see to our own security."

"Some diplomacy is necessary, General, we must keep that in mind." Sara-Marie nodded to Prestwick. "Inform Their Excellencies the Ambassadors of Donegal, Marik, Hesperus, and the New Commonwealth that given the situation, the Free March believes we should be ready to cooperate more closely against the potential threat from the Periphery."

"I don't see any cooperation between Marik and her former foes," Harding snorted.

"Regardless, I shall investigate the possibility. By your leave, Serene Highness?"

At her gesture, the old man departed.

"I will speak with Lord Alexander and Lady Tabitha about our timetables, and if we might take any risks," Harding said. "Anything else, Highness?"

"Yes," she said. "We cannot save the Principality of Bolan. But have plans ready so that we can, at least, save as many of their people as we can."

Harding nodded. "Permission to see to Your Serene Highness' orders?"

"You're dismissed, General."

With that he departed, leaving Sara-Marie to finish Ambassador Stafford-Crips' sobering missive. The Marians… their very existence seems to mock our most cherished values. And is there nothing we might do about it? Truly?

Lord as my witness, I will make sure the answer is "No".

 

[Big Steve]

Janey's Diner
Kellerville, Concord
Arcadian Free March
4 July 3033

The Fourth of July was a holiday on Concord. Given the planet's population was overwhelmingly descended from North American settlers, if still of a diverse ethnic background, the days of the year important to their ancestors on Terra remained important to them. While nearly thirteen hundred years separated them from the Founding Fathers of the United States of America, the sentiments of the late 18th century still held a certain sway. Concord's nobility was a vestigial class that hadn't been added to since the start of the 30th Century, when the threat of rebellion led the Franklins - the ducal rulers of the planet under the Free Worlds League - to divest almost all of their power and the authority to take feudal oaths, allowing a government modeled after their ancestors' to become the real power on the planet.

Membership in the Free March had done little to change this, as the Free March Constitution not only upheld the same basic rights, it let Concord continue to govern itself as its people pleased. Only a certain levy from the planet's tax income every year, as well as import duties for goods outside the Free March, existed, and the people of Concord often voted in parties to push for lower taxes and duties in the March Assembly. It was, after all, in keeping with the spirit of their ancestors' cry: "No taxation without representation".

Many businesses in Kellerville were due to close early, to allow their working staff and owners to attend the town's July 4th parade and fireworks parade. Janey's Diner would be no exception, but for now, Janey Whitman and her extended family of nephews, nieces, and cousins continued to work to provide comfort food for the hard-working folk of the little mountain valley town.

Janey herself emerged from the kitchen, content that her daughter Linda had all the orders coming up. Two of the dining booths were taken up, their cushioned red seating framed with faux wood the same color as their tables, while four more patrons were at the bar. She didn't serve strong drink - Janey was a lifelong member of the Kellerville Evangelical Baptist Church and didn't believe it appropriate - but the law allowed her to dispense beer on the menu.

She handed one such beer to one of her best customers. Robert Keller was a descendant of the family that founded the town, mostly to support their logging operations in the forested hills of the area. Like her, he had graying hair and was a member of the Evangelical Baptist Church, a deacon these days now that his son Andrew was taking up more of the family duties. "Ah, Murray's," he said, looking at the label. "Best brewer in Appalachia."

"That they are," Janey agreed. "So Bob, you got any surprises for the parade?"

His brown eyes twinkled. "Now Janey, you know I can't say, the other Parade Committee members would be disappointed. I can tell you the fireworks will be nice." He nodded. "How's the grandson? He's been offworld for a couple months now."

"His unit's stopping on Gallatin, that world the March got from Marik," Janey said. Her son Peter Whitman was a 2nd Lieutenant, formerly in the militia brigade assigned to Concord - the 3rd - but now a member of the Concord Borderers. "Said something about it not being a long stop."

"Well, hope he's home soon enough." Rob Keller's face told he knew better. He'd had a daughter, Tricia, who ran off to join the militia as well. She'd ended up joining the regular units, one of the Free March regular regiments, just to get killed on Hyde in a skirmish with the Landgrave of Fianna's troops on a raid. He'd later have great satisfaction that his daughter's unit helped kill the bastard and take his world from his insane family.

"I'm praying for them all. And for those poor souls on Bolan."

"We all are, Janey, trust me."

Both recalled Reverend Jackson's sermon the prior Sunday. He'd focused heavily on the spiritual costs of murder and stealing, and the sin against God of slavery. Many of his verse readings had brought up the evils of Rome at the time, and nobody could be uncertain of just who he was preaching against.

"The holovids are saying we might go to war with the Marians. I hope not." Janey shook her head. "I want Pete coming home alive."

Again that twinkle came from Bob's eyes. "With a sweet girl from another planet, maybe? Some dear who swoons him, not realizing she's going to spend the rest of her life working in this diner?"

That prompted a laugh.



Community Festival Hall
Waldkraiburg, Hollabrunn
Arcadian Free March
5 July 3033


The mountainside town of Waldkraiburg was built to emulate the old Terran homeland of the Bavarian Germans who settled King Ludwig's Continent on Hollabrunn in the 23rd Century. Named for a town of Bavaria, over the centuries it remained much the same, a community center for local dairy and grain farmers to send their hard-earned milk and wheat to for shipment to grocers across the planet.'

The Community Festival Hall, usually just called the beerhaus given the usual servings within, was the site of a happy occasion. The local nobleman, Freiherr Reinhardt von Krager, was treating his neighbors as part of the reception for the wedding of his daughter Greta to the younger son of one of the planet's three major nobles, the Graf Wittelsbach-Lichtenstein. The young man, named Rudolf, looked grand in the red uniform of the Free March, serving as a Major with the military's supply office on planet while between postings to the line regiments. The two family coats-of-arms were festooned on banners around the hall, the Graf's more familiar as the blue-and-white checkerboard design stretched back to his ancient family's days as Dukes and later Kings of Bavaria before the end of German monarchism.

Seated among the celebrants, Heinrich Fischer and his friend Otto Schrek downed steins of rich beer from the Freiherr's brewery. Waldkraiburg's beer may not be Timbiqui Dark, but anyone from Hollabrunn would swear by it. Otto put the stein down so he could check his noteputer for messages, a necessity given the arm he'd lost fighting in the Landgraf von Hollabrunn's war against the vicious Cutter Brigade two decades ago. A former infantryman, he was one of the few of his kind who could brag about having killed a BattleMech while living to tell the tale. Heinrich, a former Commando pilot in the Hollabrunnische-Garde-Division, did not begrudge hearing those tales. He had his own from the Cutter Brigade's war on his world and the shattering of the Hollabrunn Guards, such that the Free March was never able to reconstitute them after they came in to destroy the mercenaries and win the Landgraf's accession to the Free March.

"So, how is the farm?" Heinrich asked his friend. "Still running the tractor single-handedly, Otto?"

"As always. Yours?"

"The milk cows have been giving me trouble," Heinrich groused. "I think it is something in their feed. It's the last time I buy offworld feed, I tell you."

"You should have stuck with the local feed. I told you I'd have you some soon."

"Everyone was sold out. There are too many dairies around here, Otto. I'm worried the market may not hold out." Heinrich led his friend over to a barrel. He pulled the stopper to replenish his stein and did the same for his one-armed friend. "Those idiots from the Arcadian Office of Agriculture insist the market's fine, but I don't trust them. They're off on the capital world looking at figures, not here seeing all of the new farms."

"Maybe it will even out, in the end," Otto suggested. "There are other things to do with cattle."

"Spoken like a wheat farmer!" Heinrich guffawed. While farming was farming, he sometimes despaired at the inability of others to not understand that it was a terrible waste to slaughter a good Hollabrunn milk cow. Even one being mismanaged by "entrepreneurs" out to make a quick pound. "You will not laugh if enough farms get wiped out and you must pay more for the cheese you have to put on everything!"

"Maybe the Landtag will issue restrictions, then. That would be better, and the Arcadians can leave the matter alone."

"Half of them are investing in this!" Heinrich snorted, grateful he hadn't taken his next drink. He did so and savored the richness of the Waldkraiburg stout.

A booming voice called out for attention. The Freiherr Reinhardt, his blond hair whitening at the temples, stood from his chair. Beside him was his wife Claudia, the daughter of a noble family from the Warri District settled by Cameroonians during Hollabrunn's second wave of colonization. Her complexion was thus a dark brown in contrast to the Freiherr's light skin. Greta von Krager-Wittelsbach-Lichtenstein and her new husband Rudolf stood as well. "My thanks for so many of you attending today, you have blessed my lovely daughter and her handsome bridegroom!" Applause came. "A toast to the good folk of Waldkraiburg!"

Heinrich and Otto joined in, cheering as they did.


Roslov Residence
Nevagrad, Giausar
Arcadian Free March
3 July 3033


As with the settlement of much of the Inner Sphere, the national and ethnic makeup of the colonists could be quite non-uniform. While many Russians, for instance, chose to settle in and around Tikonov, one group from the Siberian plateau headed in the other direction, brought by promises of land grants and prosperity on the southwestern continent of Giausar, Suvurovskiy.

Running a course from the high plateau of the continent's interior to the northwestern coast was the widest river on the planet, named the Neva by the Russian settlers. At times reaching a width of ten kilometers, it narrows to two as it approaches the sea at Pyotr Veliky Bay. Here, the settlers built two cities, one on each side, to take advantage of the varying terrain and the great width of the river: Petrograd and Nevagrad.

Nikolai Vasilievich Orlov left the Petrograd DropPort in an aircar taxi. He paid in a combination of C-bills, Arcadian pounds, and Donegal kroner. At his request the driver remained quiet while they took the ten kilometer drive across the Brusilov Bridge to Nevagrad. The two cities maintained a friendly, vibrant rivalry, Petrograd being a transportation hub and destination for goods and materials brought in by rail and truck transport from Suvurovskiy's interior, the latter being the center of the Russian-inhabited continent's economy, and the second-largest city on all Giausar.

The taxi deposited Orlov at his home in Brusilov District, where he had a lovely view of the Brusilov Bridge and the Neva. With a bag in hand he opened the door of his house and loudly declared "Papa is home!"

"Papa!"

The squeal of pleasure came from a nine year old and a five year old, a girl and a boy. Katarina Nikolaevna and Pavel Nikolaevich Orlov rushed from the family room and embraced Nikolai. "It's been so long, Papa!" Katarina shouted.

Little Pavel was more to the point. "Did you get us anything?"

"'Did you get us anything?' Is that all I am to my children, a source for toys and games?!" He put a fake growl into his voice before lifting his youngest son into his arms. The dark-haired boy squealed in delight. "Nine months, my little ones, but it is over. Your Papa returns in triumph!"

"Does he?"

Nikolai turned his attention to their mother. Illiana Pavelovna Orlov was, as always, lovely in his eyes, even if others thought her a little plump. She came up and kissed him warmly. "New Avalon, Tikonov, Hesperus, and Donegal?"

"All successful. Orlov Supply has contracts on all those worlds, and my shares will give us all we need to see to our family's comfort," Nikolai proclaimed. "My father may even promote me!"

"As long as he doesn't send you across the Inner Sphere again," Illiana said. "You are needed here."

"So I am." He looked around. "Where is Stanislav?"

"In his room. Likely talking with his friends on the planetary commnet. He enraged your father and brother last week by talking more of the nonsense he's getting."

"I will see him now, then." Nikolai put Pavel down and went upstairs. He noted, dourly, his son had placed the insignia of the Sudeten government on his door. "Stas! Stanislav! Come out and greet your father!"

A few moments later the door opened. Stanislav Nikolaevich Orlov had his father's eyes and his mother's plumpness, although he was working out enough to form muscle on his arms. "Ah, back home from your capitalist jaunt? Finding more ways to misuse the stolen value of your workers?"

"I had hoped you would get over this infatuation while I was gone. If you care so little for your family, why don't you go and join the workers you claim to love so much, see if they care about this nonsense?" Nikolai, who'd interacted with his share of the working class - having been apart of it when he was younger, knew they'd laugh at his son and hopefully wake him up.

"We plan on it. Ivan, Gregoriy, and Boris want to go to Sudeten and Nox with me, to see how the Inner Sphere is being changed by the Revolution," Stanislav declared, pronouncing "Revolution" with a capital R. "We are working to pay for the trip."

Nikolai spluttered in disbelief. "Nox?! Sudeten is bad enough, the Communists on Nox are insane! They burn people alive, Stanislav Nikolaevich! What do you think they'd do to you, the son of a shipping company family with noble blood!"

"They are my comrades, Father, they would be understanding," Stanislav insisted. "And the only people they killed were fascists and feudalists, enemies of the People and the Revolution."

"No! I forbid it! You are going nowhere, son, until you stop this foolish infatuation!"

That got the door slammed in his face.

Nikolai sighed as Illiana took his hand. "Foolish boy. How did I offend God to have my first born son become such a fool?"


Roscommon, County Dunmore
McAffe
Arcadian Free March
21 June 3033


Captain Sean McGrath was a part of the Free March Army's Personnel Division, mostly working with the 4th Free March Militia. Now he was driving around the rolling hills of Roscommon in County Dunmore, the fief of the O'Briens, in the company of the local parish priest, Father Aiden Maguire. Father Aiden was an older man than he, wearing the black cassock with white collar one expected of a Roman Catholic priest. A silver crucifix and rosary hung around the silver-haired man's neck. "It's nice of ye t' come out, Captain McGrath," he said. "You do a hard job."

"Not usually. Typically I just push paperwork." Like Father Aiden, McGrath had the brogue of the McAffe Irish, which was not far off from that of the McAffe Scots-Irish, the Ulstermen who settled the planet's northwestern continent and named it, quite provocatively, William's Continent. McGrath didn't like the Ulster types very much, not like he did the Skye-descended Scots that primarily inhabited the southern continent of Caledonia. But they all served together in the 4th FMM, marking their machines with Lions Rampant and Order of Orange insignia or the colors of the Irish flag.

"I served as a chaplain during th' Desert War," Aiden admitted. "I've always appreciated th' hell ye soldiers go through." He gestured towards a side road. "This way."

McGrath drove his car, a wheeled vehicle issued from the motorpool at the Fort Dunmore post, onto the loose gravel road. To one side, cattle imported from Earth centuries ago grazed quietly, while toward the other, grazing fields were left fallow to regrow.

They came up to a house. It wasn't a farmhouse, more like a small cottage, with toys strewn about the yard and a playset empty for the moment. The two men got out and approached the door. Father Aiden knocked on the door. A child no older than seen answered, with short red hair. "Mum, it's Father Aiden," the child said before looking to McGrath. "I'm Patricia."

McGrath had time to nod before the mother appeared. She was brown-haired with pale green eyes. "Father, what can I…" Her blue eyes took in the sight of McGrath, in his formal red uniform. She paled. "No…"

"Deirdre, this is Captain McGrath, from the base," Father Aiden said.

"Mother of God, please…"

It was clear she knew what to expect. McGrath's stomach twisted as he spoke, every word carefully pronounced, his officer's cover now off his head and in his hand. "Deirdre Corcoran, I'm Captain Sean McGrath, Free March Army. It is my solemn duty to inform you that your son, Lieutenant Andrew Corcoran of the 19th Aerospace Wing, was killed in action on the 8th of June during an engagement on Jardine."

The tears were forming by the time he finished speaking her name. Once he ended all doubt, the poor woman started wailing. "No! No no no! Not my baby!"

There was a chorus of pattering from within the home. Four more children came, the eldest a girl of about fifteen and the youngest a toddler in her arm. "Mum?" the eldest asked.

"Not Andrew! My baby! He can't be dead! He can't! Please, God, have mercy, give me back my son! Give me back my son!"

Aidan took over, taking the bereaved woman into his arms, while some of the children joined their mother's weeping. McGrath could say nothing more. He still had duties to perform, of course. It was his responsibility to set up the Corcoran family's survivor benefits, as the late Lieutenant Corcoran had arranged with Personnel.

But right now… right now he could do nothing, simply watch as the Corcorans mourned a loss that no survivor benefit could ever replace.

 

[Big Steve]

Near Salmo
Sarpsborg
Independent World
13 September 3033


Lieutenant Tanya Smith's Panther bounded over the open field on the outskirts of Sarpsborg's capital city, fleeing infantry soldiers scattering about before her. To her sides the other Panthers and Jenners of the 1st Regiment, 3rd Battalion's Company B pressed on the attack. The enemy infantry's positions outside of Salmo were broken, all that remained was compelling their surrender before they might try and turn the city into an urban combat zone.

A light hovertank presented itself to them, spraying light autocannon fire at 2nd Lieutenant Mayeso Mwangi's Valkyrie. The damage from a light weapon like that wasn't going to be severe, but with light machines it could still add up. Smith moved her targeting joystick and the 'Mech's right arm. The holographic crosshairs went gold as they centered on the tank. A stroke of her thumb trigger fired the PPC on the Panther's right arm. Accelerated particles formed a bolt of lightning, striking the hovercraft. Given the state of Sarpsborg's militia so far, Tanya wasn't surprised that the armor failed immediately, although it would have always struggled to resist a PPC strike given its size. The vehicle went up in a fireball from the cooking off of its autocannon ammunition.

Sheridan, Midkiff, now Sarpsborg. The Free March is running out of independent planets to secure. Tanya's thoughts turned toward the hectic year they'd had. After a couple years of relative quiet on McAffe, the 1st Regiment was moving more than it'd had in the last twenty years. The whole AFFM was.

Just surrender already, you idiots. You can't stop us. Be as smart as that ruler on Sheridan, recognize you're just throwing lives away!

Her holotank showed activity overhead. She looked up in time to see Sprinter Lance jetting forward. 1st Lieutenant Tamarova's unit piloted nothing but Spider 'Mechs, which despite the name were not quad-legged machines but very humanoid light 'Mechs with a massive array of jumpjets on their backs. She watched the four machines come to a landing in the middle of the enemy holotank formation. One of them pulled a picture perfect landing on one of the holotanks, its foot smashing through the crew compartment. Having thirty tons of metal and myomer land on you didn't leave the kind of remains that families could have in an open casket service. Tanya tried to not think of the crimson stain on the foot of the human-like machine as it stepped out of the tank.

"Damn idiots," she hissed over the tac-comm. "They're not accomplishing anything! They should just surrender!"

"I don't know, Lieutenant." It was the voice of one of her lancemates, 2nd Lieutenant Isabela Laguna, a Commando pilot from the Spanish-American communities on Launum. "If someone were out to conquer the Free March, would we just give up our independence like that? I mean, that's our job, right? Fighting so nobody conquers us?"

"Cut the chatter, Alpha 4," Tanya answered, although she knew it was nothing but a rote enforcement of military comm protocol.

After all, she didn't have an answer to the Lieutenant's actual point, did she? About fighting to protect one's independence, regardless of the odds? How far would she go, how far would the 1st Regiment or the entire AFFM go, to resist conquest?

I hope we never have to find out...


Castle Řezník
Trenčín, Zvolen
Arcadian Free March
19 September 3033


After the many weeks of jumping across the expanded Free March, Thomas Proctor was again denied the chance to practice his chosen profession as a military officer and required to act as the Heir-Apparent of the Free March. Their arrival in the system resulted in the same result seen at Ideyld, specifically, the ruler deciding to accept annexation instead of fighting a pointless battle with her grossly-overmatched army against the Arcadian Guards and the equally-skilled Arcadian Rangers. Now she was to surrender in a formal ceremony in her capital and personal estate.

Jozefína Řezník, the Duchess of Zvolen, waited with an entourage of her highest advisors under the watchful eyes of Thomas' company. Whatever her discontent with being a line officer, Lieutenant Verdes came through with the skill in which the twelve 'Mechs were lined up in formation with the Liberator. The Proctor family 'Mech was in dress parade color for the occasion, as were the rest of the company.

Thomas climbed down the rope ladder with barely an issue, his red dress uniform as crisp as it had been when he put it on. Vice Admiral Andros and her command officers, placed in charge of the Zvolen operation given the shakeup of the OpForces at mid-year, left an Army transport vehicle. She gave him something of a sardonic look before they turned their attention to the Duchess Jozefína.

Unlike the mad Landgrave of Fianna or the Duke of Ideyld, she was young. Thomas imagined she was about the age of his cousin Lady Rachel. She was dressed as a civilian, flanked by a man about the same age with the same light complexion and dark brown hair, although the different eye colors and facial structure argued he wasn't a relation. He was in a stylized military uniform of blue, clearly based on the old Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces design.

A table was placed between them by liveried servants flanking both sides of the courtyard. "Greetings, Highness, Admiral," the Duchess began, her English accented with more of a German accent than the Slovak majority of Zvolen. "I am ready to sign."

As the senior officer, it was Admiral Andros who gave the nod for staff officers to place the instruments of surrender and accession on the table. Thomas watched quietly as the Duchess Jozefína signed away her independence with a flourish. "There," she said, after which she stepped around the table and approached Thomas. She went down to a knee. "Your Highness Prince Thomas, I, Jozefína Řezník the rightful Duchess of Zvolen, recognize your mother, the March-Princess Sara-Marie, as my sovereign. I swear fealty to House Proctor and pledge my world to the Free March."

Without moving he spoke in ceremonial response. "I, Prince Thomas of the Free March, the Count of Roslyn and rightful heir to the March-Princess Sara-Marie, accept your oath of fealty in the name of the March-Princess, and pledge my line to the defense of your rights as the Duchess of Zvolen and the rights of your citizens and vassals. Please stand, Your Grace, as is right for a noble citizen of the Free March."

She did so, spelling an end to the ceremony. And without a laser fired, another world joins, Thomas thought to himself.

"I notice you remain unmarried, Your Highness?" the Duchess suddenly asked.

Oh no. This is going to be Ideyld all over again, he thought, recalling Duke Applegate's efforts to suggest his daughter as Thomas' wife. She offers herself then? Aloud, he said, "As of now, yes."

It must have been the look on his face, because Jozefína laughed. "Ah, you think I am offering myself to you, Highness? No, not at all." She extended a hand toward the uniformed officer at her side. "No, I am happily engaged to the Graf von Babenburg. Our wedding is two weeks before Christmas. If Your Highness is still on-planet, I would be delighted if you would do us the honor of attending."

With some relief at not having to deal with another would-be bride, Thomas pushed away his dislike of social gatherings in favor of politeness. "If my unit remains on your world then, I shall be delighted to attend."

"It is why I submitted so easily," she confessed. "I could not have you killing my groom in a hopeless fight." A slight sadness showed on her face. "A hundred and seventy years of independence, gone, but such is the lot of many worlds. I will not have my people suffer fighting for a hopeless cause. Better to accept the coming of the new government, and to take what rights we might yet keep."

"Under the Free March, Your Grace, I think you will find your independence remains mostly intact," Thomas answered. "Better than in other realms."

"Better than the Marians, certainly," she said. "Now, I would like to see you all for the reception. The people of Zvolen will not let it be said we lack for hospitality…"




Over Arganda
Independent World
15 September 3033


Princess Melissa Proctor pushed down the throttle pedals for her Lightning just before the laser fire from the Argandan Zero could cut into her fighter. Her holotank showed the light fighter maneuver to keep on her six. To her annoyance, it was aided by an ally in a Viper of all things, which acquired her with its SRMs. The launcher on each wing of the craft let loose with four of the potent missiles, all rushing for her at high thrust.

Her Lightning could take all eight if it had to, at least, if none managed to penetrate. Melissa had no intention of taking that risk, however. She shifted and twisted the flight stick to her right and again smashed the pedals on her feet. The Lightning's engine roared in response. Her thrust went to the red line while she soared through the upper atmosphere. A couple of impacts shook her fighter and her status display confirmed three hits and lost armor, but nothing else.

The Viper exploded a moment later, the victim of a penetrator fired from kilometers away by a Gauss Rifle. The weapon was a hammerblow to the inexpertly-maintained armor on the fighter, breaking through to set off the fighter's missile magazine. Her wingman, Fariq al-Khomsi, was doing his job.

"Nice kill, Charlie Six," she said into their tac-comm line.

"You will not be shot down on my watch, Inshallah," he replied.

Now it's my turn. She maneuvered again and acquired the Zero. The light fighter could out-turn her all day, not to mention outrun her, but the pilot was busy trying to acquire Fariq now. Her firing computer provided a predictive crosshairs for her, allowing her to attempt to acquire a hard lock. The yellow of the icon told her the shot wasn't a likely hit, forcing her to maneuver while Fariq fought to keep his heavier craft from taking laser hits. A ruby beam scoured armor from his wing while other shots missed.

C'mon… there we go… Yellow became red. Now!

Her finger stroked the trigger.

The penetrator round fired from the heavy weapon in her fighter's chin hit home, smashing into the Zero's fuselage. The fighter spun wildly from the impact disturbing the pilot's control. The range closed and Melissa, wanting a guaranteed kill, lined up another hard lock. All five of her lasers fired, three ruby beams joined by the streams of ruby darts from her pulse lasers.

Even with the hard lock and the range, one of the pulse shots and one of the normal laser missed. The other weapons were entirely on target, though, striking into the rear fuselage of the Zero in multiple places. The gouts of debris and flame told her she'd hit something critical, and the craft's engines starting to sputter out told her what. Another victim of the dispersed fuel tanks, she thought, aware of the one flaw in the otherwise potent light fighter. She held her fire and cut back thrust, allowing her to get the image of the pilot bailing from his dying craft. She'd scored another kill for the day.

It'd be her last. She noted her fuel indicator and triggered the wider tac-comm line. "Ranger Actual, this is Charlie Five, I'm approaching bingo fuel. Going to use what I have left to break atmo and RTB."

"Charlie Six here, I am also near bingo fuel," Fariq added.

"Confirmed, Charlie Flight," replied the wing control officer responsible for their wing of the Ranger ASG. "Enemy fighters are splashed?"

"We got the entire squadron," Melissa confirmed. "All four of the ones left, anyway. They won't be coming back to harass the landing."

"Good job, Charlie Flight. You are clear to RTB, sending course data now."

The Ranger's traffic control systems provided her display data, giving her a line to follow. Melissa kicked her engines past Arganda's gravity well intensity and drove her craft upward toward the void she enjoyed so much. Another world to fall. It's been such a busy year for everyone. It feels strange… I came out here to find independence rather than pursue being yet another MechWarrior of the Proctor dynasty. Yet now we're taking the independence of other worlds. Is that what it costs, then, to protect our own? How much of a price are we willing to pay?

Melissa sighed in contentment as the limiting atmosphere of Arganda vanished, her fighter slipping free of the gravity well. The G forces were tough, but they weren't new at all. At least she was free of aerodynamics and all of the ways atmospheric flight forced her to change her flying style. Remembering a song she heard another crewer singing, she started to softly sing the words to herself.

"...I don't care, I'm still free, you can't take the sky from me…"



Schönbrunn Palace
Vienna, Drosendorf
Arcadian Free March
September 25, 3033


Brigadier Abdul Rahman Rayhan knew enough history to be amused that the Duke of Drosendorf chose to name his new capital "Vienna", or rather the German "Wien", after the city on Terra that once served as capital to the Habsburg dynasty. It was that same city that twice turned back the armies of Islam and forbade their entry into the heart of Central Europe. Allah has a sense of humor then, to see us here now in triumph, he thought.

It was the only bemusement he and his could find. The Duke's surrender aside, several diehard companies of his Lifeguard unit survived the grueling fight to take Vienna. They were now dispersed in the countryside resisting the occupation.

And, as it turned out, they were not the only ones to be doing so.

His staff finished their third prayer of the day in time for the broadcast. The signal was planetary only, transmitted over wireless digital and analog bands.

The red-robed man was of European and East Asian descent. A madness glittered in his dark eyes that matched the manic look on his hooded face. "...the time of Blake's revelation will soon be at hand, my brethren. The Word of Blake will not be denied! Do not lose heart and remember that those who fall in Blake's name will be given new life in the world to come! Until the world has been made whole again and the sins of DeChevalier purged…"

Colonel Khalid Rayhan frowned at the image. "It is bad enough that half of the Duke's lifeguard slipped away and fight as bandits. These cultists are killers." The commander of the Rayhan House Guards, the battle-armored infantry battalion assigned to the regiment, massaged his knuckles. "Just yesterday they set off a bomb that killed two of my men and wounded a third."

"Even in their armor?" Abdul Rahman asked.

"It was a truck filled with explosive plastique outside of Salzburg. The armor was not enough." Khalid shook his head. "Inshallah, we must catch this man, or send him to Allah for judgment."

"He may be mad," said Lt. Colonel Yacoub al-Rumaihi, the MechWarrior in command of the Cavalry 2nd Battalion.

"If so, then Allah will be merciful," Abdul Rahman said. "If not, he will be punished for eternity for ensnaring souls with his lies."

"Da, yes," agreed Lt. Colonel Sergei Timofevich Semyenov, commander of the 19th Free March Artillery. "This world seems to have become a spiritual pit. No wonder even a madman can find so many willing followers."

The quiet voice through all of this was Lt. Colonel Calvin Hodges. The blond-haired Arcadian-born man was the senior-most MechWarrior to not be from Dar-es-Salaam, and unlike Semyenov and his semi-devout Russian Orthodox beliefs, didn't have a shred of religious belief in his body. He spoke up only after finishing the report he had from military intelligence, given the need to serve as the regimental MI officer following Lt. Colonel Qadir's relief from duty due to appendicitis. "We finally got a positive ID on the 'Master'. His name is Cameron Toyama. He used to be a planetary director for ComStar before he had a psychotic break fifteen years ago. Apparently he now claims that General Aleksandr Kerensky was supposed to survive the victory over Amaris to lead the SLDF off into deep space, allowing Jerome Blake to found ComStar as a spiritual organization to guide Mankind to enlightenment following the collapse of the Successor States. He tells his believers that if they gain enough converts, the power of their spirits will warp time and space and rewrite history so that Kerensky never died and DeChevalier never founded the Terran Union."

"Jerome Blake? What was so special about a communications minister that someone would liken him to Allah?" Khalid snorted.

"It is irrelevant," Abdul Rahman declared. "Either way, I've asked for reinforcements. It will take time, but hopefully the people of this world will recognize the wisdom in Duke Horn's submission. Remind our soldiers to be mindful until the insurgency is dissolved."

"Yes, Brigadier," the assembled answered.


(The following segment has the approval of Shroom Man 777



Aparri, Pingree
Arcadian Free March
29 September 3033


Ramon Medrano couldn't remember a worse day in his life than this one. The young man, a twenty one year old volunteer to the Luzon Defense Corps, sat with the rest of his platoon in the warehouse district of Aparri, where the company of soldiers he was a part of were recuperating from the lost battle for Tuguegarao.

Before this moment, he would have thought the worst day was about seventy hours before, during the fighting for Tuguegarao, as he and the others fought against the BattleMechs of the 4th Free March Regiment. The machines were monstrous things, towering up to ten meters tall, and carried weapons he normally associated with tanks or fighters. The Luzon Rifles fought like men possessed to drive them out of their lands, but for every 'Mech they brought down with explosives or traps, two would come up and commence slaughters that left this group the only survivors of their entire battalion. He could still see his old friend Luis Pedrano torn in two by a kick from the machine…

Today was worse because it'd been for nothing.

They watched the government in Manila, the same men and women that called them to arms, sign the surrender, and the feeling of treachery simply choked Ramon. His leaders were submitting. After a hundred years of asserting their independence, even against the Yanqui-dominated planetary government in Bennington, the people of the New Philippines were submitting to foreign rule yet again.

It can't end like this! No!

A grim silence gripped the room. Their commander, Captain Kian Rivera, turned away with disgusted tears in his eyes.

"So… we lost," one of the others said. "We fought so hard and we lost anyway…"

"We've failed our people."

More silence came. The depression threatened to smother them all.

The last of Ramon's neighbors in the unit, Manuel Ybarra, stepped up to the television. "Time for something we can all enjoy," he said, and with a couple of button presses, he switched the channel.

The screen now showed a room painted in variable colors. The man on the screen was a Sino-Filipino, and he spoke with a Viscayan accent.

Eyes drifted toward the screen, and Ramon noticed a couple wan smiles appear. Everyone on Pingree knew the voice and quirky mannerisms of Jon Lee Vincento, the Cebu City comedian responsible for The Shroom Man Family Hour, with its trippy pop culture jokes, surrealism, and potty humor, not to mention pokes at the governments on the Philippine continents and over on the continent of Chamberlain. There wasn't a child in the country who didn't play "Bragulans and Solarians", in reference to the animated science fiction action shorts of the show. The animation quality could be poor at times, but many still found humor in the stories depicting a species of totalitarian alien bears with nuclear weapons and acid guns trying to conquer the overly-aggressive, Yanqui-inspired Solarians with their muscular, steroid-abusing Marines and hyper-capitalist society.

The host, known and beloved as "Shroom Man" or just "Shroom" to his fans, started a monologue in front of the flag of the New Philippines. "Well, now that we're live on the air again, I'm sure everyone knows what has happened. The New Philippines Republic is no longer its own country, and I'm not just talking about the people in Bennington that try to tell us to stop eating our balut. The Arcadians have come with lots of BattleMechs, and they've decided we have to be members of their Free March. And so here we are!"

Behind him, a flag unfurled to cover the Philippine flag. It was blue on the left and red on the right with a white hawk in the middle with wings spread.

"Our new flag as citizens of the Free March, everyone!" Shroom grinned widely at the camera, an anticipatory one to draw interest. "Don't you just feel freer already? Those BattleMechs they sent liberated the shit out of us, didn't—"

Suddenly he seemed to double over, as if in pain. "Oh no… speaking of shit… I had too much balut…"

There was a ripping sound and a spray of brown liquid coated the Free March flag.

Shroom turned toward the soiled flag. "Oh no!" he wailed, the tone exaggerated to comical proportions. "What have I done! Oh, curse my love for duck fetuses!" He looked offscreen. "Quick, bring down the portrait! I have to apologize."

A picture was rolled down from above to cover the soiled flag. The woman was dressed like one would expect a ruling noble of the Inner Sphere to be dressed, middle-aged and with a quiet, strong look about her. She was, to them, clearly Yanqui in skin tone and appearance.

Shroom genuflected to the picture. "Oh, Princess Sara-Marie, my new ruler, I'm so sorry! My favorite balut, I just can't turn it down, even when it makes me… oh no!"

He doubled over again… and, naturally, turned. Another spray of brown liquid coated the portrait.

When he was done, he clasped his hands on his forehead as if in mortification. And then, suddenly, he started laughing. "Well, there it is, friends, we're all in the Free March now! But these things stink, so I'd really better get them off-stage." He faked a wince. "And myself, before I spray again. Be back after these commercial messages from our capitalist friends!" He rushed off stage.

As he did, the soiled image was removed, as was the soiled flag, leaving the quite unsoiled flag of the Philippines as the last image before the commercials began.

Manuel turned the set off, still chortling. "Of course. It feels good to see Shroom giving them what he gives our other leaders."

"He left our flag there at the end," another voice called out. "He's on our side still!"

"He is, and we're not done yet." Captain Rivera's expression oozed defiance. "The government has ordered us to stand own and accept defeat. Well, I say to hell with them!" Some of the others cheered. "Our people have always known foreign oppression. The Spanish, the Americans, the Japanese, the Mariks… this is nothing new. And every time, every time, we drove them off in the end. It may take years, maybe decades, but if we keep fighting, we can have our Republic back!"

And Luis will not have died for nothing… thought Ramon.

"But we don't have many weapons to fight 'Mechs with, or their battlesuited infantry," protested one soldier. "How can we keep fighting enemies we can't hurt?"

"We catch them outside of their machines. A MechWarrior not in his 'Mech is just a man, as weak as any of us. The same is true for their armored troops." Rivera clenched a fist. "Join me, my brothers and sisters. We will find others who agree, and together, we will save the Republic! Whatever the price, we will have our independence again!" He raised the fist high. "Independence forever!"

"We must keep the faith with our fallen comrades!" Ramon shouted, standing. He met Rivera's eyes and raised a fist. "Independence forever!"

With a few exceptions that slinked off, the others did the same. The cry of "Independence forever!" filled the warehouse.

 

[Big Steve]

Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
14 July 3033


It was only a matter of time before the question of Abigail's future career was pressed. When Sara-Marie entered the private study in the ducal suites and found her husband waiting in the chair, stern-faced and with a furious gleam in his eyes, she knew that time had come. I should have talked to him by now, she thought, but even with the moment coming, she didn't want to. This was going to be a row, and with everything else going on - the Marian attack on Bolan, the Assembly rocked with protests from the rapid expansion and the imminent explosion in their own numbers, budgetary problems - she didn't feel like spending time arguing with her husband.

"Abigail informed me today that you approved her going to Concord for a civilian education," he said. "So either our daughter is a consummate liar, or you have broken faith with me, Sara."

"She wasn't lying," Sara-Marie said, taking a seat. Her face undoubtedly told her reluctance to begin the coming row. "I told her a few weeks ago that if she earnestly wished to pursue veterinary studies instead of military service, I would support her."

There it was. She'd said it, confirmed what he already clearly expected, and the stage was set for what might be the most ferocious row they'd ever had in nearly thirty years of marriage.

Thomas nodded. "I would think that, as her father, I would be consulted in this decision."

"To put it plainly, in a just world neither of us would need to be, so long as Abigail was pursuing a productive course. Tending to sick and injured animals may not be piloting a BattleMech, but I would call it productive."

"It is not what is expected and you know it!" Thomas fumed. "She is a daughter of the ruling house! The people will expect her to justify her rank with service. That is the price of our noble blood as you damn well know, Sara-Marie!"

"Do you think she doesn't know that, Thomas?!" Sara shouted back. "Abigail knows she will be expected to pursue public service. She is planning to join the Rural Medical Service once she completes her education. You know what that life is like!"

Indeed he did. His younger sister, Diane, served in the RMS in her younger years, working as a nurse and orderly in some of the poorest and most remote communities in the Free March. She'd contracted a number of illnesses in that time, such that her health was ruined for several years even after her service ended.

"I don't dispute that it's service, but the kind of service matters! Heaven forbid it, if tragedy strikes she might be March-Princess, and the people of the Free March expect those of the highest rank to have performed the most dangerous service. Military service!"

"The people who support our rule are not going to change their minds because our fourth child chose a civilian form of social service instead of the AFFM. Those who don't will not be swayed because one of our children did not don the officer's uniform."

"Are you so sure?" Thomas asked. "Your own family members are going to be the most horrified. Imagine what Alexander and Tabitha will do, or Nathaniel, or Abraham. The Proctors are a military family now, your grandmother saw to that. You are defying that tradition!"

"Sometimes, husband, tradition exists to be defied. Otherwise there wouldn't be a House Proctor."

"Even you upheld the tradition! You served before your father's health went bad!"

"And I hated it!"

Silence filled the room. Thomas blinked at Sara-Marie, confusion showing. "You hated it," he finally said, in far less heated a tone than his prior words.

"I did," Sara-Marie replied. "I hated every…" She caught herself. "...almost every moment of it."

"Almost?"

"You were the exception, Thomas."

Given all the shouting before, it seemed like the fury finally drained out of them. Sara-Marie stood from the chair and Thomas did likewise. Both made their way to the couch where they sat together, side by side. Thomas took her hand. "I never… you never said anything," he said.

"Of course not. I was the granddaughter of the greatest MechWarrior the planet of Arcadia ever produced, the adventuress who became ruler of our world by her own hand. My father was an accomplished MechWarrior in his own right and the military genius who subdued the armies of Dar-es-Salaam. If I admitted my feelings, it would be… unthinkable." A pained look came over her face. "I loved my father, but he was a difficult man."

"March-Prince William was quite a hard fellow, yes."

"He… he never had a proper relationship with his mother, and he tried to create it by being the greatest soldier he could be, and that shaped him into being what he was. It turned to the good of the Free March yes, but for me, it was hell. I was raised to expect military service when I grew up, I was marched and taught to salute before I was ten, I was to be his little soldier no matter what I felt. When the time came and I didn't want to do it… I said nothing. I let him dictate my life up until the very end."

There was pain in Thomas' eyes. "All these years. You never told me."

"No. I was a coward there too," Sara-Marie confided. "How could I tell my beloved husband that had I gotten my way, we would never have met?" She used her free hand to softly touch the back of one of his. "As I said, you were the exception. The only man I met that I felt I could trust with my body and future."

"I knew I would have to marry well, I just never imagined… ah, but we are retreading old ground, aren't we?" Thomas sighed. "I understand how you feel, but this will have a cost."

"She is our daughter, my dear. What cost wouldn't we pay to make sure she was well?" She lowered her eyes. "And I'm sorry for not discussing this sooner. You deserved better from me, dear. I have been a poor wife."

A gentle grin came to his face, showing he accepted the apology. "And I have been a bit of an ogre, I admit."

They said nothing more, simply sitting and holding hands, until the call came for dinner.

 

[Big Steve]

Salucias River Valley, Amity
Arcadian Free March
29 September 3033


Colonel Terrence Oliver of the Amity Defense Force was a patriot. Whatever else anyone said about the man, there was no getting around that. He was a devoted soldier for the world of Amity and wanted to see its representative sovereignty restored. Like many, he refused the order to surrender after the loss of New Haven. His devotion led to him accepting aid from the corrupt elements of his own military, which led to the Larkville fiasco and the human traffickers being caught near there.

He regretted it. Because it had been evil to hold people like animals, yes, but also because it gave the Arcadian conquerors a big propaganda victory. It undermined the civilian support an insurgency needed to survive, cost the insurgency volunteers and members, and gave the Arcadians a greater excuse to hit the financial resources necessary to maintain his forces in the struggle. Now they were down to two battalions, effectively, spread across the planet, and the other cells and companies were losing heart as the Arcadians consolidated their grip on the planet. More and more Amityans were accepting the loss of their independence. Something had to change.

Then the Arcadians handed him an opportunity on a golden platter, with July seeing the arrival of the 12th Free March Militia Brigade to relieve the 4th Regiment from garrison duty. They were off now being bled by the people of Pingree (and more power to them!), leaving militia troops as his only obstacles. Militia troops with BattleMech support, yes, and air assets, but no battle armor and no aerospace fighters. Just regular infantry. A lot of them, nearly ten times the number of battle armor infantry, but they could actually be hurt by small arms.

And they would be.

In the countryside of the Salucias River Valley, nestled between the Downey and Kelvin Mountain ranges, one of the brigade's detachments had a field base set up. Local supporters indicated they had a battalion of infantry with a lance of light 'Mechs and some VTOL support craft, giving them a mobile force to hunt down Oliver's bases across the countryside. Losing Salucias Valley would be a morale blow the remnants of the ADF may not recover from. He had to act.

So he was.

"Strike Team Alpha, in position," a woman's voice said over their shortwave. It was a civilian frequency, a band never used by locals, and one their intelligence indicated wasn't noted by the enemy.

"Strike Team Bravo, in position."

"Strike Team Charlie, ready."

"Strike Team Delta, ready."

Beside him, one of the volunteer insurgents looked at the base through binoculars. With night fallen, there was no risk it would be seen. The brunette, Jenny, looked at him and spoke with a South Amity accent. "We're ready, Colonel. Word's your's."

"Word's given, Corporal. Send them in."

Jenny got back on the radio. "Word is given."

Oliver lifted his binoculars. Through them he would watch as the first explosions went off. His people were going in with retrofitted vehicles armed with the recoilless rifles and SRMs they'd taken from ADF depots after going to ground. If they hit quickly enough, they wouldn't need to use them on the 'Mechs, hopefully, and either way the raid was sure to catch the Arcadians napping and inflict significant infantry losses. It will embolden the others to keep fighting. The Arcadian government will face trouble for placing a militia force as an occupation army. We may just secure their withdrawal if we can keep it up, thanks to the fighting on Pingree and Drosendorf.

The seconds passed, each one bringing tension as he expected to see the first burst of flame and debris from the field base perimeter.

And yet, it didn't come.

Something's wrong, he thought. They should have attacked by now, our timetable…

There was a rustling of grass beside him. He was turning toward Jenny just in time for the blow to land on his temple. Stars exploded in his vision and the world rocked beneath him. The moments he spend stunned led to his wrists being grabbed and bound at the small of his back. "What the…!"

He was only able to sit up once it was his ankles bound too. He glared in shock at the sight of Jenny and the auto-pistol she had leveled at him. "You!"

"It's th' end o' th' line, Colonel Oliver." Now her accent was a strong, McAffe Irish lilt. "You've been a royal pain in th' arse for th' military, I'll say."

"My troops…!"

"They surrendered. A Firestarter 'Mech and a bunch of heavy machine guns have that effect on people." Now her accent was Anglo-Arcadian. "And yes, I'm good with the accents. You can blame my mum and dad. Now, hold tight and don't make me shoot you. The soldiers will be here shortly."


The March Esplanade
Laughlin Capital District, Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
30 September 3033


Sir James had the details from the reports on Amity in mind as he enjoyed a typical breakfast for people from the Roslyn Province. Sausage, eggs, an English muffin, and delightful Arabica coffee from Zwenkau made the repast enjoyable, and the eatery was comfortably located halfway down the Esplanade from the SIS offices in the Foreign Office building. Brigadier Jekyll's last signal confirmed a growing number of ADF personnel still at large were surrendering to sign the amnesty. With Colonel Oliver in custody, the insurgency lost its last major diehard leader and would collapse, it was hoped, within days.

Our woman on Amity did her job well.

His eyes journeyed to the newspaper provided to each table. The Roslyn Post-Intelligencer was typically a pro-March-Princess paper, if not fawning, but their editors were letting some of their writers rap Her Serene Highness and her advisors on the knuckles over the expansion. The frontpage article was about the Pingree situation and reports of excessive losses in the fight for Brattleboro. A second article spoke of the Assembly's protest about the need to expand their size so rapidly to accommodate the new worlds' representatives, since ten worlds were already holding elections. A fourth article on the bottom, next to an economic one, was more supportive, noting the Free March's expansion was reducing piracy risks and insurance rates for interstellar transport.

Sir James looked up in time to see the other man sit down. They were about the same age and build, although his visitor had less gray in his light brown hair. "Sir James."

A small grin crept onto the spymaster's face. "Michael. It's been a while. How are things in the Westin household."

"Retirement has its advantages. It lets me keep up with the housework, for one thing. The quiet life appeals to me." A former field operative of SIS like Sir James, Michael Westin opted for retirement after trouble in an internal security op on McAffe. "Just as the Director's chair does to you."

"I'd like to think it worked out. So, is this a social call, or do you have something on your mind?"

"Is my daughter safe?"

Sir James nodded. "Ah. Yes, she's been undercover for some time, so you haven't heard from her. Well, I can assure you and Fiona that Claire is quite safe. I can't go into specifics, of course…"

"Of course." The grin on Michael's face was cutting.

"She came to us, Michael," Sir James reminded him. "I didn't have her recruited. If you wanted to make the life of a spy unappealing to Claire, I'm afraid you failed. And she's inherited your talent for tradecraft, not to mention infiltration. I can say with pride that she's one of my top field operatives."

Clearly that didn't re-assure the man. "You're right that we failed to talk her out of it. I wanted better for her."

"We all do for our children."

Their eyes maintained contact for several seconds, a test and gesture at the same time. "If something happens to Claire, I'll never forgive you."

"I think I can live with that, Michael," he admitted to his old friend and colleague. "You'll just have to trust me. You and Fiona." He brought the paper up. "After all, we both know she'd get to me first, and I'd only realize it when my aircar exploded."

There was a chuckle in the other seat, then silence. Sir James took a glance several seconds later. Michael was gone.

A coated figure sat at the table behind him. "Everything okay, Director?" the Uhuru-born man asked, his English accented with Uhurese Swahili.

"Just an old friend, Jakaya," Sir James replied softly. "An old friend checking in with me."


(Note: Wrote this to signify the end of the Amity insurgency, which has run its 2 quarter course. And to have fun with TV show references of course.)

 

[Big Steve]

Castle Řezník
Trenčín, Zvolen
Arcadian Free March
23 September 3033


At the invitation of the Duchess of Zvolen, the Arcadian Guards were billeted in her castle while she retired to her palace in the heart of Trenčín proper. Like O'Toole Keep on Fianna, Castle Řezník was built to emulate the classic castles of Europe, Eastern Europe in this case. And since it was built by the planetary ruler it was rather larger, with enough rooms and 'Mech hangars and other facilities to fit an entire regiment. With the MPs and Arcadian Guard Armored Infantry screening the domestic staff, the personnel of the Guards could enjoy the roomy facilities.

Much to Dani's surprise, Becca was assigned a suite to her. It was very much a pleasant surprise, and the two of them were enjoying the closeness (and the bed, and the bathtub, and the love seat…).

But much as she expected, something bad came along to make up for the good. Or, if not bad, then very worrying.

Dani accepted the salutes of the armed MPs and the yeoman and the secretary before stepping into the room converted into Colonel Kelly's office. The Arcadian Guards' XO, and effectively the field leader of the 'Mech regiment, was a woman of tan complexion and who'd aged quite gracefully, or as Dani might have otherwise put it in less worrying circumstances, "was still smoking hot". I hope Becca and I look half that good when we're in our forties…

Two greenish eyes focused on her. Kelly's hair was done in a strict bun at the back of her head, otherwise Dani thought it might flow half-way down her back just as Dani's would if she didn't have it in a pony-tail. She saluted her superior officer with exactness. "Lieutenant Verdes, reporting as ordered."

Kelly returned the salute, giving Dani a look at what she assumed was a wedding band. "Lieutenant. Thank you, and have a seat." While her English was spoken in a familiar soft Anglo-Arcadian accent, there was a hint of an Irish brogue to it. That's right, Dani thought. She's a countess, over on Munster. She took the offered seat while Kelly rifled through her papers. "I've been wanting to talk to you for some time. Colonel Osinski's been speaking about you and your place in the unit. Among other things, you did well on Fianna keeping Prince Thomas safe and helping him run his company. But we have concerns."

Dani was already guessing what was coming up. Of course. Of course the universe, or God, or whomever had to come and snatch the happiness from her just as she and Becca were becoming close.

The officious look on Kelly's face faded slightly, becoming bemused. "From the look on your face, I assume you think I'm about to order you to end your relationship with Lieutenant Shameel?"

Dani blinked. This wasn't what she'd been steeling herself to hear from the Colonel. "Yes, Colonel, I was."

"Ah. So you admit to it… and no, no word play, not argument about the word 'relationship'. To put it frankly, Lieutenant Verdes, you and Rebekah Shameel having a lesbian relationship is one of the worst-kept secrets in the unit. We've known for months." The bemused look turned to a grin. "You certainly blew your cover with all of the bath oil you've gotten from the domestic staff, not to mention how much of it they've supposedly found on the bedsheets."

A blush formed on Dani's cheeks. They say palace servants are the worst at talking… Hopefully they'll never realize what we've done with the bed curtains. "We'll do better cleaning up, then. So… this isn't a problem?"

Kelly shook her head. "It will get you dirty looks from some quarters, but there's no law against it, nor anything in the military rulebook. Not unless you're in the same chain of command, then, yes, I would have to step in."

"I can handle dirty looks." Dani said the words bitterly. My mother did worse.

"I think this brings us to the actual reason I called you in here, but before I begin…" Kelly picked up a holophoto base from her desk and set it between them. She activated the image montage stored within by slightly twisting the base.

The image showed a younger Amber Kelly, in the dress uniform of a 1st Lieutenant, and another woman of the same rank. She had dark skin and even darker hair with eyes that glittered like pale emeralds. As the images progressed, they clasped hands and, after a few more, pressed their lips together.

"It's from my wedding seventeen years ago," Kelly confided. "That's my wife, Liya. Lady Liya Teshome, heiress to the Count of Gondar, over on Mull."

"You're a noblewoman who married another noblewoman?"

"Don't act surprised, Lieutenant. Everyone associates it with Canopus, but it's legal under Free Marrch law too, although some of the individual planets ban inheritance through it. Arcadia doesn't."

Meanwhile the images changed. Liya Teshome was no longer in AFFM uniform while Kelly was either in civilian clothing or had the rank of Captain. One image showed Liya and Kelly each holding a pale, brown-colored baby in their arms. "You had children?"

"It's customary for couples like us to adopt, for obvious reasons," Kelly said. "But being nobles, well, the bloodline must continue. So we consulted with medical doctors and specialists on Terra. I had to take a year of leave and it cost me the chance to make Major by the time I was thirty, not to mention a lot of money, but they did it. They gave us our daughters Helena and Maryam." A hint of motherly pride crept into her voice. "They're our little darlings, although not so little now. They're studying to attend Ayrshire in the coming years."

"Well, I hope they do well." Dani said the words more as a polite thing than anything, given she had no real connection to this family.

"Now that you've seen this, Lieutenant, let me ask you something." Kelly turned off the holo viewer just as it got to more recent pictures of the family. "Where do you see yourself when you are my age? Do you imagine you and Lieutenant Shameel will be together, still? Have a family?"

"I… I think Becca would like them. She complains about her parents pestering her to have a child, but I get the feeling she's not as against it as she claims." Dani shook her head. "It's not like we'll ever afford what you did. We'll have to adopt, and if she really wants it we will, but I don't know…"

"...you don't know what?" Kelly spoke to fill the silence. "Don't know if you'll remain together this long?"

Dani pursed her lips. She'd had to walk away from relationships before, and she didn't want to, not from this one. But would Becca be with her for the rest of their lives? "I don't know," Dani admitted. "I'd like to, believe me, but if we end up posted in different regiments, on different worlds, well, maybe it won't last then. Or maybe one of us gets killed."

"That's always a possibility for those of us in uniform. There's a lot of possibilities for us. Possibilities to be happy. To have fulfilling lives both in and out of our uniforms. While I'm kept away from my family right now, I still find myself generally happy with how things have turned out for us. Liya is performing family duties and I'm the second-in-command of the finest unit of the AFFM. This is a place you could be in one day."

Dani shook her head. "I'm not sure."

"Oh?"

"The truth is… I never wanted to be a MechWarrior, Colonel," Dani admitted. "I went to AMSA to finish my education in engineering. I intended to serve in the AFFM Engineering Corps until I could retire at a high enough rank to get a nice job in the civilian world. My neuro-aptitude scores, and being young and intimidated by lots of colonels and generals, changed that plan." She shook her head, feeling an old anger burning again. "They cajoled and harassed me into changing my course focus, and then abandoning engineering entirely to be a line officer. And I often wish I'd held firm and stuck to my guns, ma'am, because now I'm stuck in the line regiments until I've served at least eight years. I've got four of those left."

"Ah. Well, that explains matters."

"What matters?"

"Colonel Osinski's reports on you. She feels that you've shown enough talent to be in the running for a company command yourself, but that you don't apply the talent well enough to get the Promotion Board's interest."

Dani shook her head. "I don't want to run a company. I want to finish my time as a MechWarrior and then finish my engineering education."

"That's a path you can take, and you may even find happiness with Lieutenant Shameel in that." Kelly leaned forward against the desk. "But I'd like you to consider the alternative, Lieutenant. You do have talent as an officer and MechWarrior. It's talent you shouldn't waste, and if you and Lieutenant Shameel are meant to be… well, it won't matter if you become XO of the Arcadian Guards or some Engineering Corps office commander or a partner in some engineering firm. Just like Liya and me, you will find a way to make it work."

Dani didn't know how to respond to that. She almost shook her head and rejected the very idea of it. I don't want to do your job! she wanted to shout, though she held her tongue to be polite, if anything.

"I don't expect you to give me an answer right now, or at all, Lieutenant," said Kelly. "All I'm asking is that you consider the possibilities. For yourself, and for Becca."

After a few moments of consideration, Dani nodded. "Alright ma'am. I'll do that."

"Excellent. It was a pleasure to talk with you, Lieutenant, and whatever your path, I hope you are happy." Kelly stood. "You are dismissed."

Dani got out of her chair and saluted, prompting a return salute. "Thank you, Colonel. And… my best to your daughters when they start at Ayrshire."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

With that final exchange, Dani left the room, still thinking about everything Kelly had said.


1st Free March Cavalry Bivouac
Near Pittsburgh, Rexburg
Arcadian Free March
30 September 3033


It was often said that the Free March Army had, in terms of its core striking power, ten BattleMech regiments of line quality. Newspapers, military journals, officials, this was a fact repeated by everyone, it seemed.

Everyone but the MechWarriors of the 1st Free March Cavalry.

Ask any of them how many line regiments the Free March had, and the answer would be "Twelve" or "Currently Twelve", and when asked to list, they would inevitably leave out the 1st FMC itself and instead list its component battalions. Such was the strength of regimental tradition in the Free March Cavalry, which was from the start composed of units from the other three founding worlds of the Free March. The Gienah Heavy Fusiliers, 1st Launam Armored Cavalry, and Hyde Lancers each retained their regimental patches, battle histories, and traditions, and were quick to reminder other soldiers that they were a brigade, not a regiment.

When Prince Mark Henry Proctor was first assigned as a normal MechWarrior fresh out of Ayrshire, he thought it a silly bit of semantics. Now two years were passed and as a lance commander of the Launam Armored Cavalry, he'd gone over to his new comrades' way of thinking, and wore the regiment's patch - a stylized tank on a field of blue, white, and green, reflecting the unit's centuries-old origin as a pre-BattleMech armored force organized to protect Launum - with pride.

Prince Mark was more a Heresford than Proctor in appearance, having his father's thin face and reddish-brown hair, with gray eyes instead of the Proctor blue. He stood out among the family in appearance, something he subconsciously felt thankful for because it always felt like his siblings stood out more than he. Thomas was the eldest and the first to do anything, not to mention the Heir, while his own twin was the first daughter for her parents. Then came the babies, Abby and Willy. He had nothing to make him stand out, it seemed.

I'll prove I'm every bit a Proctor as Tom, he thought to himself while standing at the perimeter of the Bivouac. The 1st FMC's victory outside Pittsburgh after a spirited fight with the Rexburg Republican Army, not to mention their participation in the capture of Gannett, finally gave him the chance to show what he could do as a commander and a MechWarrior. His mind went to the fight at Pittsburgh especially, where he piloted his 55-ton Fusilier BattleMech into the lead of his lance and pressed home an attack on the enemy lines. The Fusilier's extended range PPC and the autocannon, a specialized "ultra" double-shot UAC/5 refitted to replace the original AC/5 mounted in the right arm, let him inflict significant damage from a distance before bringing the medium lasers on his 'Mech to bear. While not a heavy design, he appreciated the robust machine and enjoyed piloting it.

"Lieutenant Proctor!"

His attention went to his right. The English of the speaker was accented with Uhuruese Swahili. Major Christopher Mnyampala, of Uhuru, approached him, the red-orange star of Rexburg glinting on his dark-toned skin. He was the XO of the Launum Armored Cavalry. When Mark saluted, he saluted back. "There you are. I wanted to find you to give you the warning and the good news."

"Warning, sir? And good news?"

"Well, the warning comes first. The word from Colonel Ferrera" - by this he meant Lieutenant Colonel Gerard Ferrera, CO of the Launum Armored Cavalry - "is that the brigade is shipping out some time in the next month, after we are relieved by a militia brigade shifted from another world. And you will likely be assigned to oversee the regiment's embarkation."

Mark nodded and didn't allow himself the nervous gulp he felt like giving. I'm just a couple years out of Ayrshire, and they want me helping to oversee the unit embarkation? Embarkation was a tricky thing. Equipment had to be inventoried and packed, space for troop bunking and gear stowage arranged with the transport DropShips, the soldiers kept informed… while he'd be one of many responsible, it was still a little daunting.

But yet, there was opportunity. The possibilities this presented him were something to thank God for, a chance to distinguish himself in helping to ensure the smooth embarkation of the brigade for whatever their next assignment was.

"I'll give it my all, Major, that I promise you," Mark pledged.

"I imagined you would," he answered. "As for the good news, in light of your behavior on and off the battlefield during our Gannett and Rexburg campaigns, Colonel Ferrera is putting your name on the promotion list for the Captaincy Board at the end of the year."

Mark drew in a breath before finding his voice. "I'm honored, Major," he said. "I'll work twice as hard to uphold the Colonel's faith in me."

"We look forward to seeing it. I shall see you around, Lieutenant Proctor."

As was appropriate, they saluted one another, while Mark's heart pounded in anticipation. A captain at twenty-four. I'd be a captain at twenty-four. The same age Thomas was when he got promoted! He'd get to show what he could do not just to his unit, but his family as well. He'd get to bask in the pride of his parents, the admiration of his siblings.

I must grasp the opportunity. A captaincy… the possibilities for my future are too much to count!