(This is just a small piece of test fiction, or I suppose fiction within fiction that ignores current goings on of the BattleTech universe to set up the Operation: Nachtfalke map based campaign setting)
Rustlung Military Base, Nysa, Chaos March
As the procession of 'Mechs painted in black and burnished gold tromped at maximum speed towards the centuries-disused Rustlung base, Tai-sa Nobuhisa Oda of the Draconis Combine's elite Otomo regiment observed the clouds of red dust from which the fortress took its name. Natural oxidation of low grade iron fragments tinted the soil a Martian-red, and played hell with the Otomo's sensors. Though a double-edged sword on the ground, Oda's DropShip had flown over the base and confirmed its desertion. The plan was to bivouac in the ruins, renovate what could be useful, and set up a command post for pacification of the world. Unfortunately, that plan went to Hell almost immediately, with reports of Steiner and Davion forces dropping to the north and east respectively, and communications from his JumpShip warning of more forces inbound.
Not that Oda was surprised. Had it solely been the discovery of a massive vein of germanium in the mountain ranges, Nysa would have become important. The fragmented region of space known as the Chaos March could count dozens of worlds that the Great Houses had only a tenuous grasp upon, and even then, only the most important would have military forces clashing over them. Nysa had not been one before, but the germanium changed that. And, in the process of heavy industry attempting to reach it via blasting new mountain passes, several other mineral deposits were discovered. Now, it became a race. Until the extent of the mineral wealth was discovered, no faction wanted to commit the regiments needed to permanently hold the planet, but it seemed as if each were willing to send at least an expeditionary force.
Still, he had faith in the MechWarriors under his command. And the crack technicians that the Coordinator had gifted his unit with would swiftly return Rustlung to fully operational status, or their heads would roll. Now that the plan had changed, Oda would need those facilities prepared to service his 'Mechs and keep his force in fighting trim.
Approaching the base, Oda slowed his prototype HTM-30S Hatamoto-suna. Clicking open his mic, he addressed his company. "Busosenshi of the Dragon. We have been tasked with evaluating this world, and taking it for the Coordinator should it prove worthy. Strike like the divine wind and give no quarter to any who stand in our path!"
400 Km North of Rustlung, Svartalfavidr Outskirts
"Give no quarter. Allow our enemies to exhaust themselves. Destroy them all."
Sao-shao Lu Xun recalled the Chancellor's orders vividly. It was not often that the Celestial Wisdom bypassed all chain of command to speak to a lowly battalion commander directly. However, his entire battalion only existed because of the will of the Chancellor, and whilst Lu Xun accepted that it made him little more than a curiosity among the Capellan Strategios, he reveled in the prestige it afforded him. Of course, he also accepted the increased pressure to perform. Utilizing a Davion (he always snorted when he thought of it that way) TLR1-O Templar OmniMech, his battalion drilled continuously as a CoOpFor; a force that could simulate enemy tactics efficiently, all the better to defend against them.
His Templar remained in orbit though. Knowing that the misdirection strategy ordered by the Chancellor required cunning more than brute force, Lu Xun dropped with a single
ying qiang, a "shadow lance," as well as a company of Fa Shih battle armor. Unlike most Inner Sphere armored infantry, the Fa Shih were designed with magnetic clamps that would allow a squad to deploy attached to a 'Mech cavalry style, but that were not limited to OmniMechs as general battle armor suits.
The two RVN-4L Ravens that formed the scout portion of Lu Xun's lance set up sentry at the entrance of the Svartalfavidr, the "Dark Elf Wood," so named by the locals for the forbidding nature of the old growth forest. At a full run, his borrowed SHY-3B Shen Yi could match a leisurely walking pace of the Ravens, but at 30 tons heavier, he was the hammer if they came under attack. Not that he considered it likely. The stealth armor that each 'Mech of the
ying qiang was equipped with lessened the chances of detection by hostile forces, and the circuitous route Lu Xun had chosen to take into the forest would obscure them even more. He waited patiently until receiving the appropriate signal from Sun Jian, his executive officer, who had gone into the forest, leading the Fa Shih squads from an SYU-2B Sha Yu.
"Sao-shao. It is confirmed. The records from Capellan assaults during the 1st Succession War are accurate. The remains of the Sanctuary base are here for our uses."
Lu Xun bared his teeth in a feral grin. Everything was going according to plan.
650 Km North of Rustlung, Kvenland Mountain Range
"Scheisse!!"
Leave it to a social general to bungle a simple expeditionary plan, Major Tessa Wexler fumed. The plan had been for her mercenaries, the Khaos Chevaliers, to stake a claim on Nysa for the Lyran Alliance, but more importantly, for the Skye Province thereof. The plan had called on her to take the HyperPulse Generator, Nysa's most vital link to the rest of the universe, and prevent any other faction the planet from being able to call in reinforcements. The plan. The plan was garbage.
What the plan failed to take into consideration was the Word of Blake battalion, or Level III in their terms, that was already garrisoning the HPG. Nysa was practically the Blakist's back yard, for God's sake. Furthermore, the oh so brilliant plan didn't even begin to assume a massive skill difference between her mercs and the robe fanatics. The plan. Was. Garbage.
Now, rather than sitting snug in control of the most powerful tool for communication humankind had yet to invent, Major Wexler and her demoralized force were holed up in the Kvenland Mountains, a short march from Fort Kvenland, and she was pissed. It wasn't merely the inconvenience, she was too much a professional for that. And it wasn't the deaths of her men, as everyone had made it through the debacle with only armor loss, by the grace of God (or Blake, she supposed). No, it was the sheer stupidity of it all. That fat little bureaucrat had offered great terms, fair support, and not an insignificant bonus for completion of the contract, and that should have been the greatest red flag.
Fortunately, the mountains had large hollowed out spaces where MiningMechs had been digging off and on for centuries, creating a network of tunnels that the Khaos Chevaliers were putting to use for the night. The new plan, or the NP as she was calling it, was to crunch as many field repairs before dawn as possible, then head for Fort Kvenland at first light. Her jump jet-equipped scouts had already vetted the pass and with the exception of a handful of smugglers using it as a refuge, the fort looked to be the ideal place to set up shop.
Tapping into the local 'net provided plenty of intel on where other on-world military forces were deployed. So, if they could just start engaging each other, maybe the Chevaliers would be able to take that HPG yet. And claim that not insignificant bonus.
600 Km Northeast of Rustlung, Aztlan Island
Insignificant though they were in the grand scheme of military glory, Zombie Precentor Sigma Bezaliel loved to watch the frails scurry about their day to day tasks. The dock workers unloading freight from ships running to and fro between the islands and mainland currently occupied her attention, as much of that freight had come from the HyperPulse Generator station just north of Aztlan. Mercenaries had made the mistake of believing the ever watchful eye of the Blessed Blake would not see their poor attempt at capturing the facility. It was child's play, in her bleeding-edge HGN-738X Highlander, to outmaneuver and out fight the heretics. And since she was in a jovial mood, she had allowed them to retreat mostly intact. There was little fun for the wolf, after all, to chase after a frightened little mouse. Especially with so many other tasty morsels near by.
Even the Word's erstwhile allies in the Free Worlds League had thought to touch down on Nysa, not far south from Aztlan. Whilst their communications had been in support of the Blakist regime on world, Bezaliel was not one to trust in the words of frails. True, she loved to watch them. She only vaguely remembered a time before she became Ascended into the vaunted ranks of the Manei Domini, and observing them as a child watches ants helped to remind her of that time, when she had been so much weakness and regret. But to trust them? That would be a terrible tactical decision.
Still, they would be plenty to slow down any Davion or Kurita adventurism from coming too far north unscathed. Should anything pass the Marik MechWarriors, they would find her far from a helpless little lamb. Turning her head from the docks, she looked across the Aztlan compound towards her eastern Mechbays. Each bay was occupied by a machine every bit as advanced as her Highlander, but the greatest concentration in faith that Precenter Apollyon, her commanding officer, could give her was the Celestial-series OmniMechs that had just started to see distribution amongst elite Word of Blake Shadow Divisions. More than a dozen of the powerful Omnis were at her disposal, including her executive officer's 100 ton C-ANG-D Archangel Luminos. With a fanatic's conviction, she knew that none of the upstart House Lords would be able to send anything to Nysa that could compare. Not even Clantech would be a match for the Manei Domini and their Celestials. It was only a matter of time before they all lay bloody and broken at her feet.
450 Km Northeast of Rustlung, Iron Rock Port
An ancient, pre-Hegemony song, half remembered from the academy days, popped into Force Commander Kairi Welling's head as she stared down at her feet in the sand of a pristine beach. Something about a devil, and a deep blue sea, was fairly fitting for the situation she found herself in. The Captain General requested a battalion of the 19th Marik Militia be deployed to Nysa, and she had drawn the duty assignment. Which would be a good way to make a name for herself in her first live-combat situation.
Provided she survived it, of course. Welling had little doubt that her MechWarriors would fight as hard as they could, regardless of whom they faced. However, with the Federated Suns directly south of her current position, and the Capellans somewhere out west, she faced a potential two-pronged assault. That was easy enough to plan for, if she could count on the aid of the Word of Blake forces stationed north at the HyperPulse Generator. However, that was not something she was willing to gamble her life, or the lives of her men, on. Since their recapture of Terra, the Word had become more and more fanatical, and she knew that the Captain General did not trust them as much as he once did.
Still, orders were orders, and her orders revolved around supporting the Word's claim to the world. Unless it looked like there would be benefit in no longer doing so, or if the Word were some how pushed off-world by other forces... Maybe she could contact the Kuritans in the south west and negotiate a shared-governance alliance, if Nysa turned out to be the treasure trove everyone was hoping for. Better half of something, than all of nothing.
She turned from the beach to face the port-side military base, and her AWS-10KW Awesome standing within, sketching a quick salute to the machine and offering up a brief prayer that things didn't turn into a huge cluster.
300 Km East of Rustlung, Coral's Edge Island
"If this is another of Prescott's clusters, I'll wring his neck myself."
A long puff of cigar smoke escaped a mouth contained in a wizened face that had seen more battles than most active duty soldiers in the Sphere. From the 4th Succession War, to the FedCom Civil War, Colonel Victor Hoffman was as much a textbook definition "warhorse" as he was a MechWarrior.
"Yeah, you do that." Sergeant Marcus Fenix, a man of very few words, added belatedly, "sir."
Hoffman stared at Fenix, and not for the first time, silently wished he wasn't such a capable pilot so that he could have some excuse to shoot the man for insubordination. Truth be told, Fenix was probably the closest thing he had to a son, never taking the time to settle down in all his years of combat. That didn't mean Hoffman had to like him, however.
Their unit, the 26th Royal Tyran (Mechanized), affectionately referred to as "The Two-Six" or "The Unvanquished," had a sterling reputation for professionalism Sphere-wide. Built around a core of former Free Rasalhague Republic Kungsarme MechWarriors, and Outworld's Alliance expatriates, the Two-Six currently contracted out their services to House Davion's Federated Suns on a short term assault, to secure a beachhead for further Feddie units to conquer the planet. Ultimately, the powers that ran the unit, including former Outworld's Alliance Chairman Richard Prescott, and Marcus' father Adam Fenix, planned on solely taking contracts to fight the Clans. Since the Clan Invasion, the subsequent occupation of so many Free Rasalhague worlds, and the coming of the Snow Ravens to the Outworld's Alliance formed the impetus for the creation of the unit, anti-Clan sentiment ran high amongst the mercs. Each could claim a personal tragedy brought upon by the return of Kerensky's descendants.
"For God's sake, Fenix. Can you just get in your Marauder and shoot something already?"
Fenix knew just how far to push the old man, and when to just shrug and follow an order. With Snakes, Cappies, and Eagles nearby, it was an order he was more than happy to follow.
"Roger that.... Sir."
(Looking forward to running a non-beta testing Nachtfalke soon, whether with the above sample units or not.)
Wolf Empire plus IlClan Terran holdings, 3152