BattleTech: The Price of Duty (A BattleTech Novella): BattleTech Novella, #25

By Jason Schmetzer

A STRUGGLE TO SURVIVE…

 

Former hauptmann Ronan Carlyle is a man without a nation. After his former commanding officer declared herself governor-general of a reborn Tamar Pact, Ronan, a loyal Steiner officer, led a group of soldiers and techs including his sister, Isobel, back for Garrison for reassignment.

 

But on Garrison, his troubles multiply. The senior Lyran officer brands the 26th Arcturan loyalists traitors and cashiers them, stranding nearly 200 former LCAF soldiers, technicians, and crewmen on a Lyran world with no way off-planet.

 

Forced to scrounge up a way to survive, Ronan and Isobel hatch a plan to get the former LCAF members back to their homeworlds by salvaging 'Mechs. But when a Lyran scout battalion goes AWOL over an off-world mission squashed by their commanding officer, the LCAF is shocked to discover the Arcturan loyalists have built up the largest contingent of combat equipment outside the militia. Ronan's people need cash. They have skills. And there's history in his name…

 

Thus, the Gray Death Legion is reborn. First as a way to get funds for his people to leave. But they fight the Lyran unit—winning by use of unorthodox tactics—and discover they don't want to disband…instead, the reconstituted mercenary unit wants to find its next employer…
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catalyst Game Labs
• Release date: Jul 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201661458

Book preview

BattleTech: The Price of Duty

BattleTech: The Price of Duty

A BattleTech Novella

Jason Schmetzer

Catalyst Game Labs

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

More BattleTech Fiction by Jason Schmetzer

Battletech Glossary

BattleTech Eras

The BattleTech Fiction Series

1

MACHEEMA

ARCTURUS, TAMAR PACT

13 AUGUST 3151

Words seemed more real on hardcopy.

Ronan Carlyle sat on a folding camp stool at the foot of his Gauntlet OmniMech, holding a printout of the general’s message loosely in his hand. The paper was already going limp from the moisture in the morning air. He frowned at the dirt, trying to make the words make sense in his head.

"…and because we cannot trust the Archon or the Estates General to look after the people of Arcturus, because they have failed at the basic duty we have sworn our lives to, and because the people of Arcturus and all the worlds of the old Tamar Pact still need, right now, this instant and all the days that follow, protection…"

He’d heard the address at morning formation; he’d heard the words from the speaker, and the whispers in the company behind him, and the noise in his head, but he hadn’t really believed it. But there’d been hardcopy waiting in his temporary office, printed on the flimsy yellow paper Lyran clerks carried along on missions for such things. It was thin and light and didn’t last long.

You didn’t spend a lot of mass carrying stuff from one star system to the next things that wouldn’t matter for long.

Can you believe this?

Ronan looked up. His sister stood nearby, in her cooling suit and holding a similar scrap of paper. Her blond hair hung loose, long enough she could part it and cover the sides of her head shaved for better contact with her neurohelmet.

You’re holding the same message I got, Ronan mumbled.

"…protection, we must accept that sacred duty ourselves. We must man the walls at night ourselves. We must look around ourselves and declare that these people are our first responsibility. The Commonwealth has failed them. The Clans who conquered them have abandoned them. But we will not…"

Isobel Carlyle frowned and stepped closer. What does this mean?

It means the general is a traitor, Ronan said, letting the words that had been running through his head nonstop out into the air for the first time. It means we need to find out how much of the rest of the RCT supports her. He crumpled his hardcopy up, frowned, and looked back down at the dirt. Because if it’s a lot…

The Lyran Commonwealth was one of the star-spanning empires of the Inner Sphere, encompassing hundreds of worlds and billions of people. It was centuries old. It had survived the worst of the Succession Wars and the Word of Blake Jihad. Before the Blackout and the invasions of the last few years, it had remained an economic powerhouse. The planet they now stood on, Arcturus, had been one of the Commonwealth’s founding worlds, all those centuries ago. And now…

It’s going to be a lot, Bel said, bringing him back. She crouched down on her heels next to him. I heard cheering as I was coming over here. She brought the Guards back to Arcturus. And you heard the same barracks grousing as I did on Kandersteg…

Ronan grunted. Soldiers complained; it had been that way since Sargon. The Twenty-sixth Arcturan Guards regimental combat team was a young unit in the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces, but it was still a Lyran unit…except it wasn’t. It was an Arcturan Guard regiment. And it had just liberated Arcturus from the Jade Falcons.

"…we cannot. Because today, we declare the Tamar Pact reborn. Our history with the Lyran Commonwealth is long and sacred, but Trillian Steiner and her government have abandoned their duty to the people of the Pact worlds. We can no longer look backward for guidance about the future. Today we must look to ourselves, and trust ourselves to build our own brightest future."

We swore oaths, Ronan said. I can’t believe all of our comrades will forget that.

Bel frowned, tugging at her hair with her left hand. We all swore those oaths, she parroted, "but there a lot of people in this RCT who are from here. They swore oaths about that, too."

Ronan stepped into the kommandant’s office and braced to attention. Kommandant Sunrise Merkel did not look up from his noteputer. Ronan, not having been released from attention, could not relax, but he chanced looking around at what he could see. The room was bare, almost spartan, but there were signs.

Merkel was a swarthy man, too dark to show a blush, with close-cropped hair. He stood just under two meters, where Ronan stood just over, and went exclusively by his last name. With a first name like Sunrise, Ronan understood why. Like Ronan, Merkel wore standard Lyran battledress. Unlike Ronan, who wore the Lyran fist flag on his shoulder, the battalion commander’s shoulder was bare.

Ronan swallowed; he’d known there was a chance Merkel supported the general’s treachery. When he put his outrage aside and considered it rationally, he knew General Regis would have to stack the deck with people who thought like she did. It wouldn’t be much of a desertion if her XO shot her on the way to announce her treason.

Hauptmann Carlyle, Merkel finally said, looking up. Stand easy. As Ronan relaxed, he saw the kommandant’s eyes flick to his shoulder flash and then back to the company commander’s face. Echo Company has received the general’s message?

Yes, sir.

And? What’s the response?

I haven’t asked them, sir, Carlyle said stiffly. He wanted to say he knew none of his MechWarriors would ever turn their back on the Commonwealth, but he couldn’t. He only trusted his sister, and while Bel knew most of the troops better than he did, even she hadn’t been confident. I am not in the habit of asking them how their mail makes them feel.

I see, Merkel said softly. He stood. There will be another formation in an hour. Outside the hangars. Troops are to muster with personal gear packed for change of station. He paused, mouth working. It should go without saying that attendance is mandatory.

Where are we going, sir?

Hopefully nowhere, Merkel said. But we will have to wait and see.

What does that mean, nowhere? Bel hissed. She stood one rank behind him, in the same file, in the Echo Company formation. Behind the twelve MechWarriors were assembled the technician and assistant technician teams assigned to Echo Company, in a similar but larger formation. It took a half-dozen technical staff to keep a BattleMech running, but only one MechWarrior. Why have us pack and get out here if we’re not moving?

Be quiet, Ronan said. I’ve told you everything I know.

But— the sound of an approaching skimmer cut her off. Ronan looked to his left, toward the BattleMech hangars. A two-person skimmer skittered toward them on soft skirts; at the last moment it spun in place and flew backward, drive fan blasting to slow it down. Two people climbed out when it stopped: Kommandant Merkel, and Leutnant-Colonel Kathleen McQuade, the regimental operations officer. McQuade, short and stocky, like the tanks she used to command, openly scowled at the assembled troops.

Company, atten-HUT! Carlyle called. Heels clicked as the troops and techs came to attention.

Another vehicle appeared, a big civilian commuter bus. The vehicle’s big fuel cell engine wheezed and moaned as it approached. Its wide rubber tires squealed as it rounded a corner to come closer.

That’s not enough for all of us, Bel said quietly.

Be quiet, Ronan growled, his mind racing. Bel was right. That bus would hold maybe thirty troops with their personal gear. He glanced down at the duffel at his feet; maybe thirty-five, depending on the storage underneath the passenger compartment.

Good afternoon, Echo Company! Colonel McQuade had a carrying voice. She stepped closer as the bus creaked to a stop, Kommandant Merkel a step behind. Neither of them, Ronan saw, wore Lyran fist shoulder flashes. Everybody got the general’s announcement this morning?

Yes, ma’am, Ronan said loudly.

McQuade’s head rotated like a tank turret

Reviews for BattleTech

[glenn gayos · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A fun return to old favorites done right. Excellent story that ties in nostalgia with promises of new things while keeping in touch with whast made the source material fun