Legate Stempres assumed an air of innocence. “Someone does, eh? Well, until that happens, might be you should think about this.” He pulled a digital verifax from his jacket pocket, thumbed his own DNA imprint over the security device, and then passed it over to Erik.
The young noble paged through the document quickly, skipping over most of the introduction. It notified Stempres that Knight-Errant Kyle Powers would arrive in a few days, a fact Erik already knew through his network of supporters and spies among the regular militia, and the list of briefings he requested. Then Erik hit the meat of the verifax, skipped back to the top and read through it all again. Carefully.
“This is a serious offer?” he asked Stempres, looking up from the reader when finished.
“It is. Sir Powers has asked me to feel you out on a formal alliance for the defense of Achernar. His proposal establishes you as ‘a legitimate foreign-auxiliary commander.’ That’s the designation used when competing branches of military service—or foreign militaries—work together on a joint mission.”
It wasn’t formal recognition by Exarch Redburn, Erik noted, but damn close. It elevated his Swordsworn to a politically supported entity at the very least, and the fact that Powers even proposed such an alliance meant only one thing. “The Republic is in bad shape,” he whispered aloud. A political push here, some military action there—how much could the Sphere government stand up under? His uncle had been right all along. Best to salvage what they could. Drawing a reference from the Unfinished Book—or was it the original New Testament?—it was time to render therefore unto Caesar the things which were Caesar’s.
Or, more to the point, they would take back unto Sandoval those worlds which were Sandoval.
“Legate Stempres,” Erik finally said. “Have a message ready to send Powers as soon as his JumpShip arrives in system. You discussed the matter with me but have been unable to secure my official cooperation. Yet. Please attend to that right away.”
“You sound as if you’re in a hurry to be off, Lord Sandoval.”
“I am.” Erik nodded toward his northwest quarry. Visible over a rocky outcropping of pale stone, one could catch the profile of his Hatchetman’s elongated head. “If I push, I can be over the Taibeks with a small force and coming to the aid of the Republic before their own reinforcements arrive.” Engaging lightly, ready to draw back as needed, Erik could seem to be the rescuer and still put very little of his own assets at risk. “It will do well for Powers to see me contributing even without his official sanction. Then, when he sends you to try again, I can—reluctantly–agree.”
“What possible reason can that serve? Why not reluctantly agree now and save yourself the damaged resources?”
But Erik only smiled at the old officer’s lack of political shrewdness, stepped back onto the Warrior’s skid and grabbed a handstrap on the side. He rapped against the ferroglass window for the pilot’s attention. Made a circling motion with his finger. Cut his hand over toward the quarry. The pilot flashed him a thumbs up and throttled the VTOL to life, leaving Stempres behind as they lifted off for the short hop to Erik’s local military compound.
And it wasn’t until they were airborne, far from Stempres’ ears, that Erik answered the legate, his words lost in the beating thunder of the H-9’s rotor blades. “When you are playing Caesar’s game,” he said, “it is always best to cement your alliances.
“Before you take advantage of them.”
Taibek Foothills
Achernar
Raul Ortega had his back to the wall in the moments before Erik Sandoval’s arrival. Or, more to the point, the Steel Wolves had forced his Legionnaire back to the Taibek’s lower foothills.
The battle had started in the Agave Dales, with the Steel Wolves caught trying to loop around River’s End to hit the industrial sector or perhaps moving further afield toward the lower dams near Vera-Stiago. Tassa Kay had chased off after a pair of Demons, stretching their line thin. Raul might have held strong if not for a pair of raiding Visigoths and a new push by conventional forces.
Culled out from the main body of his task force by a solid line of Condors backed by Hauberk battlesuit infantry, Raul managed to keep a Schmitt and a pair of Rangers with him as the Steel Wolves threw into the gap a trio of ’Mechs led by a laser-bearing Blackhawk. The Blackhawk chased after him, pulling a squad of Condors and two SM1 Tank Destroyers with it. Faced with running a deadly gauntlet at the side of the slow-moving Schmitt or trading ground for time, Raul allowed himself to be slowly driven back, waiting for Tassa Kay to fight her way free of two Pack Hunters or for the reinforcements he’d summoned from River’s End to arrive.
That was almost an hour ago.
An hour of standing up under several missile bombardments and being pushed around the Agave Dales by powerful hovercraft. An hour of hit-and-fade tactics that was finally taking its toll. His armor profile didn’t look healthy, and his ammunition supply was red-lit—down into the last half-ton of fifty-millimeter rounds. In the northern Dales Raul had traded one of his Rangers for an SM1 Destroyer—both vehicles shredded into scrap metal and left leaking fuel and the blood of their crews onto the thirsty ground. But even keeping up such tactical victories, in the end the Steel Wolf MechWarrior had more than enough force under his command to outlast Raul.
He watched the Destroyer and half of the Condors power away to the northeast, on another flanking attempt he guessed wrongly. Then an electronic crackle in his ear warned Raul of an incoming transmission. “Republic force, this is Sword-One. Can you use assistance?”
Surprised by the designation, it took Raul several long seconds to recognize Erik Sandoval’s voice. His HUD was dialed in for short-range maneuvers, searching for hidden infantry or stealthy armor, but Raul found the neutral-blue blip of Erik’s force on his long-range sensors.
“All I can get, Sword-One.” Raul’s voice cracked, whether from a lack of moisture or the galling taste of being rescued by Sandoval, he wasn’t certain. He swallowed painfully. “I have more units pulled off to the south, but can’t reach them.”
“I’ve inherited part of your problem,” Sandoval said, his voice growing more serious. “Thanks for the Destroyer! I just lost a convert.” A pause. “Look, get moving. I can hold here and pull back into the Taibeks if it gets too difficult. Go find your people.”
It was still his people and Erik’s, Raul noted, but wasn’t about to question the offer. If Sandoval wanted to play with the Blackhawk, he was welcome to it.
Raul ducked his Legionnaire under the sweeping path of a Condor’s autocannon, centered the vehicle under his crosshairs and spent a precious burst of his limited ammo into its side armor. The Steel Wolf Blackhawk wasn’t about to let Raul get into him for another tank, though, and stalked forward to threaten again with torso lasers and the Streak-equipped missile launchers mounted on either arm. The arcing warheads fell all around and over him, shaking the ground and knocking his Legionnaire with fiery punches.
“Are you trying to draw him after you?” Sandoval yelled. “I can shift his attention toward me if you get moving.”
Raul ordered the VV1 Ranger to lead the way with the Schmitt to follow, but hesitated himself. “Are you sure?”
“You are the hardest people to help,” Sandoval complained. “Go now!”