The loss of the Galedon District reduced the map of the once proud Draconis Combine to a small rectangle of space roughly half again the size of the Capellan Confederation. The Clans' conquest of the Galedon District would put them directly on the border of the Draconis March, posing a direct threat to the Federated Suns portion of the Federated Commonwealth.
"Alex, I commend your projections, but do they take into account how long it would take for the troops that have been moved off the border to return to defensible lines?" Hanse studied the map closely. "Many of Theodore's troops could get caught without transport or supplies. That would accelerate the timetable of conquest, would it not?"
"I agree, Highness, it would."
"So, you're telling my husband and me that if Luthien falls, the Combine is destroyed?"
Justin nodded. "That is the long and short of it." He broke eye contact with Hanse and looked down. "Forgive me, my Prince, but I must now make a suggestion that I feel is my duty as your Secretary of Intelligence. We have fifteen regiments in position to consolidate the conquest of the Dieron District. If Theodore's time prediction for the strike on Luthien is correct, we could be at Benjamin and Galedon when the Clans hit."
Hanse felt an acid burn in his stomach. "Break my vow to Theodore? Hit the Combine?"
His face set in a mask of stone, Justin nodded solemnly. "They could not stop us. The Combine would be ours."
The Kurita curse lifted from my people forever!He pointed at the map. "Show me where we have units."
Little golden lights flared to life like muzzle-flashes all across the Draconis March and Isle of Skye borders. The line continued up the Rasalhague border, with two units deep in Rasalhague territory, and then traced a line that defined the Jade Falcons' incursion into the Lyran Commonwealth. Opposing his forces in the Dieron District, Hanse saw only a pitiful scattering of red pinpricks.
"The death of Luthien betokens the death of the Combine?"
Justin nodded with the finality of the Grim Reaper himself. "Without a head, how can the Dragon's body survive?"
The Fox shut his eyes as he came to a decision. "Orders will go out over my signature within the hour."
Melissa clutched his left arm. "Hanse, what are you going to do?"
"What I must do, beloved, just as with Thomas Marik. I have no choice." He stared at the gold sparks floating above the table. "I'm going to send them."
33
JumpShip Dire Wolf, Assault Orbit
Gunzburg, Free Rasalhague Republic
10 December 3051
Phelan Wolf could hear the thundering of his heart as it pulsed blood through his body. In the holotank, Natasha stood speaking with Marcos, against whom she would be bidding for the right to take Gunzburg. The young MechWarrior saw Marcos' fury at having been tricked in the Memmingen bidding, and he feared the worst. He and Natasha shook hands perfunctorily, then returned to their places.
"You didn't concede first bid to him, quinegVFrom the flicker of anger in her eyes, Phelan realized he had spoken out of turn, too quickly and sharply.
"Is that a concern of yours for some reason, Star Commander?" Natasha skewered him with a harsh, sidelong glance as she turned the bidding console toward her. "Don't worry. We'll win the bidding. You'll get your revenge."
Phelan knew he should back off, but anxiety overrode common sense. "Dammit, Natasha, you know I'm concerned about more than bearding Tor Miraborg in his den. I've seen the casualty estimates from Memmingen, and I'm not referring to our people. Marcos had a temper tantrum down there and decided to level two villages as an example. I know he's going to force the bidding close to the edge, and I just don't want to see us backed to the wall the way he was. I don't want to see Wolves killed, and I especially don't want to see civilians killed."
Natasha kept her voice so low that none but Phelan could hear it. "I share your concern, Phelan," she told him in clipped tones, "but this world is not yours for the bidding. Were your estimates of Tor Miraborg and his resources correct?"
"They were accurate this morning and I've updated them four times since then with COMINT from radio intercepts."
"You still maintain that two Clusters are not sufficient to take it, quinegV
Phelan punched the pedestal upon which his computer terminal stood. "No. Miraborg has half the Third Drak0ns, most of their air wing, the Gunzburg Eagles, and one reserve regiment. He's put guns on anything that can fly and every citizen has a rifle. They handed out 'fire and forget' inferno rockets that will have every city on that mudball burning down around our troops. The only way to beat the Iron Jarl is to deliver enough equipment that even he has no choice but to surrender for the sake of his people. That's the only way."
Natasha nodded grimly. "Then that's what we'll do." Phelan felt a weight begin to lift from his chest. "Then you've got first bid?"
"No, he has first bid."
"Why?"
Natasha smiled cruelly. "Because, Phelan, I want to make him sweat."
And you want to give me a heart attack.His chest felt as though invisible chains enclosed it in a steel cocoon. He glanced at his force estimates, then looked up to see Marcos' first bid appear on the screen. Dammit! He's a fool looking to regain the face he lost by having to ask Natasha for extra troops.
The giant display showed the Dire Wolficon on top. A large, eight-pointed red 'Mech star below it marked Marcos' desire for a full Cluster of BattleMechs. Phelan knew that would be enough to engage the Eagles and Drak0ns on the ground. Six green Elemental stars and three stars worth of aerospace support rounded put the first bid. As Phelan watched the unit breakdown represented by the symbols, he saw Marcos had requested just under two full-strength Clusters worth of troops.
Phelan pointed to the aerospace units. "Natasha, that's not enough aerospace support. And the Elementals are no good. He's got too many of them and they will be less than useless in an urban assault. He's cut his bid too close to the edge."
"Has he?" Phelan watched in horror as Natasha slashed the Elementals in Marcos' bid by two-thirds and eliminated a whole Triple worth of the aerospace fighters. As near as Phelan could tell, Natasha chose units at random, more intrigued by the pattern their elimination made on her console than out of any strategic concern. Before he could protest, she'd entered her bid on the computer, which appeared below her foe's on the overhead screen.
The only thing that kept Phelan's spirits from crashing to the deck was the stunned reactions of Marcos, Conal Ward, and Vlad as they studied Natasha's counterbid. Vlad hammered away at the keyboard on his information terminal, wiping away sweat from his head with the arm of his gray jumpsuit. His face brightened as he read some nugget of information, but Phelan's quick scan of new data from Gunzburg showed nothing to buoy his own feeling of doom.
He looked up at Natasha. "What are you doing? Vlad had things so close at the start that I don't see how we could win, and you keep cutting it down like a mad tailor armed with shears. I thought you shared my concerns for the people of Gunzburg."
Natasha turned on Phelan like a beast poked with a sharp stick. "I do share your concerns, but I do not have to make you privy to my every thought. There's more involved here than just the conquest of a planet, and whether or not a few innocents get splashed because they live in the wrong place. This is more than a fight between me and Marcos. It is a battle between the Wardens and the Crusaders. We hurt them with Memmingen, and they lost respect and materiel. Some of their bloodlines don't look so good now. If that happened at the cost of some civilian lives on Memmingen, too bad. Better they die that more can live."