Grave Covenant Page 8

  We hang together or we hang separately.

  A smaller room had been set aside for the military planning sessions. In normal times it served as a small theatre, with a podium set on a raised stage. The holographic projection units above the stage were focused so any images blossomed to life in front of the semi-circle of tables where the delegates sat. The old wooden floor and stairs to the stage creaked as the Precentor Martial made his way from the ComStar table to the podium.

  Focht looked out over the assembled leaders and military advisors. "The purpose for our sessions here is to come up with a comprehensive plan that will allow us to take the war to the Clans. Lest anyone be of a different mind, it is important to point out that our discussions here are military in nature and are not dependent upon political considerations. We are coming up with the best plan we can possibly construct to drive the Clans off and end their menace. Any considerations that distract and deflect us from this goal should be left outside this room."

  Marshal Sharon Bryan of the Lyran Alliance spoke up from her place. "Von Clauswitz noted that military action is the ultimate extension of politics, so how can we divorce it from politics?"

  The Precentor Martial's gray-eyed gaze sharpened. "Von Clausewitz made that observation about Napoleonic politics and warfare, but his book was published well after both he and the phenomenon he commented upon had vanished. If you look at the history of warfare fought while his doctrine held sway you'd see that the empirical data fails to support his conclusion. Warfare is far too complex a phenomenon to fit into so simple a paradigm, especially when the forces unleashed in warfare are capable of sterilizing whole worlds.

  "Please, harbor no illusions about what we will be discussing here. The Clans have, through genetics, technological development, and advanced training, created the most fearsome human military force mankind has ever seen. The fact that we have not been totally overrun shows that their advancement does not make them insurmountable and furthermore suggests that our warfare doctrines apply pressure to weaknesses in their armed forces."

  Focht nodded at a man in a Federated Commonwealth uniform. The man's ebon skin spoke of his African ancestry, but his crisp and precise gait as he approached the podium attested to military upbringing and training. Victor knew that the man was one of Doc Trevena's analysts and Doc spoke highly of him. For Doc to let him make this presentation means the guy has a lot on the ball.

  The Precentor Martial nodded at the man. "For those of you who have not met him, this is Dr. Michael Pondsmith. He is currently serving in the Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth as a Kommandant, though when not on active duty he is an instructor at the Sakhara Academy. His field of study is military history and quantitative analysis. His studies have found a model of warfare upon which we will build our assault, and we have asked him here to explain it to you. In this way we will all start with the same foundation. Dr. Pondsmith."

  "Thank you, Precentor Martial." Pondsmith's voice came deep and rich, instantly commanding attention. "The model of warfare I have been studying is known as Entropy-based Warfare. It was developed by Dr. Mark Herman, a military analyst and designer of military conflict simulations in the late twentieth and early twenty-first century. It adds a third realm of conflict to the usually accepted dual-realm model of warfare. The additional material this theory addresses has been, at various times, dismissed as difficult to quantify or only marginally influential; but the fact is that this model applies very directly and significantly in facing a threat like the Clans."

  Pondsmith hit a button on the podium's control panel and a yellow holographic circle appeared before the delegates. "Warfare modeling began very simply. One mode was taken into account, here represented by this yellow circle. It is lethality: the ability of troops to kill other troops and the effect of such power on the enemy. We all know—most recently from the Clan invasions themselves—that an enemy's ability to project lethality upon troops can make those who survive the attack crumble because of the horror and fear created by this projection of lethal force. For the longest time, lethality was the only element in warfare and, even up to the time of post-industrial military conflicts, it was the primary deciding factor in war."

  Victor saw a red circle burn into the projection and overlap with the yellow one. It bore the legend "Disruption."

  "As tactical considerations increased and became more necessary—because increased lethality and range accompanied military technological advances and increased the size of battlefields and wars—non-lethal and deceptive methods of causing problems for the enemy became valuable. If an enemy could be made to think you were going to attack at one place when, in fact, you meant to attack at another, his military might would be misplaced and wasted. Even keeping enemy troops on alert for an attack that never comes will have a serious effect on their ability to wage war.

  "The overlap between lethality and disruption comes from the advantage gained when command and control units are destroyed, or supply lines are disrupted. By a very specific projection of lethality, a target that affects the enemy's ability to respond can be destroyed. Kill a messenger relaying orders to a unit and that unit never moves. Kill a commander and that unit has no brain. While these units are by no means taken out of the battle, they are less than effective in helping to prosecute it."

  The black man pointed to the center of the room as a blue circle materialized and overlapped with the other two. "The Herman model adds in this third element: friction. It accounts for the damage done to a unit through wear and tear, both of maintenance necessary to keep it operational while on station and especially the problems caused by bringing the force to battle. Desertion, vehicle breakdown, taxing of fuel and food supplies, morale problems, and a host of other barely tangible factors fall into this realm. The green area of overlap between friction and lethality is known as maintenance attrition. It covers the inability of a force to repair damage and recover from a battle. The purple overlap between friction and disruption is called inertia and covers the damage done to a unit as it reacts to false threats and other deceptions.

  "The central area there, where all three circles overlap is the crux of entropy-based warfare. What it says is this: if you make the enemy move where you want him to move, hit key command and control units so he begins to lose command cohesion, then you hit him hard enough to shock his troops—and it's vital that shocking occurs—the enemy's troops will crumble. They literally won't know why they are where they are, they won't know what to do, and they'll be faced with enemies against whom there is no defense. If war is hell," Pondsmith concluded, "entropy-based warfare is Satan's sauna."

  Marshal Byran shook her head. "This theorizing is all well and good, and perhaps this friction allows quantitative methods to come up with numbers that match reality after the fact, but math isn't going to be what defeats the Clans."

  "Agreed, Marshal Byran." Pondsmith leaned forward on the podium. "However, analysis of Tukayyid, the Coventry campaign, and even the Red Corsair's raids into the Lyran Alliance point out that EBW is directly applicable to the Clan threat. The Clans operate almost exclusively in the realm of lethality. On Tukayyid we saw that forcing them to fight a prolonged war seriously affected their ability to fight. Their profligate use of munitions is an example of friction— they could not continue to fight because they used up the materials needed to keep them in combat. Only the Wolves, by restricting the need for supplies, were able to obtain a substantial victory over the Com Guards in the conflict."

  Wu Kang Kuo looked up from his place at the Capellan Confederation table. "Would I be correct in assuming, then, that operational and tactical considerations of our campaign are going to be focused on maximizing this friction damage to the Clans?"

  Pondsmith frowned. "Since the Clans appear to be vulnerable to damage in this realm, that would seem to be a wise plan; but that consideration is something better addressed by others."

  Victor stood. "Thank you, Dr. Pondsmith." He turned and let his gaze
travel around the faces of his counterparts at their various tables. "The primary reason for presenting entropy-based warfare to you as the underlying doctrine of our campaign is because it points out the one serious reality we all have to face: this will be a long campaign. It may have taken the Clans only two years to seize all the worlds they have, but they've had five years to prepare defenses. Our campaign will have to push them back across a broad front, and it will not be easy."

  Marshal Sharon Byran leaned forward at her place. "There's another way to end this invasion." Victor raised an eyebrow.

  Byran smiled. "We can strike at the Clan capital world, taking it and them out of the fight."

  "And you know how to get there?" Victor gave her a hard stare. "I wasn't aware you possessed its location."

  "I don't." Byran looked over at Phelan Kell. "But he does. He can lead us back to their lair. One strike, a coup de grace, and we'll be done with this business."

  Phelan's green eyes glittered coldly. "I will not lead you to Strana Mechty."

  "Treacherous dog! Then what are you doing here?"

  "I am here to help you defeat the Clans, Marshal Byran."

  "Yet you protect them."

  "No." Phelan shook his head adamantly. "I refuse to lead you to Strana Mechty for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that I do not possess the data to get you there."

  The Precentor Martial frowned. "You do not have a route to Strana Mechty?"

  Victor saw pain wash over Phelan's face. I think that's the first time I've ever seen him show weakness.

  Phelan stood slowly, with his head bowed. "When ilKhan Ulric Kerensky sent my taskforce into the Inner Sphere, he wanted to remove me from all temptation. He wanted me and my people in the Inner Sphere to serve as a brake on the rest of the Clans. He knew he was going to die, and he knew we would want to avenge him. To prevent this he took the extraordinary precaution of having the databanks of our ships purged of navdata for the Clan homeworlds. On top of that—to my knowledge—no complete map of that route exists. Way-stations and transit points provide the route to ships that are inbound."

  Byran's dark eyes became slits. "I think you're lying."

  "You have that luxury, Marshal Byran, but regardless, I do not have the data you want." Phelan's head came up. "Nor would I give it to you if I did. A single, long-range strike at Strana Mechty would only enrage the Clans and invite them to continue their war against the Inner Sphere. Without a campaign that shows we can meet them and defeat them, the Clans would dismiss such a strike as nothing more than lucky—and lucky it would have to be to get out there and back again while operational."

  Victor nodded toward his cousin. "There's nothing more I'd like than to make a single strike that could stun the Clans, but if we view matters realistically, it means we're going to have to force them out of the Inner Sphere. It is my estimation that such a campaign will take a very long time—on the order of seven or more years, depending on how involved it becomes."

  Wu raised a hand. "Define involved."

  "How many of the Clans are we going to have to take on?" Victor shrugged his shoulders. "If we can prosecute this war by finding a way where we only have to pit ourselves against one of the Clans, we might be able to work through them more quickly."

  Phelan nodded. "You must recall that the Clans themselves are split politically on the necessity of the invasion. The Crusaders believe the Inner Sphere must be liberated from those who have no claim to it, while the Wardens believe the purpose of the Clans was to save the people of the Inner Sphere from any threat—including themselves. If we choose a Crusader Clan to attack, we hurt Crusader credibility in the Clan Council. The Clans might be convinced to sue for peace."

  Byran tapped a finger against her desktop. "But we would never accept peace without a complete Clan withdrawal from the occupied worlds, correct?"

  The Precentor Martial stood and waved both Victor and Phelan back to their seats. "That, Marshal Byran, is a political question and will have to be settled by politicians. Our purpose is to address problems of troop readiness, transport, assignments, supply, and suitability for attacking particular targets. Where we will be fighting has to be settled by the politicians as well, but we must assure them that we can and will fight. We are the scalpel that others will use to carve the Clan cancer free of the Inner Sphere. It is up to us to determine how long that operation will take and how best to approach it."

  Sharon Byran scoffed. "I think you'll find this war anything but surgical."

  Victor met her contemptuous stare without flinching. "As long as the patient lives, Marshal, we've done what we need to do."

  10

  Royal Palace, The Triad

  Tharkad City, Tharkad

  District of Donegal, Lyran Alliance

  5 October 3058

  Katrina Steiner met Thomas Marik just inside the doorway to her office. She offered him her left hand by way of greeting, allowing him to use his strong left hand to meet her grasp rather than his scarred right hand. She read the surprise in his eyes at her action, but she refrained from letting anything but friendliness play through her smile. I know it impresses him when someone remembers his preference for using his left hand—he considers them thoughtful and kind, which is the impression I wish to make.

  "I am so pleased you were able to join me this afternoon, Captain-General."

  "I was most pleased to accept your invitation, Archon."

  Katrina looked up and beyond him as the double doors to her white office closed. "Your companion will not be joining us?"

  Thomas turned slightly to present his unscarred profile to her. "No, the Countess asked me to express her regrets, but she is shepherding my daughter about on an expedition through Tharkad City. I believe Isis was intent on enriching your economy, while Sherryl intends for her to see some of the points of cultural interest in the city."

  Katrina waved Thomas over toward the white leather couches bracketing a low glass and wrought-iron table. "Please, be seated. Can I get you some refreshment?"

  "Right now, no, thank you." Thomas tugged at the legs of his uniform trousers as he sat down. The green uniform was trimmed with royal purple, but lacked the stripes, chevrons, and braid that should have adorned the uniform of a man of his rank. To Katrina the uniform seemed martial enough, but its lack of decorations reminded her of the plain nature of ComStar uniforms.

  As if I needed to be reminded that Thomas was once a ComStar adept and even now is considered to be the "Primus in exile" by many of the Word of Blake faction.

  She had chosen to wear a suit cut along soldierly lines, consisting of a bolero jacket, a tailored skirt, and riding boots that hugged her calves like a second skin. Cut from white wool and leather, the only color in the clothes came from the gold buttons and buckles. Her hair had been gathered back into a single golden braid that she let drape forward over her right shoulder like a snake.

  "I'm sorry Countess Halas was unable to join us. She seems delightful, and I should very much like to get to know her better." Katrina took a seat opposite him. "I'm glad you have found companionship to comfort you for the loss of your Sophina."

  Breath caught in Thomas' chest. Less than a year and a half ago he had lost his wife and had discovered, shortly thereafter, that his son and heir, Joshua, had died while undergoing medical treatment on New Avalon—the capital of Victor Davion's Federated Commonwealth. The blow had been crushing for Thomas. When he discovered that Victor was plotting to substitute a double for his son, Thomas had attacked the Federated Commonwealth and succeeded in reconquering the worlds Hanse Davion had won from his realm two decades before.

  "Yes, I have been fortunate in that way, though Sherryl is the silver lining to a dark cloud."

  "No one could replace your Sophina. I know that." Katrina forced herself to swallow hard. "I felt so sad for you."

  "And I very much appreciated your message of sympathy at the time." Thomas stroked his jaw with his left hand. "And your decision to ref
rain from attacking my realm as I punished your brother's perfidy showed me your true nature."

  "Victor is my brother, but I could never support such a devious and cruel deception."

  "I sensed in you, then and now, a desire for justice." Thomas shrugged slightly. "I felt a kinship with you then that might have led to many things."

  So Tormano was right—you were interested in me as a consort. Katrina smiled and toyed with the end of her braid. "There are things one does for political reasons, and things one does for personal reasons. I know it is unrealistic for me to hope that my life can be one where these things are separated, but I truly wish it would be so. The love of my life— Galen Cox—was slain because of politics. My mother died because of it and—no, I should not say it... ."

  Thomas's gaze sharpened, but he covered his interest with a gentle nod. "I will respect your confidence, Katrina. What we say here is between kindred souls, not political rivals."

  She let relief gush through her voice. "My mother was desperately unhappy."

  "What?"

  "Oh, I know, it is considered heresy of high order— blasphemy really—to suggest she was not hopelessly in love with my father. She was, of course, in many ways, but Hanse Davion was distant and all but unknowable to a woman of her youth. It's true that they did grow closer over the years, but she hated being used to extend Davion power over her people. Think of it—for a wedding present my father gave her a war. He slaughtered millions in her honor."

  Thomas blinked several times while she spoke. "I had no idea."

  "Very few did. I don't think my brother realizes it, really, and I don't know if he would care if he did. Too much Hanse's son, he is."

  The Captain-General nodded quickly. "The Fox bred true in that one."

  "Unfortunately."

  "Do you think so?" Thomas frowned. "Though I never liked your father, if I could call him back from the grave and put him in charge of taking the war to the Clans, I would do so in a heartbeat. To mangle a saying, when your problem is a nail, the solution is a hammer."