“That's the public version.” The bitterness had fled as quickly as it had come, to be replaced with, regret in Wolf's soft voice. Several moments passed before he continued.
“Anton Marik tried to take control of the regiments. He tried to force us to his will by making hostages of our families on New Delos. We brave warriors wouldn't bend to his will,” Wolf said, sarcasm lacing the words. “We stood up to him.
“It wasn't just my brother who died there. My wife and our two youngest children were with the civilians Marik slaughtered.”
That was not what Minobu had expected. A brother lost in the tumble of political maneuvering was one thing. Joshua Wolf had been a soldier, and soldiers expected death in the political and military turmoil of the Successor States. Wanton murder of family members was something else. Even the Dragoons' storming of the New Delos Palace and killing Anton Marik might not be enough to lay innocent ghosts to rest. “My friend, I had not meant to stir such memories.”
“It's all right.” Wolf gave Minobu a faint smile of forgiveness. “That was ten years ago. I can talk about it now. Marisha has been a blessing in that regard. She has gotten me through the worst and taught me to face the future again. But, by all the gods of space,” Wolf continued, voice turning to steel, “I won't let anything like it happen again.”
Silence fell once more. Each man looked out on the stars, lost in his thoughts. To end the awkward pause, Minobu assayed, “You implied you had other children.”
“That's right.” Wolf's voice was far away, but the harshness was gone. “You never miss a trick, do you, Minobu?” Minobu inclined his head humbly. “I have a son. He's in Beta Regiment.”
“Beta? There is no Wolf on the regiment's muster.”
“That's right, too. He fights under another name. And no, not even you, my friend, will get that name out of me.” Wolf chuckled, much to Minobu's relief. “There would be no fair treatment if he were known as mine.”
“Shall he miss out on his heritage then?”
“No. He will come into it when he has learned to stand on his own feet. There are no free rides in the Dragoons. Nepotism only works when the favored can earn their own way. If he deserves my place, he'll have it.
“But right now, my place is host to this party. Let's go back and join it. Eat, drink, and be merry, eh?” Wolf laughed in an attempt at good cheer, but Minobu thought it forced. Not all the shadows had fled, despite Wolf's brave speech.
“Yesterday is done and tomorrow will bring its own problems,” he said, clapping Minobu on the shoulder. “After all, how often are the stars so quiet?”
15
Cerant City, An Ting
Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine
12 November 3024
Galedon Warlord Grieg Samsonov arrived at An Ting orbital station at 1300 standard hours, precisely on schedule.
Two hours later, he disembarked from his DropShip Winter Dragonat Cerant spaceport, entourage in tow. Among them was a man Minobu recognized at once, though he had not seen him in years. It was Jerry Akuma, a tall Japanese wearing the smartly tailored uniform of a Sho-sa,or Major in the Eighth Sword of Light Regiment. A small pin bearing the Galedon seal marked him as an aide to the Warlord.
Wolf had not been able to assemble his usual battery of Colonels to meet Warlord Samsonov. Only Ellman of the Training Command and Jamison of Zeta Battalion were on hand. As the group of visiting officers neared, an aide stepped forward with a packet. Coming before the Dragoon Colonels, he extended the packet and asked for Colonel Jaime Wolf. “Credentials and protocols, sir,” he said, handing the envelope to Wolf. The aide scurried back into the crowd around the Warlord, leaving the way clear for Samsonov himself to step up. Now that Wolf was identified, the Warlord paid no attention to anyone else in the Dragoon group.
“I am pleased to meet the illustrious Jaime Wolf,” he rumbled, though his voice indicated something other than pleasure.
“The honor is mine, Warlord Samsonov,” Wolf replied with a bow. Minobu knew that Wolf did not feel particularly honored, but the mercenary's voice betrayed nothing.
Samsonov's squinty eyes roamed Wolf's face as the mercenary spoke, taking his measure. His own face settled into an expression of disdain. The condescending tone that the Warlord took for the rest of the preliminaries told Minobu that he considered Wolf an inferior, a merc hireling soldier. Minobu wondered how long before the Warlord learned that he had made a mistake in underestimating the mercenary.
The reception group and the visitors organized themselves for the trip to Dragoon Administrative HQ, where facilities had been prepared for the meeting. Samsonov climbed into an opulent groundcar that pulled away almost at once, escorted by the lightly armored cars of Cerant's Civilian Guidance Corps. While Wolf and his officers boarded the second vehicle, the Warlord's aides scrambled for places in the remaining groundcars. Before Minobu could join Wolf, Akuma cut him off.
“You look well in your Chu-sa'suniform, Tetsuhara,” Akuma said with a cold smile. “Is it comfortable?”
“I am doing well enough, Sho-sa.”Minobu had not seen Akuma since Dromini VI, where dealing with the man had become trying. Akuma had performed his duty and was always respectful when others were present, but in private or on the field, the story was different. Akuma had questioned Minobu's decisions, always pushing, always deriding and belittling the code of bushido.Now the two crossed paths again. As an aide to Samsonov, Akuma would be in a position to affect relations with Minobu's charges, the Dragoons. It would be best to humor him.
All but one car had pulled away. The two men turned and strolled down the colonnade toward it. The brisk breeze flapped their uniforms about them and occasionally pelted them with fugitive petals from the flowering trees that lined the boulevard. The Sworder was trying to be nonchalant, but his eyes were carefully measuring Minobu's reactions.
“You certainly seem to be on top of things, which should give you a clear view of all around you. Perhaps there are clouds that make your sight a bit unclear,” Akuma suggested airily.
Minobu was puzzled by Akuma's approach, but refused to allow him the satisfaction of knowing it. He kept his face impassive and said nothing.
Akuma was undaunted. “You have been piloting a BattleMech in your forays with these hireling soldiers, haven't you?”
“Yes.”
“Don't you find it even slightly interesting that your name is still listed on the rolls of the Dispossessed in the books of the DCMS?”
The reminder, coming from someone Minobu knew to be a poor pilot at best, stung. He found that he had to leash his temper. The man definitely knew how to needle him. “I am aware of that.”
“Careful of that tone, Tetsuhara. One must be polite to a ‘MechWarrior.”
“It is as you say, ‘MechWarrior.” Insufferable puppy. Puppies must be taught their place.“Is it not also true that a junior officer is expected to show respect to a senior?”
“Indeed it is, Chu-sa”Akuma replied, with suave urbanity. “Even when the bars have no stays.”
Minobu looked up sharply. How could Akuma know of the rank insignia that had been sent along with his promotion? Had he a hand in Minobu's disgrace after Dromini? Was he ISF? Was that the reason for the constant baiting? Minobu had always assumed that it was personal, a difference in philosophy. Could it be something more?
To buy time to gather his composure, Minobu directed Akuma's attention to the practice field, where some Dragoon trainees were at work in a mock battle. Their simulator 'Mechs careened about the field firing low-power beams at sensor-studded armor. A computer recorded and evaluated hits, freezing portions of the machines when damage was estimated at sufficient severity.