12

Arc-Royal

Federated Commonwealth

17 April 3055

 

Victor grinned unconsciously as he watched Morgan Kell walk across the dais to the podium. The warrior took his place without revealing the weaknesses one would expect of a man who had lived more than two-thirds of a century. Except for the increasing proportion of white in the mercenary leader's hair and beard, Victor would have said Morgan had not aged at all.

The Prince set his fork down beside his half-eaten cake and smiled at Omi, seated across from him at the round table. She returned the smile, then respectfully turned in her chair to face the speaker. Katherine—Victor refused to think of her as Katrina for reasons he could not nail down—whispered a comment to her dinner companion that elicited a polite chuckle, then they both fell silent as Morgan adjusted the microphone up toward his mouth.

"I would like to thank you all for coming here. I know, of course, that the Kell Hounds have been in existence for forty-five years, but it was not until I saw everyone gathered here—Hounds past, present, and future—that the enormity of that time fully struck me. And I am certain all our hearts carry memories of many others we wish could be here tonight. But I think ... I know . . . they are here in spirit."

Looking around the large banquet hall, Victor was impressed at the number of people who had come to witness Morgan's retirement. Most of the guests were former or current Kell Hounds and their friends and families, but that was not all. Omi Kurita and Shin Yodama were representative of former enemies or employers who had come to honor Morgan. Even Thomas Marik of the Free Worlds League and the Precentor Martial of ComStar had sent envoys, and a number of Brothers from St. Marinus House had left their monastery to attend.

Morgan smiled at his audience and looked a little embarrassed. "As some of you know, this is the third time I have retired from the Kell Hounds. The first time was without this sort of fanfare. My leaving became known as "the Defection" among those who remained with the unit. During that time my brother Patrick took over leadership of the Kell Hounds and further improved on what was already an ace unit. To my eternal regret he died to preserve the Kell Hounds during my time of self-imposed exile."

The white-haired man paused for a moment and Victor felt a sympathetic lump in his throat. Though Patrick Kell had died several years before his own birth, Victor had always hoped in some magical, mystical way that the courage and compassion his mother described in Patrick had somehow been reincarnated in him. As he grew older, he realized the idea was pure fantasy, but it had still driven him to push himself hard.

"Being ever the master of timing, I returned to the Hounds and recalled many of you to us just in time for the Fourth Succession War. The Seventh Sword of Light dulled itself on us and the Genyosha learned they were very good, but so were we. The Third Dieron Regulars paid a price for arrogance that I had hoped, once and for all, would act as a beacon to warn others about the futility of war.

"To my regret it did not. In 3039 we answered yet another call to war, and again acquitted ourselves admirably. Throughout the next ten years, we did the same again and again, which has made me proud that my family's name is linked with the Hounds. However, you accomplished those great things without me because, in 3042, I retired for the second time and took my nephew, Christian, to Outreach for training."

Morgan looked over to where Chris sat at the head table, and sketched a salute to him. Chris returned it, and mild laughter rippled through the group. "I even managed to stay away when the Clans first invaded. Colonel Allard and his staff were more than adept in plotting the course of the Kell Hounds. In concert with the Tenth Lyran Guards and the Ninth FedCom RCT, we handed the Jade Falcons their first clear defeat—and that gave them something to think about as they wandered off to choose their new ilKhan.

"Then I came out of retirement at the urging of Jaime Wolf, who persuaded me that the Clans had to be stopped at all costs. I was there, with you, as we stood side by side with the Genyosha and the Dragon's Claws, fighting to preserve the capital of the realm that has been our long-time enemy. I remember well the loud and long bitch sessions about how our old comrades would be spinning in their graves when we touched down on Luthien. Perhaps they would have been surprised, but I believe those warriors would have given all to help us win rather than be angry at our accepting that assignment."

A number of warriors nodded in agreement. "Why do I believe that? Because I know how warriors think. I know what we hold dear, what we desire, and what we fear. I know our goals and I know what we are willing to surrender to reach them. This is something that each of us who is heart, soul, and body a warrior shares.

"In the popular mind each warrior lives only for combat, like some rabid beast lying in wait for a kill. He is vassal to death, one tooth in the razor-kissed jaws of destruction. Like a vampire, who grows stronger and more savage by sucking up the lives of others."

Morgan took a sip of wine from a glass. "This is what people believe because they never know what it is to live through a battle. They hear us talk about blasting away the head of an Atlaswith a lucky shot. They hear about flanking maneuvers that rout the enemy, or an air-strike that obliterates a portion of his defense. They hear stirring tales of midair dogfights, of heroic efforts to get friends out of the field of fire, and of sacrifices made so others may live. And they hear those stories because those are the stories we choose to share with them.

"All of us know that cold, clutching feeling that rips through you when the enemy is sighted. All of us know the thick, sour taste of fear when our 'Mech is hit or our wingman tells us we have an enemy in our six. In nightmares we relive the terror of an unanswered support call and the grief of seeing a friend fallen where once he stood.

"What we should let everyone know is the truth of the paradox each warrior represents. Though trained in the ways of death, schooled in tactics, and steeped in strategies, the last thing any of us wants is war. We accept our responsibility and willingly do our duty, but we truly wish it would pass us by. Not because we are cowards, but because no one else so fully and deeply understands the consequences of our actions as we do."

More heads nodded around the room. Morgan's words echoed in Victor's heart and found a home there. It is not an easy thing to kill anyone, nor should it ever be so.

"Of all the things I have done with the Kell Hounds there is one act that, were a history of this unit ever written, would only comprise a footnote. On Lyons, in the spring of 3029, we helped to build a small community for refugees from the war. In that action we used our BattleMechs to actually createsomething. Destruction is easy, but creationis difficult. That community was called New Freedom and the reason it will never be more than a footnote is because within six weeks of its creation it became collateral damage."

Morgan let that thought sink in for a moment, then continued. "As I said, creation is hard work. In 3010 I created this unit. In 3027 I recreated it, and over the past three years, after the toll Luthien took on us, I have labored to rebuild the Kell Hounds. Several weeks ago Dan Allard and I agreed the job was done. And so am I— after the third try, I think I got it right.