Battletech gray death ri.., p.1
BattleTech: Gray Death Rising: (A BattleTech Collection), page 1
BATTLETECH: GRAY DEATH RISING
✷ ✷ ✷
A GRAY DEATH LEGION COLLECTION
JASON SCHMETZER
CONTENTS
Foreword
The Price of Duty
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Notable BattleMechs
Mercenary’s Honor
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Notable BattleMechs
Decision at Pandora
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Notable BattleMechs
More BattleTech Fiction by Jason Schmetzer
Battletech Glossary
BattleTech Eras
The BattleTech Fiction Series
FOREWORD
Working on such a huge IP like BattleTech leads to some very interesting thought experiments.
For example, there are several family dynasties that have spanned centuries, ruling their houses through direct heirs. Having successive generations take control of a duchy—or a throne—allows for intriguing takes on how one generation rules compared to the next.
This also works for mercenary commands as well. A recent project, No Greater Honor, examined centuries of the Eridani Light Horse’s trials and tribulations from the Star League era through the current IlClan one.
But what happens when a mercenary unit reforms from the ashes of complete destruction?
Well, you are now holding the answer to that question in your hand. Gray Death Rising is the collected three stories that detail the reformation of the Gray Death Legion by the heirs to Grayson Carlyle’s legacy. Written by long-time BattleTech author Jason Schmetzer, this volume includes the short novel Decision at Pandora, which is appearing in print for the very first time here.
Out of all the mercenary units that have come and gone over the centuries, the Gray Death Legion, at least to me, seems to be an obvious choice for revival. The main reason we chose it is because the unit was and is a fan favorite. I’ve talked to so many readers who share this experience: the very first BattleTech book they read was William H. Keith’s Decision at Thunder Rift, the first Gray Death Legion novel. That was the book that hooked them on the universe.
It was the same for me, all those years ago. I read that original trilogy, and all the other Gray Death Legion books, until the Legion died in the closing days of the FedCom Civil War in The Dying Time. And from that moment on, I felt like something was missing.
Luckily, I’m the editor of the line, which meant I could do something about it. And as it turned out, I wasn’t the only one thinking that way.
First, I was fortunate enough to have worked with Bill for many years before I came to CGL, and I approached him about writing a direct sequel to The Price of Glory. He was amenable to the idea, and in 2021, we published A Rock and A Hard Place, the first new GDL novel in almost 20 years. It’s an amazing read, continuing the adventures of Grayson, Lori, and the rest of the unit in the Succession Wars.
But as we moved into the new ilClan era, I also wanted to bring back the GDL in a new incarnation. And our amazing line developer, Ray Arrastia, was thinking the same thing. So we put our heads together, developed a story that would fit this new era and tapped Jason to write it.
As it turns out, there was an amazing coincidence in that decision. Because I had no idea at the time, but back when Jason was in grad school, Bill Keith had been one of his first instructors. I asked him to tell you what he told me:
I had to get a calculator and do this math, but when I was 23 years old Bill Keith taught me how to write a book. I was a kid, cocky, and I can’t imagine he even remembers me. We haven’t kept in touch. But I remember the lessons.
When John and Ray asked me to tackle the new Gray Death Legion, I said “Sure,” because when you get offered work, you say “Sure.” But inside, I was suddenly 23 years old again, sitting at a table in a library in Pennsylvania, across from a man who’d written more books than I had years of life at the time.
I had a lot of brilliant teachers. But Bill stood out.
If you read Bill’s books, his BattleTech books or his original ones, you get certain themes: good people, making the best decisions they can. Technology in warfighting changes, but people don’t. And in the end, people come first.
I sometimes get asked what my favorite BattleTech novels are. I can narrow it down to two: Bill’s Mercenary Star and Victor Milan’s Hearts of Chaos. Most people expect me to say Wolves on the Border, and that is a fine book that I enjoy immensely. But those two are fantastic BattleTech books filled with everyday people doing amazing things.
That’s what I tried to do here. I hope I did him justice with these stories.
I love it when the universe gives me exactly what I want—which doesn’t happen all that often.
I think Jason’s done a fantastic job in creating the new Gray Death Legion, with characters and stories we hope you’ll like as much as the first generation—and I can’t wait to see your reaction to Decision at Pandora.
But we want to hear what you think, too. Leave a review on the forums or Amazon or wherever you get your ebooks. If you all agree, I’ll have Jason write more new Gray Death Legion stories.
—John Helfers
Executive Editor, Catalyst Game Labs
CHAPTER
ONE
MACHEEMA
ARCTURUS, TAMAR PACT
13 AUGUST 3151
Words seemed more real on hardcopy.
Ronan Carlyle sat on a folding camp stool at the foot of his Gauntlet OmniMech, holding a printout of the general’s message loosely in his hand. The paper was already going limp from the moisture in the morning air. He frowned at the dirt, trying to make the words make sense in his head.
“…and because we cannot trust the Archon or the Estates General to look after the people of Arcturus, because they have failed at the basic duty we have sworn our lives to, and because the people of Arcturus and all the worlds of the old Tamar Pact still need, right now, this instant and all the days that follow, protection…”
He’d heard the address at morning formation; he’d heard the words from the speaker, and the whispers in the company behind him, and the noise in his head, but he hadn’t really believed it. But there’d been hardcopy waiting in his temporary office, printed on the flimsy yellow paper Lyran clerks carried along on missions for such things. It was thin and light and didn’t last long.
You didn’t spend a lot of mass carrying stuff from one star system to the next things that wouldn’t matter for long.
“Can you believe this?”
Ronan looked up. His sister stood nearby, in her cooling suit and holding a similar scrap of paper. Her blond hair hung loose, long enough she could part it and cover the sides of her head shaved for better contact with her neurohelmet.
“You’re holding the same message I got,” Ronan mumbled.
“…protection, we must accept that sacred duty ourselves. We must man the walls at night ourselves. We must look around ourselves and declare that these people are our first responsibility. The Commonwealth has failed them. The Clans who conquered them have abandoned them. But we will not…”
Isobel Carlyle frowned and stepped closer. “What does this mean?”
“It means the general is a traitor,” Ronan said, letting the words that had been running through his head nonstop out into the air for the first time. “It means we need to find out how much of the rest of the RCT supports her.” He crumpled his hardcopy up, frowned, and looked back down at the dirt. “Because if it’s a lot…”
The Lyran Commonwealth was one of the star-spanning empires of the Inner Sphere, encompassing hundreds of worlds and billions of people. It was centuries old. It had survived the worst of the Succession Wars and the Word of Blake Jihad. Before the Blackout and the invasions of the last few years, it had remained an economic powerhouse. The planet they now stood on, Arcturus, had been one of the Commonwealth’s founding worlds, all those centuries ago. And now…
“It’s going to be a lot,” Bel said, bringing him back. She crouched down on her heels next to him. “I heard cheering as I was coming over here. She brought the Guards back to Arcturus. And you heard the same barracks grousing as I did on Kandersteg…”
Ronan grunted. Soldiers complained; it had been that way since Sargon. The Twenty-sixth Arcturan Guards regimental combat team was a young unit in the L
“…we cannot. Because today, we declare the Tamar Pact reborn. Our history with the Lyran Commonwealth is long and sacred, but Trillian Steiner and her government have abandoned their duty to the people of the Pact worlds. We can no longer look backward for guidance about the future. Today we must look to ourselves, and trust ourselves to build our own brightest future.”
“We swore oaths,” Ronan said. “I can’t believe all of our comrades will forget that.”
Bel frowned, tugging at her hair with her left hand. “We all swore those oaths,” she parroted, “but there a lot of people in this RCT who are from here. They swore oaths about that, too.”
Ronan stepped into the kommandant’s office and braced to attention. Kommandant Sunrise Merkel did not look up from his noteputer. Ronan, not having been released from attention, could not relax, but he chanced looking around at what he could see. The room was bare, almost spartan, but there were signs.
Merkel was a swarthy man, too dark to show a blush, with close-cropped hair. He stood just under two meters, where Ronan stood just over, and went exclusively by his last name. With a first name like Sunrise, Ronan understood why. Like Ronan, Merkel wore standard Lyran battledress. Unlike Ronan, who wore the Lyran fist flag on his shoulder, the battalion commander’s shoulder was bare.
Ronan swallowed; he’d known there was a chance Merkel supported the general’s treachery. When he put his outrage aside and considered it rationally, he knew General Regis would have to stack the deck with people who thought like she did. It wouldn’t be much of a desertion if her XO shot her on the way to announce her treason.
“Hauptmann Carlyle,” Merkel finally said, looking up. “Stand easy.” As Ronan relaxed, he saw the kommandant’s eyes flick to his shoulder flash and then back to the company commander’s face. “Echo Company has received the general’s message?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And? What’s the response?”
“I haven’t asked them, sir,” Carlyle said stiffly. He wanted to say he knew none of his MechWarriors would ever turn their back on the Commonwealth, but he couldn’t. He only trusted his sister, and while Bel knew most of the troops better than he did, even she hadn’t been confident. “I am not in the habit of asking them how their mail makes them feel.”
“I see,” Merkel said softly. He stood. “There will be another formation in an hour. Outside the hangars. Troops are to muster with personal gear packed for change of station.” He paused, mouth working. “It should go without saying that attendance is mandatory.”
“Where are we going, sir?”
“Hopefully nowhere,” Merkel said. “But we will have to wait and see.”
“What does that mean, nowhere?” Bel hissed. She stood one rank behind him, in the same file, in the Echo Company formation. Behind the twelve MechWarriors were assembled the technician and assistant technician teams assigned to Echo Company, in a similar but larger formation. It took a half-dozen technical staff to keep a BattleMech running, but only one MechWarrior. “Why have us pack and get out here if we’re not moving?”
“Be quiet,” Ronan said. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
“But—” the sound of an approaching skimmer cut her off. Ronan looked to his left, toward the BattleMech hangars. A two-person skimmer skittered toward them on soft skirts; at the last moment it spun in place and flew backward, drive fan blasting to slow it down. Two people climbed out when it stopped: Kommandant Merkel, and Leutnant-Colonel Kathleen McQuade, the regimental operations officer. McQuade, short and stocky, like the tanks she used to command, openly scowled at the assembled troops.
“Company, atten-HUT!” Carlyle called. Heels clicked as the troops and techs came to attention.
Another vehicle appeared, a big civilian commuter bus. The vehicle’s big fuel cell engine wheezed and moaned as it approached. Its wide rubber tires squealed as it rounded a corner to come closer.
“That’s not enough for all of us,” Bel said quietly.
“Be quiet,” Ronan growled, his mind racing. Bel was right. That bus would hold maybe thirty troops with their personal gear. He glanced down at the duffel at his feet; maybe thirty-five, depending on the storage underneath the passenger compartment.
“Good afternoon, Echo Company!” Colonel McQuade had a carrying voice. She stepped closer as the bus creaked to a stop, Kommandant Merkel a step behind. Neither of them, Ronan saw, wore Lyran fist shoulder flashes. “Everybody got the general’s announcement this morning?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ronan said loudly.
McQuade’s head rotated like a tank turret to look at him. Her eyes were dead as Takashi Kurita, despite the fake, friendly smile on her face. “That’s good, Hauptmann, but I asked the whole company.” She looked back down the line of MechWarriors and past them, to the line of technicians. “What about it?”
“YES, MA’AM!” the group shouted back.
“That’s good,” she repeated. McQuade walked, leaving Merkel where he stood, down the line of MechWarriors. “General Regis has the best interests of the people of Arcturus at heart,” she said, still in command voice. “She knows—we all know—that the Arcturan Guard will never let any of the people in the Tamar Pact be abandoned again. The Jade Falcons could come back. The Ghost Bears are still out there. The Hell’s Horses are still out there.” She turned and marched back up the line.
“We will not—I will not—let those bastards come back and threaten a single person on this world, or any other world of the Pact.” McQuade all but snarled the last part. Ronan could hear the sincerity in her voice, even if he didn’t want to believe it. Worse, he didn’t disagree with the mission, but that was the LCAF’s mission.
“That is why we’re here,” McQuade said, not shouting, but still able to be heard by the astech in the last rank. “That is why the general said what she said. And that is why we are not going anywhere.”
She stopped beside Merkel again. “At least, the true sons and daughters of Arcturus aren’t.”
Ronan stiffened. Icy sweat broke out between his shoulder blades, and his fingertips and cheeks tingled with immediate adrenaline.
“Because she has valued your service up to now, the general has decided that any of you who still harbor loyalty to the Commonwealth instead of Arcturus will be allowed to depart.” McQuade’s expression looked like she’d been sucking a lemon. “Personally, I can’t even imagine how someone who’d come back to all of this—” she waved around her, “—could refuse it. But we have fought and sweat and bled together, and the general says that means something.”
Ronan could tell from her tone that McQuade didn’t really believe any of that, and it scared him.
“So here’s the deal: any of you who feel a greater duty to the Commonwealth than to Arcturus, any of you who’d turn your back on the people we are sworn to protect, grab your bag and board that bus. General Regis will send you, at her expense, back to the Commonwealth.” McQuade sneered. “Arcturus only wants soldiers ready to defend her.”
Ronan wanted to look around, to get the tenor of his soldiers, but he knew he couldn’t. He was in command. He had to set the example.
So instead, he bent, grabbed the straps of his duffel, and stood. Then he marched purposefully toward the bus, not looking back. Kommandant Merkel and Colonel McQuade watched him without comment.
