Being offered a glimpse of the technology used by The Republic to train its knights, its paladins, was too good an opportunity to pass up. Yori knew that providing a report on the equipment to Warlord Toranaga would be of great worth. But a recent Sun Zhang graduate against the prince’s champion?

Of course she would lose this battle.

In the end, the honor-match participants had all voted to go with the better technology package. Eager to see what tricks The Republic had cooked up. So instead of fighting a specific battle from the War of 3039, Tara had boiled the entire war down into a single tactical game. Julian Davion was given deep munitions reserves and equipment with better tactical flexibility. Callandre commanded a veteran armor battalion, and Jasek Kelswa-Steiner the “Lyran front,” which consisted of two regular assault companies that he wielded at his own discretion—Atlas es leading Behemoth combat vehicles.

Their mission was to capture three cities, and they had two of those already, while Yori’s concern was to simply hold them off for as long as possible. She had been given two medium-strength battalions, one of which Julian had chewed up and spit out in the first hour, her own heavy command company, and a final company of “hidden” forces to simulate Theodore Kurita’s Ghost Regiments, which had been used back in ’39 to turn the tide of battle. Kisho commanded the Ghosts. Alaric Wolf she let freelance a combined forces company, with only the most general guidance to “devil the Lyran assault and keep them busy.”

So far, the wolf had done an incredible job. Jasek’s contingent was spread out over five klicks, trying to regroup, and Alaric had claimed five “kills” for himself.

Yori had only the one Firestarter and a Mobile HQ so far. A poor showing.

Desperate to improve her record for Toranaga, Yori pushed her weapons, fast-cycling them in order to add to the damage already being wrought by the twin Warhammer s. White-hot energy arced across the burning ground as her PPC sliced deep into the side of a retreating Centurion. Her missiles corralled and decimated a short squad of Cavalier infantry.

Yori pulled a pair of Shoden assault vehicles in close, protecting her flanks as she half-walked, half-slid down the ridgeline’s tailings. Kisho continued to push forward past her position and deep, deep into the Davion backfield.

Springing the Ghosts on Julian so late in the battle had been a risky maneuver, but now the fresh assault force not only blunted the Davion thrust, it began rolling up both sides of his forward line. The Warhammers slashed apart vehicles and infantry formations with their PPCs. Demons raced down more versatile tanks—Condors and even some of Callandre’s deadly SM1 Destroyers—using pack-tactics to drag down the stronger vehicles.

Raidens clung to the sides of armored hovercraft or swarmed the lower legs of BattleMechs. A pair of Jousts attempted to retreat. VV1 Rangers and Hasek MCVs pressed forward, milled about uncertainly. Some dropped Infiltrator infantry, which Kisho’s Catapult shattered and scattered. The rest tucked tail and ran.

Not what she had expected to see.

Not at all.

The entire Davion front was stalled and wide open!

There was nothing concrete. Nothing that said this wasn’t a trap to draw her in for the kill. It was simply a gut feeling, gauged from the reaction of the auxiliary units and how that chaos was likely extrapolated from a broken Davion strategy. The conservative decision, she knew, would be to take advantage of the lull to reform her line.

But a very loud and dangerous voice inside her argued for an immediate reprisal attack.

“It is often better to fail spectacularly than persevere in mediocrity,” she whispered, careful of her voice-activated mic.

The words weren’t hers. They belonged to Theodore Kurita. They belonged to the Kurita defense in the War of 3039.

Swallowing back the taste of blood and scorched electronics, Yori toggled for an all-hands channel before she could think better of it.

“Main forces, advance!” she ordered.

Throttling up into a run, the Grand Dragon ate up the ground in strong, four-meter paces.

“Straight into the teeth, and kick them back down their throat. Wakarimas-ka? ”

She swapped fire with a Davion Pack Hunter, trading particle cannons. But she had greater armor reserves to fall back upon. Soon the fast-attack ’Mech was also limping for its rear lines. Her missiles arced out in wave after wave, falling among the infantry and light armor assets Julian had left exposed. Kisho’s Warhammers speared forward in a two-prong drive.

His Catapult and her Dragon followed.

The Davions were in full retreat. It was working!

“Banzai Company, push to liberate Nagasoku. Alaric, if you have anything left, now is the time! Hit them. CRUSH them!” she shouted, already tasting victory.

“Forward the Dragon!”

Terra

Republic of the Sphere

13 May 3135

Erik Sandoval-Groell was allowed to accompany his uncle into one of the training center’s monitoring stations. A narrow, windowless bunker-style room suffering from a lack of good ventilation, it was close and stuffy. And he was choking on the dueling perfumes worn by Sandra Fenlon and Nikol Marik.

Lars Magnusson did not seem to mind. The Ghost Bear warrior seemed to enjoy the company of both women as all three crowded near the left-hand wall, watching the battle unfold on a number of wall-mounted flat-D screens where “guncam” footage played alongside tactical and strategic overviews. Lars stood in a modified parade rest, as if concerned with where he might allow his hands to roam. His gaze kept jumping from one screen to the next, and when asked he offered commentary on how things were progressing.

Badly, from the looks of it. But no one could be certain.

No holotank display. No live network to pull up a review of casualty percentages or tactical scoring. Erik and Aaron had both been surprised at the rudimentary facilities offered their small group. Erik wondered if the better monitoring station had been given to the Dracs and the few Wolves who had shown an interest in the battle. Or had a cadre of Republic knights—or paladins—reserved the best equipment in the Auxiliary Training Center?

And Erik could only imagine the treasures being shown off inside the Sphere Intelligence Service building next door, a show catering to Prince Harrison and Warlord Toranaga.

“Is Julian faking weakness?” Erik asked aloud, voice pitched for his uncle alone. Not that either of them had any doubts that the barest whisper could be—and was being—recorded.

Duke Aaron Sandoval had chosen a paramilitary uniform similar to the modified Republic dress worn by most Swordsworn officers. Worn by Erik as well, this day. The lord governor of Prefecture IV stood in a posture of relaxed meditation. One foot out in front of the other. Resting his right elbow in his left hand, propping up the right arm so he could tap two fingers against his chin. A study of idle concentration.

Always playing a role. Today: the indulgent nobility.

“If so, it is a very good act. And Yori Kurita has bought into it.”

Erik watched the battle as it turned against the Federated Suns. It bothered him deeply, watching Combine forces roll in against a Davion line—the Sandoval dynasty’s greatest fear, the threat they had lived with for so many generations. Erik might be displaced into The Republic of the Sphere for his education and edification under the care of his “uncle” Aaron, but that did not make his heart beat blood that was any less sworn to the Draconis March. And the family.