Scavenged Restoration 66

Commissioned by RoyalTwinFangs

Scavenged Restoration

Chapter 66

-VB-

 Duke Michael Hasek-Davion knew that he had volunteered himself for a very difficult mission against the Capellan Confederation, but he’d done so because this gamble would see his star rise above Hanse Davion’s. 

Hanse Davion, even close to a decade after the end of the Fourth Succession War, had not fully recovered his previous reputation, influence, and reach. Though the Federated Suns looked united on surface, it definitely was not, and some of it had to do with his own effort in making sure that was the case. 

For example, the Capellan March was more or less fully in his camp and control. Oh, sure, they would obey Hanse Davion on a strategic level, but on a tactical and ground level? His word was right below God’s. 

The poor and undeveloped Outback was not even listening to New Avalon anymore. The Fourth Succession War took away what few jumpships that were being used to keep the region barely functioning. Now, it was even more of a wasteland than before. And the people there hated the Davions now in no small part thanks to his propaganda about the futility of the war that Hanse started. What did the Federated Suns gain? 

They gained nothing.

What little they managed to take from the Capellan Confederation was given away to the goddamn Lyrans who failed achieve anything of note. 

Yes, good citizens and soldiers of the Federated Suns bled … for some inept German fucks.

Yes, their own leader decided to starve their children to death and take away the few defenses they had to fuel that war. 

Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes!

Suffice to say, his agents in the Outbacks had been successful. There were even rumors about secession, and he had nothing to do with that! 

Things were unraveling just as he had wanted it for the past decade…

And then the fucking Lyrans ruined it.

Again, this helped him. Hanse Davion foolishly decided to join in on a war started by idiots who thought throwing nukes at a problem solved anything. Where was the elegant solution? Where was the final solution? Where was the ingenuity and creativity? 

He let out a sigh.

“Are you sure this is the right idea, dad?” Morgan asked. A leftenant general and a Davion loyalist, his son may be, but he was more than willing to help advise his dad on this.

Besides, it wasn’t as if the First Prince was moving much troops out in and out of the Capellan March. The operational command of this theater also belonged to him as the Field Marshal of the Capellan March. 

“You mean aside from letting the Capellans strike at us with impunity?” he asked in return with a raised eyebrow. 

Morgan grimaced. 

The war had been six months ago, and in that time, the Capellans had struck out from their space, but it was far less than what anyone had expected. Both they and the Free Worlds League sent out only raids, none of which had exceeded battalion units, and most of their focus was against the Lyrans. 

It was as if there was an unspoken agreement to not escalate along the Liao-Davion border, but that couldn’t be it. The idea that Hanse Davion would have agreed to de-escalation with William Liao? 

The sheer stupidity of that statement might make him laugh if someone actually thought it to be true. 

No, what was more likely was that the First Prince was wary about making the same mistake he did during the Fourth Succession War: invading the Capellan Confederation and being bogged down in an endless war of attrition in which the Capellans eventually came out on top thanks to their advanced technology and homefield advantage. 

But Michael didn’t care about invading and conquering worlds. No, what he needed was simply to be better than Hanse Davion and his children in reputation and political power. To that end, what he needed to do was show that he inflicted significant damage against the Capellans. Conquest would be a great secondary objective, but his primary objective was showing up the First Prince. 

Of course, he never worded it as such when discussing strategies with his general son. Instead, he framed it as “infrastructure and logistics damage that can be framed as significant victories for the Federated Suns.”

It was exactly what he intended, after all. 

“If mercenaries suffer a higher than expected casualty rate, then it would be because they didn’t follow our directions,” Michael shrugged. 

“And where are you going to strike?”

Michael took a deep breath in and leaned in. “My personal agents within the Capellan Confederation have identified that there is a significant industrial world just across the border. This system, Necromo, is apparently where they have at least one jumpship or warship shipyard.”

Morgan’s eyes widened. “Dad, you should’ve told the MIIO that! This is the first time I’ve heard it!” 

“Oh, I told them,” he shrugged. “But they follow the First Prince’s orders, so they and the navy have kept their ships along the border near our industrial worlds. But that’s why this plan can work. The Capellans have their ships arrayed on their side of the border across from where our warships are. Which means they are far from Necromo. Even if there is a warship there to defend the system, I will be putting together a force big enough to see it and their shipyard destroyed.”

“And how big are we talking about? Mercenaries - especially good ones - aren’t cheap.”

He smirked at his son. “I managed to cobble together four regiments. There will be at least two aero regiments.”

A single aero regiment made up sixty aerospace fighters and whatever dropships that were needed to carry them. Two would be enough to overwhelm just about anything the Capellans had defending a border system.

His son’s eyes threatened to pop out of his eye sockets. “Dad?! That’s a lot of money!” 

“Oh, I know, and I think it’ll be money well spent.”

Especially if most of them don’t return to claim the paycheck and give that bastard Liao a black eye for deceiving him during the Fourth Succession War. 

Morgan sighed, deflating from whatever he’d been about to say. “Dad, you know that they have warships, right?”

“Yes. And?”

“You don’t?”

“Of course.”

“Then how will these mercenaries do the jobs you give them?”

“Quite simple. I have enough pocket warships in my personal fleet to be able to give them the cover they need.”

Morgan blinked. “How many?” he asked, a bit of seriousness leaking in.

Ever since the Lyrans and Federated Suns worked together to create pocket warships, there have been a few rich corporations and houses that sought and managed to convert their dropships into pocket warships. He had done the same, taking on a few extra Unions and turning them into pocket warships by removing their mech bays, up armoring their thirty-eight-ish tons of armor to one hundred tons of armor, and putting on a pair of “sub-capital” grade lasers on each of the pocket warships, which was something that NAIS developed. Those dropships wouldn’t be able to defeat a warship by themselves but with two aero regiments? Not only was it more than possible but probable. 

“... I may have purchased nine.”

Morgan groaned. 

He knew why.

Dropships were already expensive, even for a duke of the Federated Suns. Upgrading them with the best that their mechtechs could get their hands on? Even more expensive. 

He may or may not have leased out large portions of the arable continent on New Syrtis to make this happen. And reduced tariffs on certain goods. And give preferential treatments to certain mercantile unions. And more. 

All of it had been more than he was comfortable with… but for the sake of punching that bastard in the face? 

It would be worth it. 

“Okay,” Morgan let out a sigh. “If … If you really are going to do this, then I’m going to need a spreadsheet of everything you have, both temporary and part of our house’s retinue.”

His son spent a week with the family to help plan out the raids along the border and deeper into the confederation and left to do his duty to the Federated Suns after that. 

-VB-

And so just shy of ten months after the outbreak of war and two months after Morgan Hasek-Davion left New Syrtis, the largest fleet assembled by anyone up to that point in the war jumped into the Necromo System.

Nine Union-class pocket warships. 

Twelve Leopard-class dropships. 

Thirteen Leopard CV-class dropships.

Fourteen Union-class dropships. 

Two Overlord-class dropships. 

One Fortress-class dropship. 

It was a fleet that even the Great Houses would be hard pressed to match immediately. Within these ships were five regiments of mixed battlemech, armored/tank, and aerospace fighters. 

Two hundred ten battlemechs with an average of fifty tons. 

One hundred forty aerospace fighters with an average of forty tons.

Seventy miscellaneous combat vehicles like VTOLs, tanks, armored troop carriers, and more. 

Close to five thousand men and women, ship crew, pilots, mechwarriors, and infantry.

This was a fleet on par with the fleets of the Federated Suns’ Fourth Succession War invasion of Tikonov Commonality. Grand and powerful.

And when Duke Michael Hasek-Davion assembled it, he knew that it would also fail if he did what Hanse did and try to invade the Capellans. 

No.

That wasn’t what these mercenaries and the retinue of his house would do.

Their job was to scour this world while the aerospace fighters and pocket warships devastated orbital defenses and infrastructure. To devastate Necromo and leave before the Capellans arrived with their warships.

All of their known warships were spotted far away from Necromo. Intel showed that there were only two reinforced regiments defending Necromo.

It was the perfect chance.

And so the moment after they jumped in, all fifty one dropships burned for the planet. 

---

I sniffed and then sneezed. 

I sighed.

Children.

Even as highly protected as they were and as clean as I could make their schools (which only the most trusted families and their children attended)… they were still children.

And they came back home with the flu.

“Tis the flu season,” I hummed to the tune of Christmas songs. Don’t know which one but it was catchy. “Tra la la la la la la la la…” 

Of course, I may be the chancellor, but the moment I got sick, people - including my wife and my retired godmother (who despite no longer being a member of the Maskirovka still hung around the palace and gave them orders) - benched my ass.

So instead of being behind the desk in my private office or overseeing matters in the throne room, I sat in my room’s most comfy chair, wrapped in blankets, and held a cup of hot chocolate. 

… I supposed that if being sick was the only way I could get some rest, then so be it. I had plenty of trustworthy subordinates and officials who could keep the confederation operational while I spent a week in absence. 

Too bad I can’t do anything else. This flu was kind of bad.

Knock knock.

I blinked in surprise. It wasn’t time for any of the servants to come in and tend to my needs yet. 

“Come in,” I said loudly but with a plugged nose. 

The doors of my private chambers opened wide not too slowly and not too quickly, and James Teng, the new Strategic Military Director, walked in with two aides. He looked troubled. 

I frowned.

That’s not good. Teng was even more stoic than Ridzik. 

“Report,” I huffed out. 

“It’s the Davions, chancellor. A fleet of fifty dropships flying the colors of the Duke of New Syrtis has jumped into the Necromo System and began their burn toward our orbital shipyards.”

“Oh,” I muttered. 

I got worried for nothing. 

I mean… I indeed should be worried. There were shipyards in Necromo, after all. 

And Teng was read in on the situation on the ground in Necromo. 

“And the Guardian?”

“Already alerted to the situation. Last reports from the Watchers and the Guardian itself have concluded that the Guardian is fit for duty.”

“Good. I don’t need to give the orders, yes?”

“Of course. It was always the plan.”

“Good, good,” I intoned a bit more deeply than necessary while smiling. “Now, we will watch them burn.”