CHIMEISHO-CLASS JUMPSHIP DCS AMAGI
NADIR JUMP POINT
EMPORIA
FEDERATED SUNS
3 APRIL 3150
I am a man with two masters, thought Tai-sa Takeji Yoshizawa as he chose the small paintbrush and considered its tip.
In the back of his mind, he noted and dismissed the usual noises the DCS Amagi made. JumpShips were the backbone of every army. Equipped with a Kearny-Fuchida drive, a JumpShip could fold space between two points, enter hyperspace, and reemerge at any location within thirty light-years of their origin. Massive solar sails charged the enormous batteries the K-F drive needed to function, but it also meant each JumpShip took days to recharge between jumps.
Since JumpShips couldn’t land on a planet, DropShips were used to travel between them and a planet’s surface. Depending on its size, a JumpShip could have as many as nine docking rings for DropShips to attach to. DropShips were incapable of faster than light travel, but could transport anything from a single lance of four ’Mechs all the way up to an entire company of twelve ’Mechs, their support personnel and equipment, and all of the command, control, and support vehicles needed to bring war to another world.
DropShips were used for more than war, of course. Commerce, diplomatic missions, even pleasure cruises. They varied in design, with some made for operation in an atmosphere, including wings and full aerodynamic controls to take off and land like a conventional aircraft. Other types, usually spheroid or ovoid in shape, used the sheer power of their rocket engines to vertically take off and land on a planet’s surface.
Jump point versus intraplanetary travel wasn’t the only difference between JumpShips and DropShips. Some JumpShips came equipped with grav decks. While DropShips could generate gravity through acceleration and deceleration, JumpShips spent their time in space not moving while they charged their batteries. During this time, the crew would operate in prolonged zero-g or employ the use of a grav deck, a ring-shaped section of the ship that rotated around the ship’s axis, creating centrifugal force that pushed everything on the grav deck outward, emulating gravity.
The DCS Amagi had a grav deck, of course. Otherwise, Yoshizawa’s current artistic pursuit would be impossible. Finding the small paintbrush satisfactory, he dipped it into the gold paint and outlined the black dragon against the crimson background of the vase. What is a man to do when he has two masters?
A slender man of sixty-seven, he was still in fighting shape, and did not tremble or shake as he created the thin gold line separating red from black. He still trained with the rest of his men in might and mind. Perhaps not as vigorously in the former, but always in the latter. No tai-sa of the Seventh Ghost Regiment could sit on their previous accomplishments. Not with the entire history of the regiment weighing against the hearts and minds of others.
Created over 150 years ago, the Seventh Ghost Regiment was nothing more than a dumping ground for untrustworthy but possibly useful undesirables—reformed criminals, troublemakers, and yakuza. Undesirable or not, the men and women of the Seventh were needed for their skills, their knowledge, their fierceness in battle, and their resourcefulness. Especially their ability to get equipment and supplies when normal logistics chains broke down.
In turn, they were allowed to be part of something greater than they were.
It should not have worked, but the commanders back then knew how to lead. No warrior’s former sins were considered in the Seventh. Only the future mattered. Only the regiment’s forthcoming victories and triumphs. The Seventh Ghost Regiment was where you came to discard the past and become a warrior for the cause. From unwanted to desirable, every member became a new person with a new destiny.
It was a paradox. Within the Seventh, no warrior’s past would be remembered, only what they did going forward. Outside of the Seventh, no triumph—personal or regimental—would be remembered, only their past. Only the weight of their former sins. They were, despite their victories, still burakumin, still unclean and untouchable. If there was a lesson within the paradox, he could not see it.
The dragon outlined, Yoshizawa put the brush down and considered the vase before him. It was a work of art. One of his better pieces. It wasn’t finished yet. There was still much of the border and detail work left to do. He also had the mountain to outline. It was close enough to the long tube at the top of the vase’s body that any border below the curve of the flared rim could disrupt the image.
Perhaps this was not one of his better pieces. He had put the mountain too high on the vase’s body. It all depended on the border decoration. He could salvage this piece.
He spun the vase on the rotating platform, turning it around and around, considering it. He was careful not to touch the wet paint. The dragon and the mountain warred for his attention, much like his two masters did.
His first master was Tai-sho Kyoshi Sunada, general of all the Ghost Regiments.
Yoshizawa had held the rank of tai-sa since the Seventh’s disastrous victory on Sakhara V—disastrous because the previous tai-sa had been so inept as to lose all their infantry, most of their tanks, and a third of their ’Mechs to a group of cadets. Cadets. That man didn’t even have the honor to face the consequences of his actions: he’d died of a heart attack, forcing Yoshizawa, his executive officer, to take command. But Yoshizawa had pulled out the needed victory at the cost of half of his aerospace wing. It was a victory and a promotion too hard won.
May his name ever be forgotten. Yoshizawa curled his lip in disgust and anger, then tried to soothe his thoughts. If he could not calm himself within a memory, how could he remain calm before those who would insult or oppose him? Discipline was ever his watch word.
As serenity descended, he continued his contemplation. In the past ten years, he had met his tai-sho only once, and not in private. It was as if Tai-sho Sunada felt he would be sullied by close contact, yet all missives and orders had had the proper respect due to a tai-sa, even if the respect was a lie.
Good enough to throw at the front line. Good enough to die for the Dragon. Yet, not good enough to be seen as worthy as we are. He knew he had to do something about it. Why was this so difficult? He’d already made his decision and committed his troops. The Seventh will fight and die for me. For us.
His second master was represented by Dai-i Sumi Yoshida. The woman was as strong as his blade and twice as keen. Her official role within the Draconis Combine Admiralty was that of a courier to Tai-sho Sunada, but she also served two masters. Who her loyalty belonged to, though, was without question. It was inked into her skin. Within the yakuza, she was shingiin, a counselor to her grandfather, Kumicho Makoto Yoshida, the head of the Yoshida-gumi.
Yoshizawa had served the Yoshida-gumi for decades. While the rest of the DCMS and DCA turned their collective face away from the Seventh, the yakuza had supported it, helping the regiment succeed. This experience within the criminal organization gave him the ambition and skill to take over the Seventh when his predecessor failed. His kumicho had invited him to visit once a year for the last ten years, which was a mark of respect as well as a reminder of who was the supreme boss. Yes, Makoto had treated him better than Kyoshi, but neither thought of him as an equal.
With a tilt of his head, he knew how to finish the border details on the vase without destroying the art he’d already created. The bottom border decoration would be two simple, thin, gold lines—the first around the very edge of the flared bottom and the second at the point where the bottom flare began. It was delicate and precise work, but would be an excellent counterpoint to the boldness of the decoration at the top of the vase, where a single thick band would cover the entire curve of the flared top. This would leave enough space between the border decoration and the mountain to outline it in the same manner the dragon had been. It was a bold move, but sometimes bold and aggressive was needed to create the perfect piece of art.
This was how the Seventh Ghost Regiment had always worked. From its inception in 3033 to the War of 3039, to the Clan Invasion, to the Dominion War, to the Federated Suns Incursion, to the Word of Blake Jihad, to the fights in the interbellum period to the Dark Age. In truth, the Seventh had lost more battles than they’d won, but they’d always won when everyone expected them to lose. Wanted them to lose. Wanted them gone from the rolls of the Dragon.
The hidden enemies within the DCMS were as dangerous as those in plain sight. Enemies like the Kokuryu-Kai, also known as the Black Dragon Society, who believed the Seventh to be eta, and not worthy of fighting for the Dragon. During the Jihad, they’d interrupted communications between tai-sa and tai-sho. They had forced the Seventh into idleness when they’d been attacked—at great cost to the Draconis Combine—and not allowed them to retaliate. At Fellanin II, the Kokuryu-Kai had attacked and destroyed two of the Seventh’s DropShips without punishment.
Enemies like the apathetic tai-sho who had assigned the Seventh to Capra, knowing they’d be under constant attack from both the Federated Suns and Clan Snow Raven. The Draconis Combine had forgotten them on the war-torn planet, leaving them to fend for themselves. Recruitment had been difficult. Yet, the Seventh had held Capra, despite their losses and their poorly trained recruits.
Recovery from Capra had taken decades. But recover they had, only to be let down by the tai-sa in charge at Sakhara V. In the past decade, only he, Tai-sa Takeji Yoshizawa, had brought the Seventh back to the force it once was. His MechWarriors were few but skilled. His infantry was minimal but motivated. His aerofighter wing was small but precise. All that was left was to make the next set of moves. The first movements had already been made, the orders given.
Each time he filled his paintbrush, it was with the intention of completing the round. The two bottom lines had been easy enough. Fill the brush, press it to the porcelain at just the right angle and force, spin the base platform. Do not tremble. Do not falter. A single complete line. A masterpiece in simplicity and beauty.
The top, bold border took more skill. A different, larger brush filled with just enough gold paint. With what he wanted, it was three full strokes: a bottom border, a top border, and the third to smooth the line in between. Again, fill the brush, press it to the porcelain at just the right angle and force, spin the base platform. Do not tremble. Do not falter. A single wide border that looked as if only one stroke had made it.
Were he a better painter—Yoshizawa knew he was no master—he would have created it in a single stroke instead of three. Still, the end effect was exactly what he wanted. All that was left to do was outline the black mountain in gold.
With the vase completed and drying, Yoshizawa gazed on the art he had created and what it meant to him.
It was no accident that gold separated the black and the red. The black figures represented the Draconis Combine while the red background represented the yakuza—ever-present yet hidden in plain sight. He was the gold line. He and the Seventh Ghost Regiment. Ever had they been pulled between the two forces.
I am a man with two masters. No more. It is time for me to become the master of my own destiny, and the destiny of the Seventh Ghost Regiment. Yoshizawa closed his eyes and meditated on these thoughts.
An hour later, his alarm chimed a reminder of the forthcoming meeting with his council. Yoshizawa rose with the ease of righteous determination. He knew what he had to do, and he would do it.
With a deliberate, careless turn, he allowed his robe to catch the vase and sweep it to the floor. There, it broke into a few large pieces and several smaller fragments. He considered them with satisfaction.
Rather than ring for his servant to clean up the mess, Yoshizawa picked up each broken piece, examined it, and set it on the waiting tray in two piles: useable and not useable. He would not throw out the unusable pile until he was certain those pieces could not be repaired by kintsugi.
Kintsugi: The art of “golden joinery” or “golden repair.”
In this case, “silver joinery” or “silver repair.” You worked with the resources you had. Where he and the Seventh were once gold, they would become silver, and on their own. If it could be managed, he would repair the vase with seven pieces. If he could not, it would merely be the universe reminding him that not all plans come into fruition as devised. Such a lesson he was willing to learn again. Still, seven pieces, to represent the Seventh Ghost Regiment, was the goal.
He would have his meeting, give his orders, then return to this vase and begin its rebirth into something new and more beautiful for its visible history in silver scars. Not everything broken could be mended into something beautiful. Not everything had to be. It was a good lesson to remember.