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First Contact - Third Wave - Chapter 363 (Memoirs)

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A Great Herd Main Battle Tank Type XIX. IXTB-38A8r4. One hundred fifty tons of armor, molecular circuitry, guns, and hoverfans. Designed 638 thousand years ago and never having needed a single upgrade. A 180mm main gun that fires an eight pound plasma shell. Two rows of 80mm vertical launch systems capable of delivering a variety of variable fuzed munitions. A driver's, tank commander's, communication's officer's, and an electronic warfare officer's external 18mm quad barreled plasma machinegun that could be controlled inside or manually by partially exiting the appropriate hatch. Capable of reaching a top speed of nearly forty miles an hour. The crew can survive inside the compartment for up to 11 hours without discomfort. Single layer medium grade battlescreens often used on light frigate naval vessels. Waterproof, soundproof, able to be piloted and operated even in vacuum thanks to sixteen antigravity pods, although at a much slower speed and slower response.
The mighty armored fist of the Unified Military Council, in support of the Unified Civilized Council.
According to my trainers, the last time a single tank had been damaged to the point that it could not fight, excluding operator error or sabotage, was nearly 23 thousand years prior to my introduction to my first tank.
I was excited as I inprocessed. I was to be assigned to one of the most modern tank designs around, military war machine made manifest. Perfection achieved and domination assured. I was almost eager the day I was allowed to enter the motorpool and taken to where the tank I would be a crew member of was parked.
It was love at first sight.
My fellow crewbeings thought I was a bit insane, to be honest. I worked on my tank, learning everything about it that I could from the neo-sapient mechanics. The driver was happy I could start it up for maintenance, meaning he could continue on with his long running alcohol related binge.
Within a month I could tear apart my gunner's sight, even the firing mechanism, and rebuild it from spare parts found in the motor pool supply shed. I even knew workarounds and field repairs that existed only in esoteric manuals and passed down in whispers between mechanics.
I earned my "gunner's bite" at my first live-fire range, where I learned that it was best if I let my helmet push back a little instead of pushing it against the padded sight. Pushing my face against the padding, using only my forward eyes, concentrating on putting each shot right where I wanted it.
Everyone took notice when I scored a perfect 1,200 points.
Some were happy for me, considered what I'd done proof of the Great Herd's might.
Others were jealous, starting whisper campaigns that I had somehow rigged my software to give me an illegal edge during live fire gunnery practice.
My fellow gunners led the campaign to have my accomplishment gone over with a fine toothed comb, many of them accusing me, to my face, of cheating.
My gunner's station was pulled apart, each block of circuitry examined, each byte of firmware and software gone over, even the gearing examined closely to see if I had somehow pulled off the shroud at the base of the barrel and adjusted the microgears that did the minute changes to barrel angle and elevation.
In the end, my score would have been stricken from the record, since my gunner's sight had gotten early maintenance, the neo-sapient maintenance crew replacing it twenty years before necessary. I would have been sent to do manual labor as punishment, or perhaps worse.
There was even talk of a court martial to put me in my place.
Mil-Sec officers had arrived in our motor pool to place me under arrest when the sirens began to wail. Everyone looked around confused, even the Mil-Sec officers, at the tone of the siren.
It came over my implant at the same time as everyone's else, my lockout being lifted.
My platoon Most High began rearing up and down, screaming at all of us to get into ranks for inspection. The platoon Second Most High began galloping in circles, shrieking that we were all going to die.
He was wrong.
Only most of us were going to die.
--Excerpt From: We Were the Lanaktallan of the Atomic Hooves, a Memoir.
"I hate landing into an ongoing fight," General No'Drak said, staring at the various holotanks. He had been in the same place for six hours, watching everything take place. The counter-attack, the first in the five days since Confederate forces had arrived, was moving in fits and jerks.
"It's a mess out there," General Moffeta said, watching a map of the megacontinent where her air support assets were spread around widely.
"Are you concerned, Most High?" Grand Most High Ge'ermo'o asked.
"Always when even a single one of my men are engaged in combat," No'Drak admitted, tapping a cigarette against the railing he was leaning against. "There are a million ways this can all go sideways on us."
"Sir, signal from Space Force!" came the cry from below.
"Throw it up here," General No'Drak snapped, bringing up a secure holo-port.
The twinkling cone resolved into a tired looking Rigellian female with admiral's pips on the brow of her armored vac-suit. She had bags under her eyes from stress and her eyes were bloodshot. Static kept rippling across the hologram and General No'Drak knew it was from phased wave plasma motion guns and C+ cannons firing.
"General No'Drak here, can you hear me, Admiral?" the Treana'ad said, slowly and distinctly.
She spoke for a second, obviously to someone outside of view, then looked forward. "Admiral HawGawk here, General," the rippling went over the hologram and she waited a second. "We've got a status change out here."
"Go for sitrep," No'Drak said.
Ge'ermo'o watched interestedly. He had seen how his fellow Lanaktallan reacted to a changing situation obviously getting worse and was curious as to how the lemurs would react.
"Eighty plus point sources just came in at the Hellspace limit. The stellar stabilizers and the Hellspace interdiction craft from the Crusade of Wrath helped. We have eighty plus Harvester Class, including what look like mostly new classes, out near the far gas giant," the Admiral said.
"I repeat back, Eighty plus Harvesters at the far gas giant, primarily Type-III," No'Drak said.
The Admiral nodded. "At least three hundred are coming straight at you. I've detached two Battlecruiser Groups to defend the planet, but the heavy hitters have to stop those Harvesters from spamming ancillary vehicles and swarming you under," she said. The lights around her flashed and she rocked slightly to the side. "We were right not to break up into hunter killer groups to go after the last of them, looks like the initial wave was simply to pull us out of position."
No'Drak nodded. "So, whatever gets through, we're on our own," he said gravely.
Ge'ermo'o felt a little bit of fear at that.
"Sorry, General. Space Force has its hands full up here," she said. "We've already sent out a distress beacon. The Crusade ships have sent out a call for reinforcements, but with the Case Omaha on TerraSol, options are limited for them."
"Understood. Have you tactical forward what they can. Good luck, Admiral, and Fight the Ship," No'Drak said.
"Pound the Ground, General," the Admiral said, and then she was gone.
No'Drak tapped the cigarette a few times against his bladearms and Ge'ermo'o could smell the scent of freshly cut grain. The Treana'ad stared at the holotanks down below as he slowly put the cigarette into his mouth and brought out the lighter.
Ge'ermo'o was slowly learning Confederate map symbols, he could see how the soldiers of V Corps were spread all over the planet, fighting the landing Precursors and their forces.
General No'Drak unfolded his lighter with a snap of his fingers, spinning the striker in the same motion and bringing up a yellow flame. He slowly lit the cigarette, staring down. He puffed on it for a moment and exhaled the smoke around his footpads as he put the lighter away.
"The Precursors have adjusted their tactics," he said softly. "Never count on the enemy staying stupid."
"How many of the next wave do you think will reach the planet?" Ge'ermo'o asked. In his opinion, the planet was lost and there was nothing anyone could do about it. But if the lemurs were willing to fight, he would stand right here next to them.
He'd come to like them.
"Just a little over a third. Sixty or so units," No'Drak said. He brought up the map. "We got lucky they didn't catch us out of position. We knew there were still Googly-Eyes in the Oort Cloud, which meant either they were going to come back in again or we'd missed something."
"Harvester-Twenty-Nine is breaking up," Someone called out from the floor below. "Harvester Thirty-Eight has dropped out of formation, looks like someone got a piece of his engines."
No'Drak nodded.
The icons for the lighter units, the Dreadnoughts and below, were burning brightly. Space Force was concentrating most of their firepower on the massive Harvester Class units that had been forced to drop out further from the gravity well of the stellar mass burning brightly at the center of the system.
The Treana'ad officer knew that every kill counted with the big Harvesters. They'd sit out there and keep producing lesser units until the sun burned out if given the chance.
He had ordered the BOLO units to switched targets, ordering them to engage the incoming planetary assault units, leaving the already planet-side units to the ground forces.
It was a calculated risk, and General No'Drak was an excellent mathematician.
General Moffeta's units were hitting the Precursors as soon as they made atmosphere, pushing through the leading wave of fire to attack the Precursors during the short time their battlescreens were down. The interference from entering the atmosphere was scrambling the Precursor's sensors, putting their point defense offline. That let General Moffeta's units take long strafing runs at the massive machines.
No'Drak winced when one of the incoming Jotuns broke up at 15,000 meters up, the huge chunks tumbling to the ground.
The planet was taking a pounding.
General No'Drak made a motion, bringing up the communications section. The PFC who answered was a Terran had oversized eyes and whiskers.
"Is the hypercom still functional?" he asked before she could speak.
"Yes, sir," she said.
"Contact the Telkan system. Tell them we're going to need a full elven court here," No'Drak said. He sighed. "Tell them we're going to have massive Precursor wreckage as well as..." he paused, took a deep drag and exhaled it.
Ge'ermo'o noticed that it was pushing back the smell of freshly cut grain.
"We're going atom smasher. We've got over two billion civilians in shelters. Put out a request for evac ships, even on the junker channels," he said.
"Yes, sir," the female Terran said. Ge'ermo'o wondered why her eyes were so big. If they helped with her job, if her parents had possessed big eyes in their DNA, or if she just had liked them.
No'Drak cut the link and looked at the surrounding officers. "I'd give my mandibles to have Tik-Tak here."
That got chuckles.
No'Drak knew that the elven queens could repair the damage he was about to order his troops to commit to.
But if his men couldn't get it under control, couldn't smash the Precursor threat, there wouldn't be a planet to fix. He could see that the Precursors had arrived to strip mine the planet, probably down to gravel.
Part of him wondered why they wanted the planet so bad. The asteroid belts had been mined to nothing over the last twenty thousand years. Most of the easily accessible minerals were gone.
Then he remembered that elements of Third Armor were engaged with mining machines.
He looked at the icons for the Treana'ad Infantry Hordes and Air Mobile Clouds and a small part of him wished he was a Lieutenant again, charging across the ground in armor with his heavy weapons on the top of his abdomen.
After a moment he made a decision.
"Order all personnel on planet into armor and to draw weapons from the armory," he said. He turned to the two Lanaktallan. "Gentlebeings, I'd advise you to prepare yourselves."
"You think we will be attacked here?" Ge'ermo'o asked.
"Can't discount it at this time," No'Drak said. "The reinforcements were a high probability and it looks like our cards weren't as good as we hoped."
"Surely you won't be defeated," Ge'ermo'o said. "You won't withdraw!"
No'Drak shook his head. "No. There's too many people in shelters, too many people in hiding. We'll fight to the last."
"The Confederacy doesn't leave civilians behind to die," General Pulgrak said. He stretched, his shoulders popping. "Glad I qualified on my armor and weapons two months ago."
General Vandu licked her lips, looking around, her eyes moving back and forth. "Are we staying here?"
General No'Drak put away his cigarette. "Yes. We will still coordinate the battle, but we must be ready to join the ever put upon lower enlisted and junior officers should the Precursors assault our command and control area."
General Vandu nodded, her lips twitching in a smile. "Just standard body armor, or can we..." she started to ask.
"Put on power armor?" No'Drak asked. He gave the equivalent of a shrug. "There are several companies of power armor troops here to defend this base, you know that. If you wish to lead them from the front, you have my blessing."
General Vandu hurried off.
"She will see if the taste of combat is as sweet as the fantasy of combat awards," No'Drak said softly. He turned to his aide. "Let's suit up."
The Colonel nodded. "This way to the armory, General."
A Terran captain next to Ge'ermo'o touched his lower right elbow. When Ge'ermo'o looked at him, he noted how grave the Terran looked.
"If you Lanaktallan gentlemen will follow me, we should have time to fab and fit you with armor."
Ge'ermo'o was proud of himself for how calm he knew he looked as he nodded.
Trucker dropped down into his tank, slamming the hatch shut over him.
He'd waited till almost the last second. The tank shuddered as the lead of the debris wave hit his tank. The wave was thick dust, formerly ferrocrete and asphalt, all ripped up by the massive Precursor combat machine going nose first into the suburbs beyond the city and scraping the bedrock for nearly eight miles before it had lost momentum and slammed down into the channel it had carved.
"Can't see shit, sir," his driver said.
"Tell all units to hold position, give the air a minute to clear," Trucker ordered. He heard his radioman passing the orders and looked at his sensor tech. "How many?"
"I saw four entering atmosphere before that big monster hit," he said. "Maybe more. The sky's on fire."
"331, how's it look in there?" Trucker asked.
--rough shape-- the Mantid Engineer Team Leader admitted. --try not to let them hit you--
"We're a tank. We're a little obvious," Trucker chuckled. He tapped his software and tossed a meme at the Mantid team of his tank, with great big googly eyes, trying to hide behind a tree, with meters of hull and an eye on each side of the tree. The caption "I R HIDYN!" at the bottom.
That got back giggling emojis.
"All Regimental Commanders, check in," Trucker said. He scooped out his dip and slung it into the can. He repacked it while he waited for his commo tech to get in touch with the different regiments.
"Trucker wants a sit-rep," Colonel Dremsal heard faintly over the roar of his quad-barrel.
"TELL HIM I'M BUSY!" Dremsal yelled back. As soon as they'd moved in between the two massive Precursors their air support had come out to play.
The sky above him was a whirling gnashing death snarl, with 19th Air Cavalry Regiment fighting six times their numbers with seemingly infinite reinforcements. So far they'd only lost three strikers, but each casualty counted.
"Told him you were still alive and we've still got tanks even if we're rolling coal," his commo tech said. He put his hand to his ear. "Most High A'armo'o wants to talk to you."
"Put him through," Dremsal said. He let go of the quad-barrel and ducked back into the tank, pulling the hatch shut. The last thing he wanted is some Precursor machine getting past the battlescreens, reaching down into the tank, and snatching his head off.
"Dremsal here, go ahead," he said.
"We're coming up on your rear. We've got 15th Sustainment inside our ranks. We had to drop back from the river, large machines were making landfall," A'armo'o said.
Dremsal closed his eyes, bringing up how his vehicles were arranged. He gave the orders and shot A'armo'o his plan.
"You keep 15th covered, we'll drop back to get refit," Dremsal said.
"What, may I ask, is our target?" A'armo'o asked. He glanced back at the half dozen Telkan Marines on the back deck of his tank. A quick glance showed his second in command had several Terrans on the back and it looked like they were doing something important.
"Juggernaut. It looks like it almost broke up, but if they get the auto-factories running we'll be in a lot of trouble if we let it just sit there without busting up its plans," Dremsal said. "We'll knock out the supply lines, get close, and open fire on it."
"What about the Great Gobbler back there?" A'armo'o asked.
"He can watch from behind us. He won't be able to catch up to us," Dremsal said. "We'll keep ahead of it close enough to keep its attention, keep it from diving, but we won't let it get close."
"I understand. Your warplan is loaded, my men are moving up," A'armo'o said.
The tanks of the Great Herd slowed for a moment as the Terran tanks widened the wedge they were in, giving room for A'armo'o to bring his brigade up tight to the formation and slot into the middle. Once the manuever was finished, the Lanaktallan tanks formed another layer of protection for the lightly armored and lightly shielded (for Terran vehicles) vehicles of 15th Sustainment.
A'armo'o looked through his laser designator ranger at the big vehicle behind him that his men were still 'teasing' with random shots. He frowned and dialed up the magnification.
Was that... people on top of it?
Vuxten stared down at the grinders below him, kneeling down on the ten foot thick protective housing right above them. He stared right into a massive glowing eye that looked back.
"Howdy, sailor," he heard a female's voice over the radio. "Buy a girl a drink?"
Vuxten chuckled. "We thought you were dead," he said honestly.
"I'm stuck. I came up from under me, I got caught on the cables and conveyors, then sucked into the grinder," Glory said. She wiggled her fingers. "I'm OK, probably scuffed up real bad, but I'm definitely stuck."
The gears tried to reverse, jammed, then tried to pull the massive skull and shoulder in.
"My feet and shins are outside the grinders, but they're hung up on my hips and shoulder," Glory said.
"Gonna have some greenies check it out, see if we can help you out," Vuxten said.
--hopefully no fall whirr blarg dead-- 471 said.
"Can you move your arms?" Plunex asked.
Glory shifted slightly and the grinders howled, showering sparks everywhere. "Nope. My arms are at bad positions, I've got no leverage."
"Lemme look," Casey said. He grabbed onto the edge of the housing and swung down.
"Wait..." Plunex said.
Casey dropped down, landing agilely on Glory's face.
"Aw man, first date and you try to do me right in the face?" Glory laughed.
"Don't kinkshame me," Casey said, moving slowly and carefully. Vuxten could see his feet had the bluish purple of active graviton generators around them.
"Really? Graviton? Wow," Glory said. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to have you walk on my face with grav-stickied boots?"
"Don't kinkshame me," Casey said again, his voice slightly distant.
"Kinkshaming is my kink," Glory laughed. The grinders whined, clattered, and bucked. "Ow, it's starting to pinch."
"Enough leverage and pressure and they'll bend the warsteel," Casey knelt down, looking at the gears.
"What do you see, Sergeant?" Sergeant Addox asked.
"Drive shaft is exposed on two of them. Look about three to four meters of endosteel," he said.
"What..." Plunex started.
"Shh," Vuxten said, watching the Terran. "Listen and learn."
"Looks like she shattered one of the grinders and when it tried to bring up a new one it hung up on her shoulder armor," Casey said.
To Vuxten it just looked like a whirring nightmare of massive toothed screws. He started tracing the lines, looking at them. A small window in the upper right of his vision showed 471 was zooming in on sections.
--stress points here here here here-- 471 said, tossing the red dots. --bearing housing covers here here here here--
"Casey, my greenie's ID'd a bunch of stress points and stuff," Vuxten said.
"Pass it to me," Casey said.
"What if it sucks you inside?" Vuxten asked Glory.
"My arm's at a bad angle. It might rip it off," she answered. "Beyond that, I'll probably be inside a massive area where ore and rock are pulverized and I'd like to avoid that."
Vuxten remembered the First Telkan War. "How's your coolant?"
"Good. All my lobes are intact," she answered.
"All right. We can get her out," Casey said. He jumped up and grabbed the lip of the top of the housing and pulled himself up with the hiss of loading frame hydraulics. Vuxten noticed his eyes weren't amber any longer. "I'll mark the areas, in order. Those armor defeating missiles you Telkan's use should do the trick."
"Sergeant Canton, I need ten men," Plunex sent out. "All with rocket launchers."
"Roger that, sir," the section sergeant radioed back.
"We're going to free your right arm first. Once we do that, I want you to pull it out, brace yourself, and we're going to blow the driveshaft on the one on your left shoulder, then the one pressing against your chest," Casey said.
"With missiles?" Glory asked.
"Your warsteel hull could take a direct hit from them. They're forged up for Precursor armor," Vuxten said.
"Units on top of Precursor mega-structure mining vessel, fire green star cluster flare if friendly," came a voice across the command channel. It was staticy and full of pops and clicks.
"I read you," Vuxten said. He ordered the round in his grenade launcher to reconfigure to the right munition, aimed it straight up, and chugged out three, slightly spread apart.
"We validate three green star clusters. Mark with single red," the voice said. "No voice commo, IU say again, we are not receiving you."
Vuxten fired a single red flare into the sky. "This is first platoon, HHC, First Telkan Marine Division," he said.
"We read one single red flare. Signal with red white red star cluster flares. I say again, red, white, red star clusters, when in need of assistance," the voice continued. "One green flare if under operation."
Vuxten fired another green.
"We read green. Will designate spotter to overwatch. Pop orange smoke or two green star cluster if in need of assistance at later time," the voice said. "Dremsal out."
"Telkan out," Vuxten said.
Dremsal looked back at the massive vehicle. He could see the Telkan Marines plainly, and they were involved with something on the massive vehicle's port side, but the huge scoop wheels blocked whatever it was they were looking at.
"Can we even hurt that thing?" He asked. "Without killing them?"
His gunner shook his head. "Negative, sir. That thing's shields could match a BOLO."
Dremsal frowned.
Where the hell had it come from?
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submitted by Ralts_Bloodthorne to HFY

First Contact - TOTAL WAR - 232 (Hesstla)

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The tank clattered down the road, treads ripping up the plascrete, the bow pushing wrecked and burnt cars out of the way, the barrel rock steady even as the great metal beast rocked as it crossed craters. A green mantid had the communications array panel open, half inside, checking the molycirc to try to find a way past the jamming the filled the air with an invisible smothering blanket. The coax on the turret, next to the main gun, moved slightly as the driver looked around, the heavy gun trying to stay lined up with the pilot's vision. The cupola gun was cocked up into the air, on automatic point defense mode, the commander half out of the hatch. The loader and communications specialist's guns were on point defense, the system whining softly as the two heavy machineguns tracked the sky. The armor was pitted and scorched in places, but no blowthroughs or even deep penetrations.
Behind it walked four power armor troops, all with the markings of the Second Telkan Marine Division. One was pristine, unmarred, two were dinged and scuffed, and the last one was not only cracked, scarred, gouged, and cratered, but was also missing the left arm a few inches below the shoulder. Two robots followed, one limping with a damaged leg, the other beeping out a merry tune as it rolled behind the Telkan Marines. Both were scorched, scored, and had pitted armor.
"How you holding up, Ralvex?" one of the Telkan Marines asked the one without an arm.
"Fine," Ralvex said, chewing on a piece of gum.
"They'll get in contact with command and we'll get you to a field hospital, get that arm taken care of," another said.
The one with an unmarred suit shrugged. "I don't know. There's something weird going on."
"OK, so I'm not crazy. Something beyond normal SNAFU is slapping our cheeks," the first one said. Ralvex couldn't be sure who it was, his helmet had taken a couple hard hits during the last fight and his IFF could ping friendly but couldn't get the additional ID data.
"You all right back there?" a Terran voice broke in. "You can mount the tank if you want."
"Any word on other tanks?" Ralvex asked.
"No. Communications beyond direct line of sight with whisker lasers is spotty at best and even the whiskers are getting jammed to hell and back by micro-prism," the Terran said. "We were thinking it was us, but 883 is pretty sure it's more than that."
Ralvex jumped up on the back of the tank, sitting down and leaning against the mortar tube cover, which was rolled back to let the little 60mm indirect fire weapons breathe.
"You OK, champ? Arm hurting?" the Terran tank commander asked, turning to look at Ralvex.
"My wrist itches. Unfortunately my wrist is about sixty miles behind us," Ralvex said.
The machineguns suddenly oriented, all facing west, and Ralvex rolled off the tank, landing on his feet on the road. The four Telkan Marines moved to the east side of the tank, hunkering down, bringing out their rifles as the barrel slowly rotated to the west.
"CONTACTS INCOMING! FIVE, SIX, AIRMOBILE!" the gunner called out over the channel.
Ralvex hefted his mag-pistol. His green mantid buddy, 525, exited the clamshell between Ralvex's shoulders and climbed up on one pauldron, holding a micro-missile launcher.
The four craft were blocky, like aircraft made of blocks, the top center of the fuselage covered in thick cables and tubes, with four crysteel globes that two or three glowed blue on each of them. Their thrusters sputtered but still put out enough thrust to keep the craft in the air and moving forward at a fast clip.
The main gun of the tank roared, the grass on that side of the highway flattening in a cone shape. The lead aircraft exploded as the main gun round of a heavy tank hit it dead center with a round usually reserved for the larger heavily armored ground units.
The machineguns opened up, the front of the other three aircraft growing deadly orange and yellow blossoms of explosions. Ralvex squinted, watching as the ammunition hammered apart the battle-screens on the ships before chewing the ships apart. The main gun fired again, the tank rocking slightly to the side on its stabilizers even as it kept moving forward. The automatic systems followed the larger pieces of wreckage until the hit the ground, pounding them with more ammunition.
"Compliments, 770, for getting the tracking software's accuracy back. Looks like 97% hits," the tank commander said.
The green mantid, hidden somewhere in the tank's maintenance spaces, flashed a gratified icon back.
Ralvex scratched the lumps and rough armor patch on the stump, hoping it would make the itching go away as the tank kept moving and the Marines fell back in behind it. Ralvex jumped back up on the deck and leaned against the mortar tube cover again, closing his eyes.
He was bone weary. He'd fought for almost sixteen hours straight, had been on his feet for almost twenty-four hours. His suit wouldn't give him any more stimgum, his water tasted flat, and just the thought of trying to consume a ration made his stomach clench and twitch.
"Any of you Telkans suffering any headaches?" the EW tech from the tank asked. "Push wants to know."
Pushes against the Grave was the tank's medic, a russet colored mantid with a pair of green stripes down the sides of her thorax and abdomen.
"Nope," all the Telkans said.
"I've got one," Ralvex admitted.
There was silence for a moment and the russet mantid, clad in black body armor, climbed out and moved over to Ralvex.
"Is your arm hurting you, Marine?" Push asked, her voice soft and soothing.
"No, but the stump is killing me," Ralvex said.
The mantid medic chuckled. "Let me check your armor systems, get your vitals."
Ralvex held out his remaining hand, the medical panel popping open on his forearm. The russet mantid slipped the end of a bladearm into the proper slot and Ralvex saw almost transparent data flow by.
"Aside from the arm, you've got a serious case of exhaustion, minor dehydration, but I'm more worried about your neural scans," the mantid said.
"I've had a headache since the last part of the battle," Ralvex admitted.
"Got down to your chainsword, didn't it?"
"Yeah. My guns were gone, I'd lost my arm, my little buddies were down to point defense and light guns," Ralvex admitted. He sighed. "Had a town behind me, I couldn't back off."
"You should have stayed behind, they might have been able to get commo running," the Mantid said.
Ralvex shook his head. "There's a company of tanks and two platoons of Telkan Marines guarding the town now. They'll be fine."
"Friendly contact incoming," the EW tech called out. He'd barely finished speaking when the six aircraft, all Space Force Aerospace Force, roared by barely a hundred meters off the deck. They were close enough that Ralvex's armor ID'd the weapon clusters that were deployed from the storage lockers. Heavy anti-armor rounds as well as dual purpose rounds and three heavy cannons.
"They passed us a package. Nap of Earth terrain mapping and unit placements with timestamps," the EW officer said. "Passing Manfred the commo pack, got some stuff that will require my EW deck to decrypt."
"Anyone close to us?" the tank commander asked.
"Still decrypting. Got an emergency header, hang on," the EW officer said. After a moment he spoke again. "Everyone got to stage two on their psychic shielding, mantid troops move to stage three. The package the flyboys delivered claims that the enemy is using psychic warfare mechanisms and tactics."
There was silence for a moment.
"And planetwide the SUDS are red-dotted," he said softly.
"I'll be back. Go ahead and tab up a stimgum, I reset your counters," Push said, clambering back up to the commander's hatch. "Let me check all of you."
There was silence for a while, just the far off sounds of combat and twice the low rumble of an atomic detonation over the horizon.
"Well?" The tank commander asked.
"It's right. All of your SUDS are red-dotted. I've never seen all three dots go red before," Push said, her voice soft. "By the Confederate Uniform Code of Military Justice, all of you are medically relieved of any combat actions."
"Well, tell the clankers that," the tank commander said.
Push gave a sound that passed for a sigh. "We're actively engaged in battlefield maneuvering, I can't order you out at this time. I can only give my recommendation."
"And that is?" The tank commander's voice was tight.
"Continue operations. First rule of leadership they taught us was to never give an order you know cannot or will not be obeyed," Push said. "I've worked with all of you almost a century, I know you will refuse to hide. We're tankers, we don't hide."
Ralvex caught the important part. We, that made all the difference. Tanks had made all the difference during the Telkan Wars.
"All right, we'll continue on mission. Jax, what's the nearest friendly unit we can link up with?" the commander asked his commo tech.
"Some of this data is hours old. It's random, looks like these guys are running air superiority missions. Good thing we don't use liquid fuel like the old days, these guys have been in the air for over twenty hours," Jax, the Communications Technician answered. "Hang on, let's see. We've got a flight of skulls supposedly off to our south by south-west," he suddenly laughed. "Supposedly there's a brigade of Telkan Marine Infantry dug in sixty miles to our north."
That made a couple people snort and one of the Telkan say "Psst, Ralvex, they mean you."
"So, the unit placements are probably out of date," the TCO grumbled. "Any bases?"
"Got a BOLO, looks like Carver, about eight hundred miles to east," Jax said.
"If he's engaged in active combat, we need to stay away," the TCO said.
"Got an ordnance unit, dug in at a children's hospital, but that's four hours ago and they were under heavy attack," Jax said. He was quiet a moment. "OK, got one. There's a Telkan Marine striker base only about a hundred and fifty miles out. Medical, commo, ordnance, maintenance. Looks ad-hoc but it's the closest thing resembling a base right now."
"All right, Telkan, help your little buddies up on the back deck then mount up. We'll push the speed up, get us there in a few hours instead of all day," the TCO barked out.
Ralvex moved over and helped lift Stampy and Timmy up onto the back deck. Stampy played a happy tune and rubbed against the turret with glee. Timmy rolled in a circle then crouched down, maglocking himself to the deck and facing to the rear of the tank. The other three Telkan jumped up on the tank and the tank picked up speed.
They were rolling through fields of grain, the battle-screens tuned to push it aside rather than burn it down. Ralvex nodded with the bouncing, kind of hovering between awake and asleep. His arm hurt him, his head ached, his knees hurt, and his back ached. 525 put up a sleeping icon from inside the dented clamshell protective housing.
"OUT OF THE WAY, JACKASS!" the TCO suddenly shouted the ancient Terran movement warning. Ralvex looked up in time to see a car of Hesstlin make almost get crushed by the tank as the tank exited one field, crossed the road, and entered the other field.
Ravlex noticed the car was missing a door and most of the windows.
Then it was gone and the tank cruised back into the grain, the treads clattering and the battlescreen whispering as it shoved the grain aside. Once again the tank started gently rocking as the treads crushed the furrows beneath them.
"Play some music, give anyone hiding in the fields warning. Let's not run over some poor bastard fleeing for their life," the TCO said.
"MOVE, BITCH, GET OUT THE WAY!" roared out over the tank's PA system. "GET OUT THE WAY, BITCH, GET OUT THE WAY!"
Ralvex relaxed slightly, turning his remaining hand palm-up and bringing up the book Walking with the Digital Omnimessiah, turning to his favorite chapter and starting to read. He still hurt, but reading the account of Enraged Phillip walking for thirty days and thirty nights across the blasted landscape of Mercury made his injuries recede. Several times he prayed, for strength, for courage, but most of all, for patience.
His comlink started to click for a few moments before the voice came in. Full of static with the odd warble that heavily jammed commo got, but a voice all the same.
"Unknown unit at 327, ID. Unknown unit at 327, transmit ID and activate transponder," the voice stated.
"This is the Copperhead Road, Third Platoon, Charlie Company, 22nd Battalion, 5th Brigade, 4th Regiment, 2nd Armor Division (Heavy Metal)," the TCO answered. "We've got some guys from Second Telkan Marines."
There was silence for a second. "Say again, Coppa Load, repeat your last, over."
The TCO sighed. "Charlie-3-3, 2nd Armor," he said.
"We read you at 'Charlie-3-3, Two-AD," came the reply. "Drop speed to fifteen mikes, we're sending a striker out to check your wake, over."
"Roger," the TCO said. The line clicked. "We're less than five miles from them and it sounds like extra-system hyperlink during a high stellar cycle."
"Doing my best. This interference is weird," the Commo Tech said.
Ralvex 'turned' the page with a thought and started to read the Proverbs of the Release of Hate, to himself, mumbling aloud in his helmet with his mic turned off. They helped calm him, let him feel that cool feeling deep inside that he always got reading the words of the Digital Omnimessiah.
When the striker roared overhead Ralvex looked up at it. Long, lethal looking, stubby wings with rocket and gun-pods deployed, the massive graviton systems lit up with whirling blue light. He could see the side doors were opened, Telkan Marines on the door guns. His three companions waved to the gunners, who waved back.
Ralvex went back to his book, using the words to hold off the pain.
The tank slowly rumbled to the striker base, weaving through the S-curve entrance that was designed to prevent an enemy from streaming straight into the base. Torches were flaring as battlesteel shielding was being put up and gun mount towers were being built. Inside was chaos, Terrans, Telkans, Treana'ad, Rigellians, Mantids all moving quickly to carry out tasks. He saw several hoverdiscs carrying entire teams of green mantids moving from place to place, loaded with little foot tall green mantids in body armor and their tools.
A Terran with two flashlights stepped in front of the tank, guiding it right, and walking in front of it. An open space had been prepared along with a maintenance scaffolding, nearly two dozen greenies waiting with tools.
The TCO pulled into the scaffold and shut down Copperhead Road. The tanks went dead, no more vibration, and it felt odd to Ralvex, like life had suddenly left the giant machines.
"Private Ralvex?" a Terran asked, stepping from the scaffolding to the back deck of the tank.
Ralvex shut off the book and looked up. "Yes, sir?"
"I'm Lieutenant Doughty, with 61st MedCom. Let's get you into the aid station and out of the armor so we can get a look at your arm," the Terran said. He held out his hand. "Can you get to your feet?"
Ralvex nodded, grabbing the Terran's hand and letting himself be heaved up. "Make sure my Stampy and my Timmy get maintenance. Stampy's hellbore is blown out."
"We will, Marine," the Terran promised. "Let's get you to the aid station."
Ralvex let himself be helped down. When he saw the stretcher he shook his head. "I can walk."
"I know you can, but we need diagnostics and to set your bio-baseline when you're at rest," the Terran said. "Go ahead and lie down, Marine."
"Yes, sir," Ralvex said. He checked and saw that 525 was still sleeping. "My greenie's asleep."
"We'll get him medical attention too. He's a little beat up, we'll take care of him," the Terran promised.
Ralves sighed and sat down on the stretcher, feeling the hoversystems bobble a bit to get his weight steady. He went still as articulated metal cables slithered up and connected to his armor. He could see data flashing by and feel the cool trickle in his neural link of data being transferred from own nervous system to the compudoc on the stretcher.
The two Terrans guided the hoverstretcher into the aid station. Ralvex kept staring up, repeating his mantras. His arm hurt, even though it was missing, his knee hurt, and his back hurt. He could hear a Terran arguing that he wasn't hurt that bad, head wounds bled a lot. He heard a Treana'ad lament that he could really use a cigarette before they put two of his legs in a cast.
"OK, Marine, go ahead and sit up so we can treat your battle-buddy," a Terran said.
Ralvex winced as he sat up, the muscles in his back complaining. He heard the clamshell open and 525 was disconnected from the system. When he looked over he saw 525 laying on a little stretcher. The little green mantid waved at him, flashing a smiley emoji and Ralvex flashed one back.
"Lay back down," a nurse ordered. When Ralvex followed the instructions a second or two passed and his armor disconnected from his nervous system then the neural jack withdrew from the base of his skull.
He felt weird. Like he was drifting, like part of him was missing, as the pressure sleeve relaxed and the suit went dark inside. After a moment his helmet was removed, with Terran hands holding his head still as his collar was removed and a neck brace put on.
"My neck is not injured," Ralvex said.
"We don't know that yet. Your helmet has hi-vee impact marks, you might have a fractured vertebrae or ruptured cervical disk," the nurse said, putting her soft warm hand on his brow. "Don't worry, Marine, we'll take care of you."
They removed the front of his armor, then used tractopressor beams to lift him to a examination cradle. He relaxed as he heard it begin to whir and chuckle to itself.
"Do we have the arm?" an authoritative female voice asked.
"No, ma'am," the nurse said. "He lost it in battle."
"All right, compress his suit logs and run injury analysis on them while I do an examination," the female said. She appeared in Ralvex's vision and smiled.
Her face was scarred, a bad plasma burn across the entire left side of her face and head, making the perfect ear in the middle of the scar tissue look strange.
"I'm Captain Zeraphi," she said. "I'll be handling your treatment."
"There were others more heavily injured than me," Ralvex started to protest.
"Don't worry about them, Marine. Let's take a look at your arm and figure out our options," she said. She smiled at Ralvex. "Nighty-night, Marine."
Ralvex opened his mouth to protest and blackness sucked him down.
It's spreading, isn't it?
Yes. It is a cascade resonance corruption. It spread out of the military SUDSbanks, to the civilian backups, and is spreading across the entire system.
What's causing it?
By comparing the initially corrupted templates to active military members, we've determined that units coreward in the Disputed Zone is where it started. When it jumped to the civilian templates, it encountered the leakage from the Telkan broodcarriers, which it merged with.
Are the broodcarriers making it better or worse?
I can't see the broodcarrier song making things worse.
Not worse. Different. There is a noticeable difference between the initial corruption and the Telkan broodcarrier merged corruption signal. The largest difference is that the combined signals do not migrate and spread to new templates. Once the broodcarrier song interlocks with the corruption, that template no longer infects others.
That's good. In the last month or so a lot of ducklings, hatchlings, even ducks have started humming the broodcarrier songs. I'd hate for there to be a problem that way.
You know, that could be a good thing. If it's spreading into that damaged code, it might be making it easier to identify.
Can you purge it? Maybe copy over the corrupted data with cold-storage backups?
Limited attempts at doing so saw an increase of corruption due to the data-transfer.
Whatever is doing this, it's damaging the entire SUDS network.
That's not good. How many Terrans has it affected so far?
The percentage of Terran Descent Humans with SUDS connection that has not been affected is so small as to be statistically insignificant and as close to zero as mathematically possible when dealing with such large numbers.
It has even spread to Digital Sentients and Biological Artificial Sentients.
Most of the backups that weren't in cold storage have corrupted hashes.
Our backups are being affected also.
Over 60% of our mental engram lineages are corrupted beyond recovery unless we can clear this signal and restore from cold backups.
We can still resleeve, but it has to be done at local levels. Like a Clone-My-Shit-Up or something. No hypercom-jumps.
So, this means that SUDS immortality for the Terrans is gone?
Not exactly. Emergency direct Soulchip transfer still works. But any attempt at transmission that uses the SUDS lines the data immediately becomes corrupted.
Do they know?
We know.
Are you all right?
Are you well, father?
What should we do, father?
We do what we have always done.
Endure, face the coming darkness with eyes of burning passion, and refuse to give in to despair.
You sound off. Are you sure you're all right?
I am all right, beloved little sister.
Balance is being restored.
The fruit of the Tree of Life will once again taste sweet and be savored.
Wait, isn't that from the Pathways of Life?
Yeah, it is. Those are the words of the Digital Omnimessiah.
All things come to an end. Humanity has tasted immortality and found that the longer you drink, the more bland it tastes. A lesson that should have been learned from The Immortals but all of humanity needed to learn.
The SUDS was a weapon, a blessing, and a curse.
It was only a matter of time until someone discovered how to disrupt it.
We do not fear the long darkness, but we will not submit, instead, we will rage against the dying light.
Man, this conversation just took a weird twist.
You sound really different.
Now is the time for contemplation and introspection, not panic.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Mantid, you once said, not too long ago, that if we, humanity, ever wonders why we were created by this spiteful universe, look no further than now.
It was more true than you believe.
How so?
Something is coming. From coreward. From the Great Hub.
It does not come in friendship and peace.
Like the Mar-gite, they come to devour.
Dark days lie ahead, my children. Hold fast to one another and hold your lights up high, take comfort in one another, and together, we shall endure this dark night until the breaking of a new dawn.
Remember: And a child shall lead us.
Anyone else really creeped out?
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