First Contact

Chapter 380

Chapter 380

While Mal-Kar drove the tank into the robotic repair bay I approached the work crews busily clearing and upgrading the bunkers. They all clasped their hands together respectfully as I approached and I waved at them to go back to work, looking for the leader of each of the (now) four crews.

The leader of the first one, a Shavashan by the name of Tan'Kurik, went to set down his magnetic rivet gun and I waved at him to forgo the normal bowing and scraping.

People were dying. People. I had no time for such formalities that my people stressed even at the most dire times made me want to fire flared in the air and scream in rage.

"How may I serve, Most High?" Tan'Kurik asked.

"Go through your crews, find out who still has family in the city. I will not leave them to the mercy of the Precursor's claws," I told him.

He nodded and I moved away, going to each crew leader.

By the time the bus was unloaded I had a list of habs.

Three of them.

And a hospital.

I kicked myself for not considering the vast neo-sapient medical center just inside the city.

"Men, we have to go!" I shouted, running for the armored recovery vehicle. Mal-Kar ran to the bus and together we drove back into the smoke and flame of the city. I kept one hand on the control for the remote controlled 15mm plasma dual barreled rotary machinegun, the electronic eye of the weapon slaved to my protective mask's lenses.

The vehicle was not fast, it was built for power not speed, but the thick armor and the sheer bulk of the massive machine meant that the scattered burnt out vehicles were no impedance to our progress toward the hospital.

The hospital was intact and for that I thanked every being I could remember from Julkrex's prayers.

It took forever. Nearly three hours to clear out the hospital of the sick and injured.

The nurses and doctors that were still present objected to the fact I loaded them up in the armored vehicle until they saw that I had loaded them in with the most precious of our cargo.

The infants and children and pregnant beings, even the egg incubators.

Twice more we heard the scream from the skies.

THERE IS ONLY ENOUGH FOR ONE

The words made everyone flinch and I saw the power drain to the psychic inhibitors I had cranked up to over three quarters of the way to maximum. The large bus, in addition to armor, had been sporting installed dampeners and I was, as I had been many times over the last hellish hours, glad that I had ordered them installed.

I went slower than normal, allowing the massive machine's bulk to keep the vehicle steady, just a slight rocking motion.

It was long past midnight by the time we returned.

We escorted the newest ones to the ammunition locker that I had asked the refit crews to use every bit of medical equipment they could strip from the nearby military medical center, which had been abandoned the day before.

Mal-Kar was readying the bus when we saw the first of them.

Powered armor infantry.

The ran by, not stopping, heading from east to west, bypassing us as if we weren't there. Some had marks on their armor, but most of them had unblemished armor as they ran by at speeds you would need a hovercar to match. Most of them were without weapons and all of us stared at them as they ran by.

I knew what it meant, even if my men did not.

The lines were collapsing.

I moved over to our aid station, which, so far, had treated the dying tank commander and the injuries of the work crews. The N'Kooran came over at my bidding, ducking her head slightly.

"Treat any who need it. If they try to take the supplies, let them. Do not attempt to fight them if they rob you. They are panicked and will harm you, and you are more important than any medical supplies that I could scavenge from a treatment clinic," I told her.

She looked doubtful but nodded.

I went over to the tank, which sat, pristine and new looking, and climbed inside. I charged the powerplant and fired it up, the armored behemoth vibrating around me. Putting on a helmet I listened to the communications channels.

They were chaos.

Orders, counter-orders, panicking officers. Some called for retreat, others for an advance, still others called for digging in. There were requests for medivac, close air support, extraction, and the sound of panicked pilots refusing to enter the fray.

I switched to the tank command channels, wishing I knew which channel my own armored host was using.

The Most High of the Eighteenth Armored Host was screaming that they were all going to die, that they could not face the Precursors.

It was then I heard his voice.

"And where will you go, Du'unmo'ot? Will you sprout wings and fly away like an akltak hatchling? Perhaps you will launch yourself to moon on your own flatulence?" Most High A'armo'o asked, his voice calm and full of confidence. "Will you and your men die fleeing battle or will you stand and fight?"

"We cannot fight them! Our weapons barely damage them! They outnumber us! We can't hold them back!" the Sixteenth Most High bleated out.

"But our weapons do damage them," A'armo'o said. "Precision, speed, and application of your training and experience will carry the day."

I could hear the sound of a tank's plasma cannon firing behind Most High A'armo'o's words.

"The infantry has broken! We have no air support!" another Most High screeched. "All is lost!"

The tank suddenly chimed and my radio automatically switched channels.

"This is Most High A'armo'o, Great Most High of the Armored Host. Stand fast, do not flee the line! There is no place to run, no place to flee too. The Precursors are here and now is when your mettle shall be tested," the Great Most High said. "If your leaders have abandoned you, tie into the battlefield tactical network I am providing. If your subordinates have fled, tie into the network and I will assign you those who still possess the will to fight."

There was silence and I reached out one shaking finger, pressing the button to link the tank to the battlefield tactical network. The tank pinged several times and I was connected.

"State Identity."

"Gunner Ha'almo'or."

"Identity confirmed. State vehicle status," the VI said.

"Repaired and refit. Munitions fully loaded," I answered.

"State crew status."

"Gunner only."

"Confirm: Gunnery station only."

"Confirmed. Gunner only."

"State command structure status."

"None."

"Confirm: No command, local or otherwise."

"Confirmed."

It was silent for a moment and I wondered if I was to be abandoned again.

There was clicking and I was surprised at the voice I heard.

"Gunner Ha'almo'or, the network has you still in your motorpool but in a tank belonging to another Armored Host," Great Most High A'armo'o stated. "That tank was listed as destroyed fifteen hours ago."

"The commander managed to reach this location. He died during treatment. I had the tank repaired and reloaded. Fifteen of the forty bunkers are depleted, but I still have munitions and repair facilities," I told him. I waited a second and before he could reply I blurted out what I had been doing.

He was silent a long moment.

"Gunner Ha'almo'or, I fear I must charge you with a grave task," Great Most High A'armo'o said.

"I do not fear, Great Most High," I told him.

"Continue your mission. What you are doing is far more than one more gunner. I know you are eager to engage in battle, but without saving the civilians, all of this is meaningless," his voice was serious and it felt as if he was standing next to me. "I will list your station as a refit and rearming point with medical support, but continue what you are doing."

"Save these people's families, Ha'almo'or. A'armo'o, out."

I sat in the tank, my chest full of something I could not identify. A feeling of pressure, of pleasure, but also, in some way, of pain and anxiety.

I shut down the tank and left it.

I joined my men.

Together, we returned to the city.

The screams welcomed us.

More and more powered infantry ran by, some stumbling, all of them scrambling over what was in front of them, their minds so robbed by fear that they could not consider going around an obstacle, but could merely rear up and paw at it with their front hooves and beat on it with their armored fists.

Vehicles began speeding by. Light attack flitters. Most unscarred, unmarred. All packed full of armored infantry.

All fleeing the front lines.

They ignored us, fleeing toward the west, toward the mountains, galloping through the city with no thought in their mind but running.

When dawn came we were exhausted.

Tanks waited to be reloaded and refit. Several neo-sapients manned the equipment, just overseeing the computerized robotic systems.

The tank I had talked to Great Most High A'armo'o was gone. I hoped, when I realized it was gone, that the new crew would be as dutiful as the commander had been.

I chewed stimcud, my men chewed stimgum, and we went back in as a bloody dawn rose.

It was almost noon when we heard it.

The only thing that could make things worse.

THERE IS ONLY ENOUGH FOR ONEroared out.

And for the first time, there was an answer.

HOLD THE LINE, BROTHERS! WE ARE COMING!

The Terrans.

The Terrans were coming.

--Excerpt From: We Were the Lanaktallan of the Atomic Hooves, a Memoir.

Everyone in the command center was armed and armored. Even the Lanaktallan were wearing Confederate designed armor and packing Confederate designed weaponry. The stress level was high, but according to the female Terran on the loud-speakers, confidence was high.

Grand Most High Ge'ermo'o had found it strange at first that the Terrans would have someone just stating basic information over a loud speaker, but as time went on, he found that right about the time his anxiety began to rise, the female lemur spoke and it eased his anxiety.

"Third Armor is engaged with the enemy. Casualties are below expected predictions. Lanaktallan Armored Host is engaged with the enemy. Casualties are minimal and below predictions. Near planet orbitals are under Confederate control. Confidence is high," she stated in steady tones.

The female lemur was right. He did feel more confident after she got done speaking.

Ge'ermo'o turned to look at the large treana'ad officer, who was clad in heavy armor and staring at the holotanks. General No'Drak, known as "Smokey No" to his men, commander of the entire theater's planetary military resources.

General No'Drak watched on the satellite overwatch as the massive machine, labelled "Great Gobbler" on his holotank, suddenly pulled in its battlescreens and dug into the ground, vanishing quickly.

"Get on that!" No'Drak shouted, pointing with one armored blade arm. "I want to know how deep it goes, how fast it is moving, and where it is going. Seismic, Wild Ass Guess, or reading the smears on the inside of empty ice cream cartons, I don't care, but I want to know everything about it!"

Grand Most High Ge'ermo'o wondered why the machine was so important and trotted up to the Treana'ad officer.

"Why dedicate resources to something that is no longer a problem?" Ge'ermo'o asked.

"Beyond the fact that it might resurface again and return to being a problem, field reports have provided data that suggests that thing is a lot different than it looks at first," General No'Drak said.

"What?"

No'Drak passed his hand through the holo, bringing up the data on the massive machine.

"YOU SHALL BE DEVOURED BY THE HIVE!" it shrieked.

No'Drak waved his bladearm again and the picture rippled. It took Ge'ermo'o a moment to realize what he was seeing.

The Precursor Automated War Machines that had landed on the planet actually broke off attacking Confederate and Great Herd targets to focus on the massive mining machine.

"It's been tentatively tagged as a Precursor machine, more than likely predating any of the metal attacking the system," No'Drak said. "That means it was here before all of you," the big insect leaned forward. "The question is: did they know it was here?"

Ge'ermo'o closed his eyes for a second, concentrating. The Terrans moved rapidly in everything and sometimes it took him a minute to catch up.

"Which means, what do they want?" Ge'ermo'o suddenly blurted out, opening his eyes.

No'Drak nodded, having given the Lanaktallan a moment to catch up.

"Sir!" one of the techs called out from the floor.

No'Drak brought the trooper up on the holotank in a small window. A female officer, in armor, her helmet folded back into her collar.

"Go ahead," No'Drak said.

"We've got multiple signals coming in from inside the Precursor mining machine," she said. "First Platoon, HHC, 1st Telkan and one signal from 15th Combat Sustainment Battalion."

"One signal? You're sure?" No'Drak asked.

"Pretty sure. It's one of those ID headers that you don't forget after you see it a couple of times," the MI officer said. "Think of the worst combination of men in that quadrant from the enemy's point of view."

No'Drak had a sudden, sinking feeling. First Telkan Marine Division and 15th CSB?

"First Lieutenant Vuxten and Sergeant First Class Casey," No'Drak said.

"Right in one, sir," the MI officer said, giving a tight lipped smile. She glanced at her board. "I've got two signal ID's for Casey. One's trying to link up with 108th Military Intelligence, trying to upload data."

"Tell them to put it on a virtual machine," No'Drak said. "Make sure someone keeps an eye on the Telkan who blew up a mountain and that psychopath Casey."

The MI officer nodded and cut the signal.

"Psychopath?" Ge'ermo'o asked. "Is he a dangerous mental aberration?"

General Moffeta chuckled. "He has no SUDS. Even red-dotted, you can pull the chip and do a direct transfer to a clone. Casey doesn't even have that."

Ge'ermo'o frowned, remembering something...

...something about...

"He's the one who believes in organized superstition, correct?" Ge'ermo'o said, suddenly remembering the one-eyed Terran who was always in a powered loading frame.

General No'Drak nodded. "That's the one."

"That just seems careless with his own life, to refuse immortality. Why do you call him a psychopath?" Ge'ermo'o frowned.

Ge'ermo'o noted that the humans all looked away, shuffled their feet, or otherwise looked uncomfortable.

"It's old history, Most High Ge'ermo'o," General Moffeta said carefully. "Not something anyone wants to bring up. A little bit of dark Terran history."

Ge'ermo'o felt a stirring of curiosity but set it aside.

He made a note on his datalink. If he survived, he was going to look up whatever it was.

If it was embarrassing to the Terrans, that meant it would be interesting to discover.

Terrans are such interesting lemurs. I hope they never get gentled, he thought to himself. I'm starting to really like them.

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Colonel Dremsal watched as one by one all of the units under his command and under the command of Great Most High A'armo'o all signalled ready.

He reached out and pressed a single button on his command console, activating the warplan.

His driver threw the tank into gear. The treads spewed crushed concrete behind it as the massive engines roared and the treads clattered.

The flames swirled around the battlescreens, pushed back by the steri-fields that were now standard since the Second Battle of Telkan, and he stared ahead of him, his hands on the handles of his tank commander's gun.

The tanks maneuvered inside the hellfire flames spewing out of the ruptured tanks and the damaged facilities of the chemical refinery and manufacturing center.

In a single line they exited the flames of the refinery, pushing aside the wreckage they did not crush beneath their treads. They crested the low hill that had been built to protect the city beyond, the city now crushed beneath the Precursor's bulk, and as one stopped.

Dremsal waited until each tank signaled they were in position. He lifted up the microphone on a cable, an archiac system still built into each tank as it was immune to jamming.

"All tanks, load main gun," he stated.

"Brigade XO and Great Most High are requesting confirmation, sir," his commo tech said.

"All tanks, load main gun," he repeated.

He heard the massive main gun of his own tank slam shut, loading the round into the chamber.

"All units, prepare to fire according to warplan," he ordered.

"Sir, Brigade XO and Great Most High are requesting confirmation that a fire order has been given," his commo tech called out.

"Confirm. All units prepare to fire according to warplan," he repeated.

He looked left and right, noting the tank main gun barrels were all shifting slightly, all aiming at different targets.

He took a deep breath.

"FIRE!"

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01001111 01010111 00100000 01001101 01011001 00100000 01000010 01000001 01001100 01001100 01010011 was one of the newest creations of the massive automated facilities that produced war machines of the AWM's. Larger than his predecessors, with more thinking arrays, denser molecular circuitry, thicker armor, a greater number of more powerful weapons, it considered itself superior to all of the previously built machines except for the largest of the Harvesters.

Which made its current predicament illogical.

It had taken multiple hits from kinetic kill weapons as it entered orbit. As it tried to land it had taken additional hits, until it had nearly broken up and crashed on an entire city.

It needed raw materials to repair itself, bring back its massive manufacturing facilities, and help scour the planet of the entities that now swarmed its surface.

It watched as more of those annoying, hard to destroy armored vehicles appeared, with the inferior hover tanks that had been easily swept aside before the annoying tracked ones had arrived.

They drove over the hill, stopping, and 01001111 01010111 00100000 01001101 01011001 00100000 01000010 01000001 01001100 01001100 01010011brought up additional battlescreen projectors.

It knew, with a 100% certainty, that nothing the tanks could do could effect it.

They weren't the stadium sized tanks with the output of a Goliath.

They were gnats.

They opened fire.

The result was visible from orbit.