First Contact

Chapter 512

Chapter 512

"I had thought myself a master of war, but fighting the lemurs of Terra I learned I was but a novice in a fancy uniform. Beside the lemurs and those they had trained, I learned the harsh truths of war. Among the Atrekna War's killing fields I learned the cost and horror of war.

And grew to value peace." - Former Grand Most High Sma'akamo'o, from I Have Ridden the Hasslehoff

The room was every enlistedbeing's worst nightmare.

The stage that the podium was centered on was dimly lit, with several flatscreen 2.5D monitors behind it and holotanks on either side. The seats were arranged in half-circles around the stage, raising up to ensure that every seated being could see clearly and designed for the various limb and body configurations of the Terran Confederate Armed Forces. It was quiet, somber, with only some murmuring heard over the sound of the envirosystems.

Every seat was filled with a being in dress uniform, awash in gold braid, medals, awards, ornaments, and just plain rank. The lowest ranking was a Fourth Most High of the Defiant Herd and a Rear of Admiral (Lower Decks) of the Bronze. The highest ranking was a Great Grand Most High and a Fleet Admiral of the Iron.

There were no attaches, no assistants, no batmen, just row after row of staff grade officers, each with a datapad and stylus, quietly waiting.

The door opened and a Treana'ad in a robotic medical harness moved slowly into the room. The two robotic legs on the right side were attached to regrowth casts, the right gripping arm and bladearm were still in regrowth casts held tight to the body. The big male slowly tapped up to the stage, moved behind the podium, and withdrew a stack of old style white index cards and a digital clicker. He slowly withdrew a pack of cigarettes, unwound the string on the cellophane, and pulled free a cigarette. As everyone watched he turned it around, placed it back into the pack, then withdrew a second. He lit it with an old style flint and steel lighter that used fluid drawn into a wick, then put everything away as he puffed on his cigarette.

He tapped the microphone and the room went silent.

"Greetings, gentlebeings," he said. He nodded. "I am General NoDra'ak, Commander of 7th Army, in direct command of V Corps until we can regroup," he paused for a moment. "I have commanded over twenty-two theater campaigns, including the successful defense of Telkan 1 and Telkan 2 during the Second Telkan War," he tapped the clicker, bringing up ground maps of the two planets. They were covered with symbols and lines over the terrain.

"This map undoubtedly makes little sense to you," NoDra'ak said. He tapped his ashes as he blew smoke rings from his two left legs. He leaned forward slightly. "And that, gentlebeings, is a hole in our doctrine that recent events have made glaringly apparent."

He clicked his mandibles and looked over the gathered officers. "Some of you may blame the Admiral for improper deployment of forces during the latest planetary assault. While it is true he made mistakes that any being trained in ground deployment would have avoided, he was not trained."

"Neither are any of you," NoDra'ak said. "As ground commanders are being trained to assist with orbital theater command, you are being trained in ground deployment and command. The glaring hole in our doctrine has been exposed, and the Confederate Armed Services has learned the hard way not to cover it up with a carpet so we fall back into the hole at a later date."

He tapped the control and a picture came up of an orbital view, with ship designation and fleet icons burning quietly. "You are used to this. Clean, calm, orderly. That is naval combat, keeping your cool and planning three steps beyond the current actions, deceiving the enemy into seeing what you want him to see, and using geometry and firepower to carry the day."

"This is ground combat," He clicked again, showing ground fighting. It was a complete confusing chaotic scene of warborgs, Tukna'rn infantry with heavy weapons, Telkan Marines, tanks, strikers, and danger close artillery.

"This battlefield is under control," NoDra'ak said. "It may not appear that way at this moment, but when this training is finished, every one of you will be able to recognize exactly what is happening in this video as well as identify every icon in that image," he pointed at the ground deployment map.

He clicked the control and a scene came up of nurses and doctors working in tents while injured troops were carried in on stretchers, some still conscious.

"Unlike naval commands, you will take casualties that will scream and bleed. It will be up close, person, bloody, and gory," NoDra'ak said. "And thanks to the magic of modern communications systems."

He clicked the clicker again and sound filled the auditorium.

Heavy weapon fire, combat rifles, the crumping noise of artillery and mortar shell impacts. The whistling shriek of a Tasty-Freeze missile being fired point blank. There was yelling and screaming. One of the screens filled with a scene of chaos, Terran troops fighting hand to hand with Dwellerspawn that were overruning the lines. The officer in the upper right was listed as COL ULDRE - 4th INF REG, he was sweating and had a pressure cut on his forehead.

"We're surrounded! They're coming in all around us! Drop zone is overrun! We need danger close, now, goddamn it, right fucking now! They're in the..." the voice suddenly went liquid and bubbly, gurgling. His image had blood rush out of his mouth, blood splashed up from the collar, coating the screen. He beat his face against the screen.

NoDra'ak let the death play the entire time, even as another voice cut in.

"Orbital, do you read? Do you read? They're phasing in right on top of us! HOLD WHAT YOU GOT! THIS IS IT!" another voice, ID'd as Major Kilrakikrit. "ON 'EM ON 'EM ON..." there was a gagging sound.

"BACK TO BACK!" a voice ID'd as Captain Rentiven yelled. "FORM UP! MORE INCOMING! MORE IN..."

The voice just cut off.

The Colonel was still dying.

"ORBITAL! WE NEED A TEMPORAL RESONANCE STRIKE ON OUR POSITION! ON OUR!" The rank was a First Lieutenant, and the voice cut off.

"Fourth Regiment, this is orbital fire command. Can you confirm request for temporal resonance strike on your position? Do you read?" The image of the fire control officer was that of a calm human female in an immaculate uniform.

"NOW, GODDAMN IT, NOW!" the ID header was a Master Sergeant Grawnklawk. "IT'S A SPAWN POINT! THEY'LL OVERRUN THE FUCKING CITY! HAMMER STRIKE US!"

"Authorization for fire has been approved. Ten seconds," the fire control officer said.

A countdown appeared on the images.

It moved glacially slow to the watching officers.

The class watched as officer and enlisted both were wiped away. They saw valiant efforts, heroism, self-sacrifice. Troops fighting and dying to hold the position they couldn't fight their way out of.

The image ended in a white flare.

"You will be trained to think and adapt as rapidly as that situation changed. While in space combat you often have days or hours to make decisions, ten seconds was a lifetime for the men, women, both and neither of Fourth Light Powered Armor Infantry Regiment during that battle," Smokey No said. He lit another cigarette. "Ultimately, we won, and Fourth Infantry negated the spawn point and held the enemy in place."

"If you do not feel capable of handling such decisions, the door is right there. Truthfully, you will never feel full capable, you will always look back and think of things that you could have done differently," NoDra'ak said. He exhaled smoke. "If I had deployed them three miles in any direction, they would not have taken 31% casualties before the enemy's insertion point could be nullified."

He tapped the map with a laser pointer. "But that was information I did not have until later. Recon had stated the area was clear, with excellent magnetic flux profiles, and away from civilian infrastructure and habitation."

"But before you think it is too different, naval combat and ground combat are still combat, and you would not hold the rank you do if you were unable to command in combat," NoDra'ak said. "I will teach you to apply your skills to ground deployment and ground theater command."

He tapped the podium with his bladearm.

"We will not make these mistakes again, gentlebeings. We cannot afford it no matter how much the enemy would prefer it," he said.

He clicked the control and icons replaced the frozen video. "We will start with standard ground side unit designation icons."

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The mess hall was busy, Telkan, Rigellians, Kobolds, Treana'ad, and Mantid troops all eating. One table was marked off. A Rigellian female, two kobolds, and a Telkan sat at the table, wearing AeRV eye-reticles and ear pieces. They were obviously talking to other people that weren't at the table and were also sitting next to them in mundane reality.

Vuxten was nodding as a Pubvian Captain was regaling everyone with the story of his first trip to Terra, when he'd attended the Captain's School the first time in MechaKrautland. He had been ordered to take the class in order to 'get current in his skillset' after 8,000 years of advancement.

The story mainly revolved around a Rigellian female who had used her reenlistment bonus to buy a Hamburger Kingdom 'muscle car' and how she'd drive it with the top down at speeds of nearly three miles a minute.

Vuxten was fascinated by the Pubvian. Three arms, three legs, short fur, wide eyes, and the ability to turn all the way around and look behind them at the neck instead of using his back like Vuxten had to.

Well, that and they'd been xenocided in the opening phases of the First Human-Mantid War.

All too soon lunch was over and the group filed back to the classroom. The current 'module' was called "Problem Solving in a Garrison Environment" and Vuxten had found it to be one of the hardest.

He had no idea there was so many ways for enlistedbeings to get in trouble.

One of the cadets, a Kobold, had scoffed at the VR exercise where he had to make a decision on the proper punishment for a highly skilled and decorated combat veteran who had 'sexually assaulted a drink dispensing vending machine' and had then 'sexually assaulted a senior NCO's personal vehicle' before passing out face down in his own vomit in the laundry room. The Kobold had not believed that such a thing had ever happened or ever would happen.

The instructor had asked three times if the Kobold was sure of his statements.

The class had then read the after action report, the MP blotter, and the witness statements.

The Kobold had been right.

The trooper had sexually assaulted a snack vending machine.

The Kobold had been assigned to write a paper on 'hypersexual deviance due to complex post traumatic stress disorder and operator identification syndrome' which Vuxten had helped him on. When the Kobold had asked him why Vuxten was willing to help, Vuxten confided that he had a troop suffering from long term complex operator identification syndrome.

Even after the paper was written, the Kobold, who was a striker company officer, had helped Vuxten read about the proper treatment from a Company Commander's point of view.

One of the Treana'ad, a First Lieutenant Ikriktri, had stated that the Garrison Command modules were tougher than the Combat Command modules just due to the sheer insanity everyone seemed to get up to.

Vuxten told them over dinner how someone had stolen one of the new tanks, taken it for a joyride, and then abandoned it when it caught on fire in the middle of the road, but not before painting a huge eight foot long Terran male genitalia in the middle of the street with "IT WAS LIKE THAT WHEN WE GOT HERE!" underneath it.

The weird part, which Vuxten saved for last.

It was one of the Atomic Hoove's main battle tanks.

That made everyone laugh. They would expect it out of anyone else, but the Lanaktallan?

After dinner was normally time off, but over half the class joined the three Rigellian females in the gym, talking with classmates who were only present in VR, as they worked on strength and endurance training under the watchful eyes of the Rigellian females.

Then it was a two hour of studying, falling face first into his bunk, then getting up for Physical Training and starting the day all over again.

Vuxten was actually surprised at how much he was enjoying it.

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"And just how did you lose three regiments of tanks by driving them into the river?" A'armo'o asked, putting his hands on his hips.

"The enemy deployed jammers, made our sensors report that it was tarmac ahead of us," Third Most High Ne'enrmo'o said, shaking his head.

"Well, then we should be glad we are still in simulators," A'armo'o said. He turned to the lone human. "How did you determine how to spoof his tanks sensors?"

"Chaff and EM scatter until I saw which one the sensors penetrated and that he could see through. From there, it was trivial to backscatter heat over tarmac over the water reflections," Trucker said. He spit into the bottle. "Item number eight hundred and seventy two: Sensors do not run a spectrum algorithm and stick to a single frequency."

"...single frequency," Tenth Most High of Maintenance said.

A'armo'o turned to the Telkan striker pilots. "And how did you lose an entire Wing?"

"Ran face first into MANPADS," the Telkan admitted. "They suckered us. Three standard anti-armor rockets deadfired with a SAM mixed in. Our chaff and flares didn't affect the LAW systems. Overwhelmed our battlescreens using rockets normally used against Pacific Rim Class Jaegers."

"We'll get together after this, see if we can figure something out," A'armo'o said. He turned to another Lanaktallan. "What happened to the food?"

"Refugees overran the supply point. They were desperate, starving. We loaded the nutriforges but abandoned the already fabbed up food, which forced Ninth Regiment to have to go to personal foodforge," the officer said.

A'armo'o nodded. "Not firing on the crowd and distracting them with the food until you could get security was a hard decision, but the right one."

He reached out and touched the table. "All right. Tomorrow, let's have the men run another simulation, see if we can poke any more holes in the new software."

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Ge'ermo'o watched as General NoDra'ak prepared the next day's lesson, helping the big Treana'ad, who was still recovering from his injuries.

The Lanaktallan had to admit, he had learned many things acting as Most High A'armo'o's liaison between the Atomic Hooves and the Confederate Military.

He was a most observant and attentive commander.

It was why his men loved him.