Chapter Forty-Seven (Ullmook) (1/2)
Ullmo'ok looked at his gathered up Bashmech pilots, all of them taking deep drinks of their narcobrews before setting the mugs down. He could see they were worried, anxious, afraid. He wondered, for a moment, what it was like for them, then mentally shrugged and got down to business.
”There's a lot of Precursor machines heading for us. Apparently they are all carrying heavy short range missiles, even the robot infantry,” he told them.
”So they're going to chew us up like a cargomech against a bashmech,” Woxtow muttered.
”If we go in like we did, then yes,” Ullmo'ok said. ”Did you all review the record I sent you?”
They all nodded.
”Did you see what we did wrong?” Ullmo'ok asked.
”We took arena bashmechs into a military fight?” Susxto guessed.
Ullmo'ok nodded. ”I had us take arena mechs to a war. Most of our weapons are modified, adjusted, calibrated for the arena. Some of our weapons are still on low power. The mechanics are fixing them, putting them back to their original standards.”
”The Terrans should have warned us! Should have protected us better,” Ixnartray said.
”Perhaps,” Ullmo'ok agreed. He pointed at the speaker. ”Tak, tell us what we would need to learn to fight like the Terrans.”
The little speaker vibrated for a second. ”OK, boss. You would need to learn radio procedure, maneuver and fire formations, weapon ranges, effective warboi use, how to use variable munitions, rank structure, mission planning, how to use satellite and recon drones, first aid, how to interlock a war plan, logistics support, how to call in close air support and artillery, how to...”
”That's good, Tak,” Ullmo'ok said, seeing that half his pilots were already lost and confused. ”How long does it take the Terrans to train a bashmech pilot?”
”It takes nearly a year to train a warmech pilot and that is after taking a year to teach them the basics,” Tak added. ”That's not counting sim, VR, and eVR time. Then a warmech pilot would be sent somewhere to do basic combat operations in a hazardous environment for two to three years.”
”Much longer than we had,” Ullmo'ok stated. ”Make no mistake, individually we fought brilliantly. We're all brave, we're all skilled, but we made a mistake.”
”What mistake is that?” Klemikit asked.
”We didn't listen to or talk to the warbois,” Ullmo'ok said. ”Mine told me to turn on battle-screens, kept asking me for my warplan, told me to turn on my electronic warfare, didn't understand what we were doing.”
”Then let them pilot the bashmechs,” Susxto said. ”He can have mine.”
”It doesn't work that way, boss,” Tak said. Susxto looked at the speaker. ”I can run the reactor, focus the battle-screens, run your commo, help with targeting, fire weapons when you tell me, keep your EW at max performance, but, to be honest, if you tried to have me pilot the mech I'd fall down. I don't have legs.”
Ullmo'ok nodded. ”He's never had a body. He doesn't know how to move. He handles stuff that we don't do instinctively because those are his instincts. He doesn't have all the wiring we do that we use just to stand up and keep our balance.”
Susxto sat back down, looking mollified.
”But why didn't the Terran government stop us?” Ixnartray asked. ”They had to have known we'd get massacred. It's the government's job to keep us safe.”
”Because they aren't our parents,” Ullmo'ok stated. When everyone looked at him confused he gave the equivalent of a shrug. ”I looked at the Terran Confederacy legal code. I can sum it up for those of us who grew up under the Unified Tyrants as one simple sentence.”
Ullmo'ok took a long drink, waiting for the others to say something.
”What?” Ixnartray finally asked.
”Do as you will as long as you do no harm to others,” Ullmo'ok said. ”If you dance in traffic and get killed the Terran government just lists your cause of death as being stupid. If you play with a rock cutter charge and chew on it and blow your head off, it is not the fault of the charge maker, the mine, or even your parents, it is your fault. There's protections for the mentally unstable or defective, for some children, but by and large, the Terran government just doesn't care. It doesn't pretend to care. I even lets you know it doesn't care. It expects you to take care of yourself if you are able.”
All of his bashmech pilots looked at one another, confusion on their faces.
”Local governments might care, but the Terran Confederacy does not,” Ullmo'ok shrugged.
”But... but...” Woxtow started, then stopped. ”Who will keep us safe? What if a corporation put out a defective product? Who would protect us from it?”
”That is different. The corporation would be punished if they did so knowingly, punished if they did not recall the product. But should you have been warned, go behind the government's back, acquire that product anyway, and your feet fall off, then that is your fault,” Ullmo'ok said. He shrugged. ”I find it reassuring.”
”But, but, how will we stay safe without the government to protect us?” Ixnartray asked.
Ullmo'ok stared at the other being. ”Do you remember what we do?”
Ixnartray shrugged. ”Pilot bashmechs.”
”Illegally. We gamble. Illegally. We sell drugs. Illegally. Rent out joyboys and coingirls. Illegally. We curse the government for stopping us from having fun. We call ourselves outlaws and gangsters. We boast we are beyond the government and now you want them to save you?” Ullmo'ok laughed like bagpipes being jumped on by a gorilla. ”We are indeed intelligent life.”
”Uhh, boss?” Tax said.
”Yes?” Ullmo'ok looked at the speaker.
”I got General Trucker on the line. He wants to know if you can talk.”
”Put him through,” Ullmo'ok wanted to know just how angry the Terran was.
”Ullmo'ok, can you hear me?” The Terran asked. There was a lot of static.
”Yes,” Ullmo'ok answered.
”Good, good. Listen, you've got a whole shit-pot of light metal heading your way. That Jotun wants that refinery and it looks like it wants it intact. You did better than I thought against the last group. At least you went out and engaged them,” the signal fuzzed out for a moment.
”Dammit, can you hear me, Ullmo'ok?”
”I can hear you.”
”All right. They can't take that refinery intact. If you can't fight, you let me know, and I'll scrap the whole place with atomics and park a Bolo on it. I'll use airbursts so your shelters stay intact, but I'll have to wipe that refinery off the map. If you and your men want to fight, engage them at range,” Trucker said.
”If my men and I should fail, what will you do?” Ullmo'ok asked.
”I'll do what I've planned to do since the beginning. I'll blow it off the map with a 1.2 megaton thermonuclear airburst and park a Bolo over it,” Trucker said. ”Then, after the battle's over, I'll dig your families out once the Precursors are defeated.”
”Excellent. The shelters can withstand that. My men and I are willing to fight,” Ullmo'ok said.
”Listen, I can't spare you a combat leadership AI. You don't have the bandwidth out there. Your aVI's are the next best thing, but they can't do it without you. I know you're not soldiers, but do your best,” the signal fuzzed over, devolving to dot and dash codes, a high pitched static sound, then some sounds like metal being stressed and then the tension released.
”I'm trying to get him back,” Tak said.
”Go to your bashmechs. I will be there shortly. We will do our best to fight well,” Ullmo'ok said.
The other bashmech pilots nodded, the clump breaking up and streamed away.
”...read me? Ullmo'ok, do you read me?” Trucker's voice came back.
”Yes,” Ullmo'ok said.
”Listen, I don't know what your government is telling you, but this is an all hands on deck situation. If I had my way I'd be having 8th Infantry handing out rifles to your plant workers and having the rest of the civilians rolling bandages and loading magazines. Our plans estimated twelve Goliaths. Fifty-plus hit us across the system. We still aren't interlocked with your government and corporate forces. Your government refused to let us put ammunition on the ground so we're running the nanoforges and creation engines till the slush spills out. There's no more heavy metal to back us up and I put out a call that even includes idiots and civilian irregulars,” Trucker said. ”If I'd known how it was going to go down, I'd have disregarded protocol and interlocked you earlier despite your government saying they could handle anything that came across the boundary zone.”
”Understood,” Ullmo'ok said. The Terrans had thrown the dice with their warplan but come up triple-fours.
”Do your best, Ullmo'ok. Every Precursor you turn to scrap helps. It's that bad,” Trucker said. ”Trucker, out.”
”Goodbye,” Ullmo'ok said, standing up. He drained his narcobrew and headed out of the cave, blinking at the sunlight. The Terrans had misjudged. ”Tak, prep Pleasure & Glory for combat operations please.”
”Ok, boss,” Tak said. ”Boss, do you think it's really that bad?”
”He would not lie to me. There is no profit or advantage in it,” Ullmo'ok answered.
”Do you think he'll really use atomics?” Tak asked.
”I would.”
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”Boss, we don't have any artillery or close air support and the sat-links are down,” Tak said. ”You're going to want to start loading EW-rounds in your missile banks after this. I should have thought of it.”
”It's all right. You cannot account for everything. We shall do our best,” Ullmo'ok said. He tabbed a narcostim into his leg and checked his screens. The layout was strange, but Ullmo'ok knew he'd quickly get used to it. He wasn't like every other Lanaktallan who brayed and moaned when things changed. He wasn't a good Lanaktallan, he knew that. There was something wrong with him, everyone said so. He couldn't bring himself to care about what good Lanaktallan's cared about.
But he could keep the Precursors from digging his aunt and uncle and cousins out of the shelters and tearing them apart.
”It's raining. Lots of vaporized metal and ash in the droplets. That will fuzz your sensors a little depending on the range. I will compensate as best I can, boss,” Tak said. ”Two miles to target.”
”All bashmechs, slow to a walk. Calibrate for long range,” Ullmo'ok said. ”Ready drones for launch. Warbois will pilot them.”
He was surprised that Ixnartray did not remind him that he was not the boss of her.
”There's close to ten thousand of them. Whew,” Tak said. ”Drones ready.”
”Everyone, launch your drones. Let's get a look at the enemy,” Ullmo'ok said. ”Remember to put the feed on a screen and look at it.”
The drones popped up from the launchers that had previously been used to launch fireworks. Ullmo'ok watched, slightly disinterested, as the fast little aircraft activated their cameras and moved into position. Ullmo'ok could tell that the warbois had discussed their plans with one another. Some went wide, some went high, some stayed low, and others swept forward in a fast line. His own mech chugged out three, 5% of his total load of drones.
The landscape was different than it looked on the maps. There was a valley where they had not been, nearly a mile across. A large gouge ripped through the earth in the middle of the valley, creating a canyon nearly a hundred meters deep. The Precursor robots had been forced by terrain to split their forces. They were crossing what looked like smooth stone, broken by slight ripples.
”What caused that?” Ullmo'ok asked.
”Orbital strike,” Tak answered. ”Caught one of the Jotun's big boys out in the open. A mobile refinery heading toward you. What's left of it is at the bottom of the canyon.”
”I see,” Ullmo'ok said.
The Precursor robots were mostly hover, with what looked like crude copies of Terrans hanging off every surface, holding tight to missile launcher tubes. There were things that looked like crustaceans, things with tracks, things that walked on long stilt legs, others that slowly turned as they hovered.
Simulations usually showed the Precursors using hundreds or thousands of the same craft. Ullmo'ok made a small note to himself to change the parameters on his sims.
”Recommendations?” Ullmo'ok asked. Tak had been created to fight wars, Ullmo'ok felt it would be foolish to disregard his knowledge. He would ask Woxtow what the best fruit narcobrew was.
”Chaff mortars first. Since we know the wavelengths of the chaff we use missiles to start off with. Run EW suites, if they respond with heavy missile fire, pop more chaff and flares,” Tak said. ”Keep them at a distance, they look to all have short and medium range weaponry,” Tak hummed a second. ”This was tailor made to slaughter you if you tried the same tactics.”
”Logical,” Ullmo'ok stated. He opened a channel. ”Missile volleys first. Let the warbois select the targets and allocate the missiles. You launch and watch.”
”Boss, we really like doing this. We're used to helping,” Tak said. ”Give the word, we're ready.”
”All bashmechs check your number. Even will fire, then odd will fire, that way someone is always firing missiles,” Ullmo'ok ordered.
The drones were getting wiped out, but they were transmitting more than enough data. They'd identified to the point defense radar's wavelength, transmitting it to the mech's warbois, which loaded the scanner data into the mortar shells. The mortars thumped, previously used for fireworks and colored smoke, and the mortar shells dropped down. The Precursor machine's point defense hit a lot of them, but that still let the chaff deploy, degrading their point defense and letting more spread their chaff.
The screen got a little fuzzy but because the warbois knew the wavelengths the chaff had been designed to foul, the warbois could compensate and tell the missiles what to look for.
The mechs, all 450-500 tons of war machine, all began firing missile volleys. One group firing while the next reloaded. The missiles screamed out, unable to use stealth like their stellar counterparts, instead just relying on speed and bare bones maneuvering as they went hypersonic, roaring in at over Mach-10. While the Precursor machines were nearly blind the missiles could see clearly through the small hole in the chaff's scanner defeating jamming.
”We should start mixing EW warheads,” Tak suggested.
”What are those?” Ullmo'ok asked, feeling his mech shudder as it launched missiles. He'd noticed another reason for the staggered volley, it let his mech cool slightly between launches.
”Strobes, chaff, jammers, screamers, coughers, magic mirrors, stuff like that. Gives them false readings, jams up their sensors, tries to infect them with computer viruses through scanner input. It's to make your missiles more effective,” Tak said.
”Yeah, do that,” Ullmo'ok said.
”Um, how about one in twenty, we don't have many loaded,” Tak said.
”Yes,” Ullmo'ok said, watching the different feeds. He had expected the warbois to aim at all the front ones, instead the missiles were slipping in between enemy EW and point defense, knocking bigger and bigger holes in the point defense net.
”This does not feel right,” Jestrix said suddenly.