Chapter Forty-Eight (Ullmook) (1/2)

The Second High Most expected the illegal fighters in the mechs to charge his dropships. He nearly two-thousand power armor ready to swarm the nine patchworking looking mechs in front him to pry the pilots out so they could be summarily executed. He was personally looking forward to exiting the cramped shelters in the center of the Executor Headquarters and moving to what seismic scouting had shown to be heavy and elaborate shelters beneath the mining facility. He already knew he'd use his planetary authority to order the Terran anti-aircraft and point defense units to either leave or follow his orders, then eject the rabble and useless drones from the shelter so those who, by right, should have been in those shelters could take their rightful places.

Ullmo'ok didn't bother charging, just opened the armored covers for his missiles launchers and started firing. The power-armor, barely taller than his foot, he raked with long range lasers and particle beams.

Armor exploded, the missiles, programmed to hammer through Precursor armor, sliced through the dropships like butter as the point defense barely had time to come online before the hypersonic missiles started blowing huge holes in the ships.

The feeling flickered and died as three quarters of the dropships exploded into shards, the shrapnel ripping through the still forming ranks of power armor. Autocannons, lasers, particle beams, magshot rounds, all ripped into the power armor as the mech pilots triggered a second salvo.

A few power armor groups charged, using their jump-packs to take to the air in big hops.

The mech pilots swept them out of the sky with lasers and autocannons.

Within seconds the armor was fleeing back to the dropships, several of the surviving handful of dropships attempting to take off only for the third volley of missiles to smash into them, collapsing deflector shields, overwhelming point defense that was more used to thrown home-made explosives that hypersonic missiles in a long stream or screaming swirling missiles, some of which exploded into submunitions that kicked in grav generators and slammed tungsten steel tips into the hulls of the dropships at nearly Mach-20.

”Goodbye, Executor,” Ullmo'ok said emotionlessly to the image of the Second High Most. He then opened up with his rotating autocannon, slamming the 200mm shells, fired one every half second as the barrels rotated, into the hull. The single burst blew through the entire ship, exiting out the other side to slam against the next one.

He knew that his uncle, his aunt, his cousins, so young and innocent, would remain in their shelters as he raked the last of the power armor infantry with his non-consumable munition weapons.

He felt something then, a flicker, something. He didn't know what, but he felt for a second.

”All enemy down,” Tak reported. ”I don't think that went the way they expected.”

”If it did, it was a poor plan,” Ullmo'ok stated. ”All pilots, back to the chokepoint. The Jotun undoubtedly hopes that we are damaged.”

The other eight pilots just flashed icons for assent, following him back.

Plunketi'ik raked the shattered ranks of power armor once more just for good measure before turning and following Ullmo'ok. Her broodcarriers were swollen with squirming podlings grown from the eggs she had deposited and her husbands fertilized. She would not allow some pampered Executive who had looked down on the streets she had fought and clawed to survive on to take their place.

If she was fated to die, then so be it. Her husbands would sing her glory to the podlings.

The nine mechs, shimmering with heat, moved back to the end of the valley and waited.

Ullmo'ok was almost ready to radio back and find out what was taking so long when Tak spoke up.

”We've got satellite again. That mad-lad Trucker put a half-dozen Bolos in orbit! He did it, he actually did it!” Tak laughed. ”Oh, and 144th Ordnance is arriving. They say they're going to load us up with munitions! They've even got maintenance techs and parts!”

”All right, everyone, let's head back,” Ullmo'ok ordered.

Everyone was silent as they marched back. Gone was the chatter, the jokes, the usual talk. Instead, Ullmo'ok had noted that everyone appeared to be exhausted, even though they had been getting rest. He didn't feel tired, just bored.

”Tak?” Ullmo'ok asked.

”Yeah, boss, what's up?” Tak asked.

”Can you check everyone's vitals? I worry they may be tired,” Ullmo'ok said.

”Yeah, just a second,” Tak said. After a moment he answered. ”A little tired, no more than normal.”

”Why do they seem so exhausted? Why are they all so silent. Usually Destrixal does not be silent but he has said hardly two sentences since the first battle,” Ullmo'ok said. ”Is it, what was it called, a bioweapon?”

There was silence for moment. ”Boss, do you not know about battle-fatigue?”

”Battles make you tired? Of course, that's why I insist they nap or sleep between,” Ullmo'ok said. ”That's why I suggested stims before battle.”

”Well, it's, wait, you did what?” Tak said. ”Boss, that's not a good idea. It's not a good idea even with a professional standing force.”

”Why not?” Ullmo'ok asked, looking at the unused stim-pack sticking out of his pouch.

”It messes with your body chemistry, and I mean real bad. Just a few minutes of combat can leave you exhausted for a day or two, that's why sleep is so important to commanders,” Tak said. ”Boss, you guys aren't trained for this. You need to start rotating.”

”Like with the ammunition?” Ullmo'ok asked.

”Like that. Only take like half of your force out, just have the rest on standby, eating or sleeping,” Tak said. ”Some of them will feel too tired to drink liquid or even eat.”

”Oh,” Ullmo'ok said. He felt fine, he had assumed the other did to. ”Who should I have sleep?”

Tak sighed. ”I don't know. According to my files, have the ones who took the most damage get some sleep. They're going to be the most tired.”

”I shall follow your advice, warboi,” Ullmo'ok stated.

He wished he had a narcobrew.

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”Captain Megran, 144th Ordnance Company. You must be Ullmo'ok,” The Terran said. It still struck Ullmo'ok as odd when he saw a human who wasn't a warborg. The Terran had on body armor, with strength enhancement and a backpack more like a hump on his back, but nothing like the heavy body of a warborg. His face was fuzzy, orange and white, with a muzzle adorned with whiskers and a black nose, his mouth full of sharp pointed round canine teeth.

”I am known as such,” Ullmo'ok said. He looked around at where humans were running everywhere. Some carrying technical looking equipment that must have outweighted them by five or six times. Some in massive cargo-mech frames were grabbing blocks of missiles and cannon and magshot and moving them over.

”This is all mil-spec ammo. Variable mission configurable missile warheads, all in the hypersonic range, mission configurable mortar rounds, same with your cannon and magshot rounds,” The Terran said. ”I'm having my men make sure your VI's know how to use them.”

”We have advanced virtual intelligences,” Ullmo'ok said.

The Terran raised one eyebrow. ”Really?”

”Yes,” Ullmo'ok said.

There was silence for a moment before the human cleared his throat. ”Well, then. We'll reload your stores, some medical supplies and a medical VI, drop you some food and water, and get moving. We've got an armor brigade down to slush,” the human said.

”Very well,” Ullmo'ok said.

The Terran turned away, shaking his head and flicking his ears. He'd dealt with Lanaktallans before and usually they were blowing saliva, rattling those tendrils around, raising and lowering their crests, and shaking their jowls. That one had just been still, his eyes dead and empty, more life in his cybernetic eye.

He's probably just tired, Captain Megran thought to himself, wishing he could scratch the base of his tail through the armor.

Ullmo'ok moved over to where the narcobrew and the food was strewn out on a table. He took a bottle of brew and some condensed nutri-cud and watched the humans run around. It looked like complete anarchy to him but within a half hour the Terran who had talked to him came walking up.

”You're good to go. We can't drop a nano-forge or a creation engine here, too much metal in the rocks, they'd start doing extraction without taking a few hours to put up the proper shielding and running the proper protocols,” the Terran said, his whiskers trembling. ”Same reason we can't drop you an AI core, the AI would get drunk from the EM scatter in the metal without enough shielding and our nano-forges are mostly slush.”

”Very well,” Ullmo'ok said.

The Terran looked at him a moment, then shrugged and headed toward his vehicle. A sleek looking hovercraft with a quad-barrel ion-slug rapid fire gun on the back, a Terran leaning against it with a white stick in his mouth, blowing smoke and watching the sky.

Ullmo'ok knocked on the table with his almost empty bottle, getting his pilot's attention. Once he was sure he had it he spit out the plastic fiber wadding of the synth-cud on the ground and looked at them.

”Everyone get some sleep. We have satellites now to watch the Precursors for us,” Ullmo'ok said. ”I will wake you if you are needed. From now on, we only go out in groups of twelve with a leader.”

They all nodded, breaking up, and Ullmo'ok watched them leave. He moved over the Most High Mechanic, Krekit, was looking over the ammunition and stores. Ullmo'ok noticed the smaller being had a headset on, obviously speaking to his own aVI.

”How well are we now stocked?” Ullmo'ok asked.

Krekit looked up, nodding. ”Really well. These missiles, they're something else, boss. Our tubes can fire them, luckily.”

”And the parts?” Ullmo'ok asked.

”A little problem there. If we have to fix a knee, we'll have to replace both actuators or you'll run with a limp because these are top-shelf stuff,” Krekit said. He wiped his hands on his coveralls and stood up, shading his eyes. ”You sure we'll get warning if anyone's coming?”

”I am sure,” Ullmo'ok said. He looked around. ”I must go and speak to another. Ensure the mechs are loaded and repaired.”

Krekit nodded. ”Sure, boss, sure.”

Ullmo'ok clopped away, heading into the office where Tak had been brave enough to tell him that he had failed. He moved in, picked up the shielded communicator normally used to talk to Corporate Headquarters in the capital, and plugged it in. He dialed in the com-code he'd memorized, leaned back in the sitting sling, and waited.

His uncle's face appeared. ”Apartment 2621.”

”Uncle,” Ullmo'ok said, reaching out and touching the screen. He could almost feel something. Something he'd felt when he'd watched his thumpmen escort his uncle to the shelters.

”Ullmo'ok,” his uncle said. Ullmo'ok expected the older Lanaktallan to inflate his crests, curl his tendrils, and shake his jowls in rage. Instead the older male looked behind him, then looked back at the screen. ”Are you well?”

Ullmo'ok nodded. ”I am uninjured.”

”Is it terrible up there? The news says that the planetary forces are defeating the Precursors across all fronts and that they will be defeated in a matter of days,” his uncle said. He paused. ”That is not true, is it?”

Ullmo'ok shook his head. ”No, uncle. It is not. Even the humans are fighting hard. The factory...”

”To the bowels of the dying ones with the factory, Ullmo'ok. How are you?” the older male repeated.

”I am uninjured,” Ullmo'ok said. ”I wished to know that you and our family are not suffering.”

The older Ullmo'ok's tendrils trembled with something Ullmo'ok didn't understand. ”It is crowded, it is noisy at times, but your Secmen are keeping order. We are not suffering. But what about you?”

Ullmo'ok shrugged again. ”I will fight to defend the shelters. Not only are you there, but loyal workers and their families. Families of my bashmech pilots.”

His uncle stayed silent, reaching out with all four hands and touching the screen at the corners. ”Please, nephew, be careful.”

Ullmo'ok shrugged again. ”It will be what it will be, uncle. I shall fight hard to prevent the Precursors from reaching you. Should I fall, the Terrans have stated they will protect you.”

”You, you managed to make a deal with the Terrans?” his uncle asked.

”No. They value you and the others and will seek to protect you,” Ullmo'ok said. ”No deal. No bargain. Just they have sworn to witness what I and my pilots do here and to protect you.”

”Looey, who is that?” Ullmo'ok heard his aunt ask. Something inside him twisted and he felt something for a moment.

”Tell her it was just the thumpmen,” Ullmo'ok said. ”Stay alive, uncle.”

Before his uncle could reply he unplugged the communications device.

The feeling went away and he picked up a half-empty bottle of whiskey and took a long drink.

”Boss? Are you all right?” Tak asked.

”Of course,” Ullmo'ok said, finishing off the bottle and setting it on the desk. He tabbed a narco injector into his arm. ”Why wouldn't I be?”

”Just checking. You should get some sleep,” Tak said.

”I have things that must be done. You should get some rest, defrag, recompile, and sector-check yourself,” Ullmo'ok said, sliding out of the sling.

”All right, boss. Call me if you need me,” Tak said.

”I will,” Ullmo'ok promised, clopping his way through the deserted refinery office.

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Ullmo'ok stood at the edge of the valley, staring at the hell beyond. The Jotun had pushed more vehicles, and more, and more at his bashmechs. Tak had told him that the Jotun had been forced to allocated his heavy combat robots to defend against the Terran combat vehicles.

Now the entire valley was nothing but broken, scorched, carbonized, and melted metal. Slagged internals of robots.

And a pair of dead bashmechs.

”I screwed up. I didn't fall back fast enough when the aircraft came in,” Plunketi'ik said, shaking her head. ”Zikmack and Trekez got caught by their bombing run. Half my bashmechs got seriously damaged and I've had to send them back for repair.”

”Were they witnessed?” Ullmo'ok asked carefully.

”Yes,” Plunketi'ik said softly. ”Hail our dead,” She said. She fired a single hypersonic missile, no guidance, no warhead, just a dead missile on a high parabolic arc that left a white trail in the sky as it sped toward the Jotun and vanished in the distance.

”Did they have family in the shelters?” Ullmo'ok stared at the destroyed valley that had once been the site of luxury vacation homes for wealthy executives.

The river was full of toxic runoff from the battles.

”Yes. Both did,” Plunketi'ik said.

”Then they will live on,” Ullmo'ok said.

”Boss, boss!” Tak suddenly broke into the somber moment. ”TAKE A KNEE!”

”What?” Ullmo'ok asked. He heard Plunketi'ik's warboi yell the same thing.

”This!” Tak threw a wire-frame on all his screens. Down on one knee, arms covering the chest, face tilted down, hands over the face, leaning slightly forward.

Ullmo'ok took the position, feeling shattered Precursor machine crumble even further under his knee.

”Why do we...” Ullmo'ok started. A bright flash tore open the sky and Tak turned the screens off and the cockpit completely opaque.

A rumble started. His speakers howled with static. Sparks shot from his forward control panel. The rumble got harder and suddenly a shock wave hit him from the front. He actually felt his mech slide back a few meters, something moving its 500 ton bulk backwards like an adult pushing back a defiant child.

There was a split second of calm, then the blast hit again, harder, and Ullmo'ok found himself leaning forward.

”EJECTING MISSILE BAY! DIGITAL OMNIMESSIAH HELP US!” Tak screamed out.

Another space, then a third shockwave, this one lifting him slightly, giving him a brief feeling of weightlessness. Impacts hit his battle-screens and Ullmo'ok was sure that it was the wreckage of the Precursor vehicles being thrown against his bashmech by some giant hand.

Ullmo'ok felt something inside. Just for a second.

His mech hit the ground and he narrowly avoided putting a hand out to stabilize himself before Tak got the gyros under control.

”HERE COMES THE BOOM, BOSS!” Tak screamed and Ullmo'ok could hear the fear in the aVI's voice.

The roar, the explosion, wasn't a sound. It was a physical thing, a fist that slammed into his bashmech with steel covered knuckles. He managed to keep on one knee, managed to keep upright. Light shined through cracks he didn't even know where there around his modified cockpit cover. He saw his battle-screens fail right before his screens dissolved into static.

Tak screamed in agony.

The radiation meters inside the cockpit began to howl. Two vidpanels blew out, showering Ullmo'oks flanks with viz-plaz. Static howled through Ullmo'ok's implant and his cybereye suddenly went white and shut down.

His mech went dead. Shut down.

It was silent, just the ticking of cooling metal, not even the faint hum of the fusion reactor. Ullmo'ok sat there, looking around in curiosity as his cybereye reboot, failed, reboot again and came on, shot with static that slowly cleared. His cockpit cover was cracked in two places, the foot thick armorplas crazed white and shot through with spiderwebs.

Carefully, slowly, Ullmo'ok restarted his bashmech.

It took five times before it started up sluggishly. The fusion reactor had to be flushed twice before it would start, the mag-bottle projectors overloaded and charged, ionized, the circuitry full of stray charges.

”B-b-b-b-b-boss?” Tak asked. ”Boss, you alive?”

”I am intact,” Ullmo'ok said. ”You screamed. It sounded like pain.”

Tak made a sound that reminded Ullmo'ok of a cough. ”Particle sleet. Someone saw a chance and hit the Jotun with an battery,” Tak coughed again. ”A plasma wave phased motion gun from near orbit or a near C velocity shell or a main ion cannon from a battleship.”

”It hurt?” Ullmo'ok asked.

”That was a 1.4 kilowatt EMP at the end, boss, it was like getting hit in the face with by a mech-fist to you. It blew straight through the particle shields, took down the battle-screens, wrecked up everything,” Tak said. He buzzed a second. ”I'm all hashed up. Sector errors, CRC errors, I'm pretty fragmented.”

”Is it safe to stand up?” Ullmo'ok asked.

”Y-yeah, boss, it should be,” Tak said. ”I had to eject the missiles and plasma rounds. Take it easy.”

”Defrag and perform maintenance on yourself, Tak,” Ullmo'ok said, standing the mech up slowly. Only one of his displays worked, a small one for drone feeds, and Ullmo'ot shifted his forward view to it. It was nothing but static so he rebooted his screens.

Triggering his datalink he brought up the com-codes for the seven bashmech pilots that had been with him and dialed them.

Only four answered.

”Follow me. We need repair,” Ullmo'ok said.

”Frextik'ik's ammunition exploded. He didn't eject his ammunition in time,” Plunketi'ik said. ”I can see Uskralet's mech, it's torn apart.”

”What happened?” Vemtre asked.

”Orbit shot. They took a shot at the Jotun,” Ullmo'ok told them. His display cleared up just in time for him to look at where the Jotun was.

”By the Forgotten Brood Mothers,” Pluketi'ik said slowly, and Ullmo'ok knew she was seeing it too.

The clouds were gone, swept away by the blast. A huge mushroom cloud had formed, with other clouds riding up. Black and red, with fires burning in the huge cloud at the top, lightning flickering in them. The whole sky looked like it was burning.

”I think they got it,” Woxtow said softly.

”Let us hope. Do not count the credits before the end of the match,” Ullmo'ok warned. ”Let us return, we need repair and refit.”

The others, used to Ullmo'ok's calm voice and unshakable demeanor, followed him as they slowly trudged back. The trees were burning, what few buildings that remained were flattened. Debris from the valley had crashed into the landscape, the heavier and larger pieces first. Smoke covered everything, dust and small debris hanging in the air.

”My warboi is stuttering, he sounds drunk,” Woxtow said.

”Order him to defrag and recompile,” Ullmo'ok said.

They moved through the shattered day, Ullmo'ok piloting his damaged bashmech by a single screen that barely worked, until the reached the quarry. Twice more the rumble of great explosions washed over them.

In the quarry the stacks of ammo were tipped over, the cranes at the edge of the quarry fallen into it. Four of the bashmechs were on their backs. One was getting up slowly. Another was gutted, the chassis burning from where the missiles inside had detonated. Fires were still being put out and Ullmo'ok noted that it looked like everything had been pushed slightly toward the far side of the quarry. Ullmo'ok stopped and powered down his mech, noting that the survival core case for Tak no longer shined the green light, just a yellow one that slowly flashed. He tried to open the cockpit but the motors just sputters and clattered on stripped gears.

Ullmo'ok had to have the mechanics remove his canopy.

The air smelled of seared metal, smoke, and pulverized rock.

Seeing the clouds in the distance with the naked eye, not on a small screen, was impressive, Ullmo'ok noted. Other bashmech pilots got out and just stared, their jaws hanging down. A few, like Woxtow, starting crying.

Ullmo'ok went into the office to check the status of the shelters. He had to go back out, get a battery, and attach it to the lone comlink he could find that still worked once he applied power.

They were fine. They'd barely felt the shock.

Still, he stood by the desk, thinking for a long time in the darkness. The power was still out. The only connection to the shelters was the single shielded hard line and a single freight elevator that still had power and was protected by a ten meter thick endosteel shutter. After a moment he made his decision, going out to the mechanics.

”I need some parts and your help,” he told Krekit. The mechanic nodded.

Together they set to work.