Chapter 193 (1/2)
Vulko'op sighed as the next person moved up in the line. The starship that had arrived were carrying the survivors from, well, something. The ship was a Unified Military Council ship, battered and hammered, with carbonized sections on the hull, damaged weapons and engines. It had landed, the support strut on the right wing had failed, and the crew had all clattered off, carrying stretchers and med-stasis pods as they hurried.
The spacecraft was on fire now, the spaceport emergency responders were trying to put it out to no avail. Vulko'op could tell that the jumpcore was on fire now, which left no chance of it going out.
The Lanaktallan who moved up in front of him had bandages over his rear and middle eyes, half his tendril were missing, an arm that was held in a traction cast also held in a sling, was dragging a hoof, and had burn scars down both flanks. The Lanaktallan looked around slowly, flinching back slightly when Vulko'op cleared his throat.
Vulko'op tapped the scanner in front of him.
The Lanaktallan put his wrong hand on the scanner. Vulko'op sighed when he realized that the hand normally used to access the ID system and verify someone's identity was completely covered by medical bandages and a traction cast.
The Lanaktallan clumsily held out an ID billfold.
Drukmo'o. Infantry Heavy Gunner Specialist. 1243th Infantry Division.
”Go ahead,” Vulko'op sighed. ”Any luggage?”
”No,” the male said, looking somehow more despondent.
”Move along,” Vulko'op said. He looked over. ”Next.”
This one wore a sash still. It was scorched and frayed, but proclaimed the Lanaktallan to be a Planetary Defense Thirtieth Most High. He was covered in bandages, only one eye peeking out. When he slapped his hand down the ID system flashed.
Lu'ukmo'o. Dolgeth System Planetary Defense. KILLED IN ACTION.
”I'm sorry, Most High, but...” Vulko'op started to say.
”How would you like to spend the rest of your life scrubbing out neo-sapient shitters with your tongue?” the Most High snapped. ”It's obvious I wasn't killed, into a tendril trembling intellectual deficient petty time server such as yourself.”
”But I...” Vulko'op tried to say.
The older Lanaktallan leaned forward. ”Update it. Now. Or I send your family to the pleasure domes and have you cleaning shit covered streets with your face while being ridden by neo-sapient children.”
Vulko'op nodded, swallowing, and hit update.
The ”KILLED IN ACTION” vanished.
The next one came up. KILLED IN ACTION appeared.
This one held out an Eighth Most High Executor badge.
”Change it or face me,” the Executor growled.
Vulkmo'op changed it.
All of the two hundred survivors from the ship were listed as Killed In Action. By the twentieth Vulko'op's supervisor, summoned by the VI, hit override on it all so that no more angry battle injured Most Highs came up to his office and threatened grisly and terrible things to him.
By that time the first through the line, Drukmo'o, had trotted through the spaceport, mixing in with the crowds.
Nobody noticed his colors shifted slightly. He slowly grew white 'sock' hair above his hooves and two white splots on his flanks. The burn scars shifted pattern. The bandages around his arm, the traction brace, and the sling miraculously vanished between two sec-cams as his patterning rippled.
When he got into the exit station he held his hand out, slapping it down.
Tunvo'o. Eightieth Most High. Heavy Infantry Gunner.
The Shavashan behind the desk just motioned as she saw the ”UPDATING” change the ”KILLED IN ACTION” to ”WOUNDED IN ACTION”. She breathed a sigh of relief as the Lanaktallan didn't do anything but trot out of the spaceport concourse and into the waiting area for transportation.
The cab driver picked up the Lanaktallan with a sash and an expensive looking flank covering. The Lanaktallan just input where he was going and the cab driver, a HiKruth, decided he wanted nothing to do with a 19th Most High of Military Intelligence and drove the Lanaktallan to the Unified Council Center without saying a word or turning on the music.
The Fifteenth Most High of Executor Combat Operations and Intelligence stopped in front of the courtesy desk, staring at the receptionist for a long moment. The receptionist had had her share of shocks over the last almost two years and just brought up the high security holoterminal while staring down at her desk.
The Fifteenth Most High did a query and trotted away.
The Ninth Most High System Defense Coordinator left the elevator and trotted down to the meeting hall, limping slightly from a plasma blast that had barely healed on his left flank and scars from being hit with Terran high velocity kinetic weapons.
The Master at Arms took one look at the scarred veteran and turned away, unable to hold the gaze of the high ranking Executor. His implant merely flashed ”EXECUTOR” rather than any rank or titles.
The Lanaktallan limped up and stood near the stage, watching the speaker at the podium.
Behind the speaker was a map of the Unified Civilized Systems, showing different colored waves advancing through space.
”Giant combat mechs then landed on Cormizon-1134 but were driven off,” the Most High at the podium stated. The world being pointed out went gray.
”Lies!” the Lanaktallan Executor, his black hide hair with white socks, white hair on his muzzle, and a black sash roared out.
He held out his hand before the Most High at the podium could speak.
Everyone in the chamber saw the screen flicker twice before ”EXECUTORY OVERRIDE” appeared in red letters.
”THIS is the vaunted strength of the Unified Coporate Military Forces,” the black Executor sneered.
On the screen hundreds of Lanaktallans in blue armor were screaming, rearing up, and galloping away from six large mechs. They had reverse jointed legs like birds, bobbed strangely as they walked, and only seemed to have a few weapons on their heavily armored forms.
”I'M GOING TO STEP ON YOU!” an obviously laughing Terran voice boomed from the loudspeakers on one of the avian-like mechs. There was a pause as the slowly moving mech made slight gains on the fleeing Lanaktallan forces. ”EVENTUALLY!”
”THIS is their valor,” the black Executor sneered.
The picture flickered, along with the lights, and the image changed to a huge mech, at least 10 meters tall, with a massive hammer in his hands, running forward, jumping into the air with the assist of thrusters, and slamming down on a tank with both feet. It began smashing the tanks around it with the huge hammer.
”WHEN JOHN HENRY WAS A LITTLE BABEE!” the mech pilots sang. ”SITTING ON HIS DADDY'S KNEE!”
The tanks broke formation, all of them fleeing independently, while the mech chased them, still singing, still swinging the hammer.
”HE PICKED UP A HAMMER AND BIG OLD CHUNK OF STEEL!” three more tanks were pounded into scrap by the hammer with the flare of graviton generators releasing their change. Estimates on the side bar put the kinetic force of the hammer at well of a thousand tons at terminal velocity at each point of impact based on the flare.
”AND DROVE IT INTO HIS DADDY'S KNEE!” the pilot sang as he knocked the turret off a tank, leaned down, and breathed liquid fire into the interior.
”This is their victory on Cromizon-1134,” the Executor said, his voice flat and dead.
Smoking cities turned to rubble. Destroyed factories. Ruined starports. The neo-sapients, UnUnified Species, and Near-Civilized being marched into massive dropships. The Lanaktallan survivors finding nothing but bags of seed and strange tools.
Example after example was thrown up, short 5-10 second clips showing the Lanaktallan forces being routed, being completely obliterated, being overrun and destroyed. Many Lanaktallan diplomats and politicians where whinnying in anxiety as the last clip came up.
The destruction of the Dolgeth Military-Industrial System.
”Yes, our forces are driving back the Terrans at every turn,” the black Lanaktallan said.
The image of feline-featured moon-faced Terran immature females clad in heavy power armor yelling ”DOKI DOKI DOKI!” as they laid down devestating magnetic acceleration weapon fire, signs on their back with strange emojis, flashing emojis in the air, and burning Lanaktallan troops alive with flamethrowers.
A horde of massively muscled green skinned bipeds all clad in junk arranged like armor and firing multiple weapons at once climbing over the dead Lanaktallan troops to keep fighting, keep burning, keep attacking. Many of them wearing Lanaktallan scalps on their heads like wigs.
Images of a massive human in heavy plated power armor, helmetless, with a burning bird with spread wings on his chest grabbing Lanaktallan in full power assist armor and ripping them in half. ”GIVE THEM NO QUARTER, BROTHERS! IN THE NAME OF THE OMNIMESSIAH AND HARMONY!” he was roaring out.
Images of massive robot power armors stomping Lanaktallan warmechs flat while laughing.
”Yes, our total victories,” the Lanaktallan sneered.