Chapter 217: (Foxtrot Niner Two) (2/2)

The nearest population center was over a hundred miles away to the south, what had looked like a refining facility next to a lake with close packed barracks. Next closest one was two hundred miles to the north, a city from the looks of it.

Mukstet looked at the scans he'd managed to pull of the Precursor vehicles, comparing them to the ones loaded in his striker's IFF. After a little bit he walked over to where Sergeant Kuplo was standing, watching his men who were dug into the ruins of the half-demolished manors.

”Sir?” Sergeant Kuplo asked.

”Do you have your Precursor profiles loaded?” Mukstet asked.

”Yes, sir,” the Sergeant said. ”Same with the men.”

Mukstet held his hand out, palm up, and showed the most common type of Precursor machine that was estimated to be over 5,000 tons. ”You have this in your database?”

The Telkan NCO leaned forward, examining it. It had what looked like three snail shells side by side with massive tracks on either side, crawler legs on the side and in front and what looked like a set of jaws up front.

”No, sir. It doesn't match any of my profiles,” Kuplo answered. ”Where was this taken?”

”Over a thousand of them, from orbit. It's about two hundred meters long and twenty meters wide,” Mukstet said. ”I've seen something like it before, though.”

”Where?” the NCO asked.

”Log Base Gamma, Second Telkan War,” Mukstet said. ”One large shell at the rear, and made of meat and chitin, but it definitely fits the look.”

”You sure, sir?” Kuplo asked. ”I was on Telisminia, we mostly had the big layered plate ones.”

”I'm sure,” Mukstet said. ”Which means, these aren't the Precursors from the First Telkan War.”

”All right, sir,” Kuplo said, nodding slowly. ”What's the plan?”

”Give me a few minutes, Sergeant,” Mukstet said.

”I'll be over here, sir,” the NCO said.

Mukstet walked away, looking at the different types of Precursor machines they'd spotted on the way in, as well as the vessels that they'd passed that had been fighting the Boop and other ships.

More flowing, more like they were patterned off of something living. Lots of mechanical tentacles and pinchers and crab/insect legs. They moved in groups, smaller ones around the big ones, the smallest ones riding on the bigger ones.

These aren't related to the ones from the first war, these are related to those things that came from outer space. Maybe the things made them somehow? Mukstet wondered. A terrible thought bubbled up.

Maybe something else made both?

He looked around. The field was good sized, large enough that all the strikers could be landed on it and then some room. The lake was important, if there was one thing the strikers were it was thirsty. There was plenty of debris to salvage to stuff in the hoppers, the trees on three sides would provide warning of anything large coming in.

I need to think of more than just now. I need to consider that we might not be able to regroup for several days. The strikers will need repair, reloading, remassed. Flight crews will need sleep and food, Musktet thought to himself, looking around.

He checked his armor's database and ran a search string for the terms he needed.

There were six field manuals detailing creation of an operations base. He stood by the lake, looking at the 3D wire-frames, reading the manuals quickly. There were some conflicting thoughts, some stuff that he didn't quite understand.

”Sergeant Kuplo, join me if you would,” he sent over the comlink.

”On my way, sir,” the NCO said.

It took a few moments for the NCO to join him and he kept scanning the field manuals the whole time.

”You needed me, sir?” Kuplo asked.

”Our current situation is one we've only lightly trained for. I don't doubt we would have trained for it when we arrived here but right now we've got some problems,” Mukstet said.

”Aye, sir,” Kuplo answered.

”Right now we have no support base. The squadron is based off the Boop, and the Boop is gone. That means right now, all we'd be doing is flying in circles squawking 'DOES ANYONE NEED HELP?' like jumping lizards with their heads cut off,” Mukstet said.

”True, sir,” Kuplo said, nodding.

”Everyone landed under fire. We passed heavy ground fire repeatedly, which means III Corps and Second Telkan landed into the teeth of heavy fire. Right now, we have a secure area,” Mukstet turned and motioned at the field. ”We don't know how far we are from any front, but even if this isn't a strategic area for a strike base we can still start a logistics base right here.”

”How so, sir?” Kuplo asked.

”Foxtrot-Two-Twenty-Two has bad airframe damage. It's combat capable under the current conditions but to be honest I wouldn't want to have the crew risk it,” Mukstet said. ”I'm saying we have one active wing at all times, doing recon patrols. Two wings on standby, one on repairs. We pull the nano-forges from Twenty-two, Seventeen, and Eight, and start fabricating the things we need to fabricate a strike base.”

Mukstet turned and waved at the area. ”We already have construction equipment. You told me that there was construction supplies, that it was obvious something was going to be built out here on top of the Lanaktallan estates that are being torn down. We construct an airfield, rearming point, remassing point. Establish an urgent care clinic, mess hall, and at least get some tents up for sleeping so you don't have to sleep in holes.”

Kuplo nodded slowly.

”The Corpsmen on standby will run the urgent care clinic. We've already got wounded little brothers, so we pull the worst wounded to work on building the camp, take the strikers in with the teams we can put together,” Mukstet said. He pinged the hasty file he'd put together over to the NCO.

Kuplo turned his hand up, looking at the proposed idea.

”Wish we had something bigger as far as nano-forges go, but the little brothers care capable of damn near miracles with the stuff we've got,” Mukstet said. ”Right now, we'll break into wing shifts, the ones on standby work on the striker base, one in the air, one grounded. Four wings of four strikers each.”

Kuplo nodded. ”It could work. Even if we have to abandon the base due to the front shifting or being reassigned another place, digging in is our best bet, at least till the commo channels clear up or we can get something on the command net.”

”Let's get it done, Sergeant,” Mukstet said.

”Ayut,” the NCO said. He put his hand to his helmet to signal he was speaking to the dismount crews.

Mukstet stared at the night around him, made bright as day by the electronics in his suit.

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”Foxtrot-Niner-Two, taking command of Foxtrot Wing One,” Mukstet said, checking over his instruments. He knew he'd need to be careful of the port-side graviton generators, but it beat not having the striker up and running.

”Roger, Foxtrot-Niner-Two. You are green to begin mission,” Pv2 Dektol, communications technician for the grounded Striker-Twenty-Two said over the headset.

”Establish link with us when you get that commo-antenna up,” Mukstet said.

”Roger that, sir,” the Pv2, only one rank below Mukstet, said into the mic. ”Good luck.”

Mukstet got the striker, fully loaded and with a compliment of dismount light scout Marines aboard, into the air. He started moving forward, the rest of the Wing-One following him, then banked to fly low over the lake.

Let's go see if we have any neighbors, Mukstet thought, tabbing up a piece of stimgum.