Chapter 219: (Foxtrot Niner Two) (1/2)
Mukstet got out of the striker slowly, his spine feeling bruised, and stretched. A small team of maintenance greenies were rushing forward in their armor, toolkits on their backs, as 973 climbed out of the cockpit engineering space. 973 held out a bladearm and the maintenance team slapped theirs against his as they rushed by.
--still in kinda one piece-- 973 said.
”Don't forget to tell them to double-check the psychic array's log, find out how it got through the passives,” Mukstet said.
Icons flashed rapidly between 973's antenna then stopped. --told them--
”Get some rest,” Mukstet said unnecessarily. 973 threw up a sleeping smiley face and scuttled away.
There were tents up already, bulldozers roaring as dirt was pushed into place to make a berm. In a way it was funny, all the technological advances like battle-screens and Terran military doctrine still said ”Dirt. A pile of dirt. A big honking pile of dirt! That's what you need! I guess you can add an integrity field if you're a wuss or something...” over and over. Still, a pile of dirt, an integrity field, and a set of battlescreens could even take a couple of hits from a hellbore in the same spot and still protect the troops behind it.
From what Mukstet had read in class, the Terrans had even used dirt emplacements as protection during atomic weapon exchanges.
He couldn't image that. Knowing that an atomic in the tens of megatons was coming and just hiding behind a pile of dirt thinking ”this will totally protect me long enough to charge across the atomic glass and chainsword that dude over there” like he'd read about.
Mukstet stopped and leaned against a section of striker armor that had been pulled off of one of the damaged strikers.
He'd read both Lanaktallan military theory and Terran military theory as part of the pilot course. Lanaktallan theory assumed everything would work perfectly under the conditions described by the manufacturer and the design lab. Terran stuff was ”Well, it might work, if it doesn't have you tried kicking it?” As far as military maneuvers, the Lanaktallan seemed to stop at basic movements and limited combined arms, where Terran military doctrine seemed more along the lines of ”BRING ALL OF IT!” when it came to the battle.
He tabbed up a piece of gum and flipped open his faceplate, breathing deep. The air was cool and felt good on his face.
Terran military theory was up to nineteenth generation. Lanaktallan just had ”Unified Military Theory” according to what he'd been able to read. The UMT had not changed in apparently millions of years and was apparently what Terrans referred to ”a lead with your face skirmish line” that was good for little more than a desperate infantry charge.
Still, leaning there, chewing his gum and staring at the work going on in the darkness, Mukstet was glad he was on the Terran side.
He looked right over right as the flash went off. His faceshield slapped down before he could even twitch, going fully opaque.
ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC - MEGATON RANGE
Flashed across the inside of his faceshield.
He immediately dropped down, following the arrow, going prone with his hands interlaced over his neck. He could hear others hitting the ground.
The rumble as the blast wave wasn't as bad as he thought.
--22.241 megaton 125.17 mile range OHSHIT-- 973 said.
ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC - MEGATON RANGE
There was another rumble.
--21.452 megaton 122.53 mile range ground burst with WTFWTFWTF--
ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC - MEGATON RANGE
Mukstet got up slowly. It was too far away to do much more than light everything up. He looked around and saw that the trees weren't even moving.
--23.234 megaton 128.22 mile range ground burst with enhanced thermal pulse and radiation sleet salted round not wetprint salted-- 973 said.
”WING ONE, WING TWO, WING THREE! MOUNT UP!” Mukstet yelled, running for the striker. ”DISMOUNT TEAMS ALPHA, CHARLIE, DELTA, MOUNT UP!”
The Terrans were already on their feet, none of them staring at the rising mushroom clouds. Instead they were dropping the cases they were carrying or were on their backs to the ground, opening them.
Mukstet got Foxtrot-Niner-Two into the air, only half of the strikers up, when it flashed across his suddenly polarized armor screens. He'd seen the beginning of the flash.
ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC - MEGATON RANGE
”What the hell are they doing?” Mukstet swore.
”Running patterns now, boss,” Kanput said. ”Wait, EM spectrum is clear. Getting a ton of transponders, landing beacons, radio chatter.”
”Could it have been purposeful?” Musktet asked, feeling the striker not even shiver.
”Maybe? I don't know,” Kanput said.
”All flights, on me. Wing Two, take port, Wing Three, take starboard. Clamshell up,” Mukstet said. He slowly increased speed. ”Kanput, keep squawking ID, these guys aren't playing.”
Mukstet wracked his brain, trying to figure out who'd be putting out atomics that large and why. That was BOLO fight or planet smashing, not modern battlefield. Huxmet had been left behind, Plekket taking his place, so the striker team didn't have any problems when Mukstet gave the order to kick the afterburners and go supersonic.
”All striker pilots, put your psychic screens to maximum. These Precursors are using psychic shutdown fields. Crank it till you can feel it tingle your gums,” Mukstet ordered, following his own advice.
--got 552 watching the psychic-- 973 reported.
”Good. Don't wanna go dead stick again,” Mukstet said.
”Boss, I got someone on the horn,” Kanput said. ”Patching through now.”
Mukstet tried to remember when Kanput started calling him 'boss' but couldn't remember.
”Mukstet, Second Telkan Marine Combat Aviation,” he said.
”Speak up, I'm half deaf,” came the reply. Mukstet repeated himself but louder.
”Staff Sergeant Nimbly, Support Platoon, Alpha Company, 15th Sustainment Battalion,” came back the shouted reply. ”If you come, come in on our south side, we've got enough Precursor metal to build a deathstar left.”
”We spotted your atomics, over,” Mukstet said, then had to repeat himself.
”Land mines. Made the clankers pull back,” the Terran yelled. ”Look, Holds, just spray the blue goop on my skull and cover it with spray-plas. I gotta get back in the fight. Anyway, Mukstet, I hope you've got passenger space.”
”Roger that, why?” Mukstet asked.
”Because I've got an entire children's hospital complex hunkered down with me. We can hold out, but we're making a mess here and these kids are sick already,” there was a bitter laugh. ”Some of them won't need their chemo, that's for goddamn sure.”
You're using atomics with kids? What the hell are you thinking?
”GET ON THAT ONE! GOBLIN KING HIM RIGHT IN THE GODDAMN FACE!” the Terran yelled. ”Mucky, you still there?”
ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC flashed again. The spark lit off and the mushroom cloud clawed its way up. His database matched the signature to the weapon: Jim Bowie class shoulder fired nuclear rocket in the 50kt - 1.25mt mission configurable range. The one the Terran had just fired was a 125kt.
”HOW YA LIKE THEM APPLES, CLANKER?” the Terran yelled. ”Mucky, you still there, over?”
”Still here,” Mukstet said, shaking his head.
”OK, my commo guy says it's clear enough to send you the datapack of what I'm protecting,” the Terran snapped. ”I've got a lot of sick kids, we're talking terminally ill without Terran tech. The hospital head administrator told me that 61st Medevac was going to provide these kids with modern med-tech. Got a lot of cancer, shit like that,” the was harsh barking laughter from the Terran. ”They're all gonna need chelation anyway, so what the fuck anyway. I SAID I'M FINE, HOLDS, GET OFF ME!”
”All right, we're five minutes out,” Mukstet said.
--atom smasher-- 973 chided.
”No close air support. Get in here on our south side and start getting these kids out of here. We can hold them off,” the Terran laughed again. ”I got enough firepower to crack this fucking planet in half. These hodunk podunk well then there now motherfuckers ain't getting these here kids no how no ways know what I mean?” the last sentence was all ran together into basically one word and Mukstet was glad that Kanput had the captioning working.
”We've got dismount. Twelve Telkan Marines in light scout powered armor,” Mukstet said.
”THAT ONE WITH THE DRONE CLOUD SPIKE HIM SPIKE HIM!” the Terran yelled. ”FIGHT AND FIGHT AS HARD AS YOU CAN! YOU CAN'T KILL ME, I'M THE ORDNANCE MAN!”
He saw the slight flash before his striker's defenses kicked in, opaquing the shields. This time he was close enough the overpressure wave made his craft shudder.
”Look, I've got a guy with me I'm sending back. Your techs can't save him, but he's holding on. You want what he's got on his wetware, we're talking priority intel,” the Terran said. Personally Mukstet wasn't surprised that this Staff Sergeant Nimbly was half deaf if he was firing off atomic weaponry point blank into the Precursor's faces.
”I've got a surgical team from 27th,” Mukstet started.
”Clankers tore him in half, broke his neck, and ripped off one of his arms. He's holding on till you can get someone to download his wetware, his SUDS is red-dotted. You lose him, his wetware auto-destructs so keep him alive,” Nimbly shouted. ”THAT ONE! SPIKE THAT ONE! MJOLNIR HIM RIGHT IN THE FUCKING FACE! FINE! SHOOT BOTH OF THEM! I DON'T CARE, MELT THE FUCKING BARREL WE'LL FABIO UP A NEW ONE!”
At least that was just a heavy railgun firing neutronium jacketed anti-matter slugs and not another atomic detonation. Still, Mukstet was close enough that he could hear the detonation of the rounds even through his striker's armor.
Why the HELL does this guy have this kind of firepower? Mukstet asked himself.
”All right, dismount, you'll unass the strikers and help load up the cargo. One striker remain just in case, the rest of you will stay back and help protect the LZ,” Mukstet ordered.
”Roger that,” one of the Dismount teams snapped back.
”Thirty seconds, Army,” Mukstet warned.
”CLEAR THE AIR!” Mukstet heard the human bellow. ”SPARKING YOU A FLARE, FLYBOY!”
The high impulse thermobaric fuel air plasma munition detonated only about 1,200 meters above the dug in position. There were drones everywhere, point defense weapons barely holding them back from making an attack. The HITFAB went off, filling the air with plasma enhanced fire, turning the drones to molten metal and ash that rained from the sky.
”AHAHAHAHAH! HOW YA LIKE THEM APPLES, YA BIG METAL DICKSTAIN!” yelled the Terran.
Mukstet realized the Terran had to be suffering from open mic.
”Kanput, put him on his own channel, I don't think he can hear me anyway,” Mukstet said.
”I think he might be crazy,” Kanput said back, shunting the Terran onto his own channel.
He could see the battlefield now as he roared in, cutting in the inertial dampener and slamming on the retros even as he killed the afterburners.