Chapter 304 (2/2)

”Krawgrak, count your wrenches, you've got an empty slot on your wrench harness! Looks like your 15mm wrench!” the Terran called out. ”Brubaker, I only count seven data-orbs, you should have eight. Find it. Nikikilk, where's your goddamn rifle? Goddamn it, Dominguez, how the hell are you going to get promoted if you can't make sure these guys don't accidentally shove their fucking tools up their asses?”

Turning away from the shouting lemur, A'armo'o put it out of his mind as he moved up to his tank. He put his hand on the panel at the back and the tank dutifully beeped and lowered the back ramp.

He had to jump out of the way with how quickly and smoothly it unfolded.

He trotted in, missing the fact that someone had drawn a dick on the ramp motor housing, and moved over to his commander's harness. He brought the tank online, carefully going down the checklist, until it sat, weapons safety interlocked, vibrating.

For the first time it seemed to almost vibrate with restrained malice. Like it was eager to get into the fight.

Same amount of ammunition, same types of ammunition. He examined the profiles of the ammo. Nearly triple the battlescreen penetration, capable of three times the range, accuracy improved by 19%, flight time reduced by 11.5%. He shook his head. The tank's compression chamber was nearly five times more efficient and cooled three times as fast and he couldn't even really see what the Terrans had done.

They probably just tapped it a few times with a wrench and told it that it was part of a tank, he snorted to himself. Each system now feels like part of a whole instead of a separate system.

He checked the radio, listening in to broadcasts. Most of it was Terran radio chatter and he was aware he could listen in on the channels because of his rank, which felt odd listening to a Terran artillery battery fire, move, fire again, confounding Precursor counter-battery systems and 'suckering' them into revealing which machines had counter-battery capability so the strikers could bring 'the brrt to the dirt' and wipe them out.

Sighing he leaned back slightly.

”Hey, boss,” He heard from his left. He looked over to a screen that the Terrans had added in time to see a digital representation of a Lanaktallan face made up of swirling code form on the screen.

”Hello,” A'armo'o said carefully to the face. ”Who are you?”

”I am Tank Combat Assistant Warboi 8376453a32,” the face said. ”It is up to you to give me an additional designation.” Its tones were formal and serious.

”T'Caw sounds good,” A'armo'o said.

”I am T'Caw. I'll help you run the auxiliary systems as well keep the tank at optimum performance during combat and refit periods,” the digital face said. It seemed to be firming up. ”You are Planetary Armor Great Most High A'armo'o.”

”Yes,” A'armo'o said. He felt slightly off center. He had slept poorly.

”Do you wish me to wake up your warplan advisor? His name is Torgath, a former armor division commander during the Nakterran War,” T'Caw asked. ”He will provide you with strategic and tactical advice and assist in interlocking properly with Terran forces.”

”Yes, please,” A'armo'o said.

There was a chiming noise.

”I awaken again,” a deep human voice said. The screen wavered and a Terran face appeared. ”I am General Torgath, Fifth Armor Division, Heavy Metal, Fifth Terran Republic.”

”I am System Armor Most High A'armo'o, Unified Military Council,” A'armo'o said.

It is strangely easy to forget that the Terrans are not as old as the Councils. They have a weird feeling of age about them, A'armo'o thought to himself. Is it because that, despite the short time periods, they have many distinct periods in their history that all seem to provide the blocks of a foundation of what they currently are, or is it something else?

”I will be pleased to help T'Caw assist you in the upcoming battle. You are facing an enemy in force that still appears to be landing reinforcements into your operational area. This is a situation I am sadly familiar with,” Torgath said.

”Thank you,” A'armo'o said again. ”Let us begin. Instruct me on the common Terran tank formations and battle maneuvers.”

The lessons began.

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”How do you like your new tanks?” Trucker asked, spitting on the ground. He was leaning against the massive slab of metal that had Cry Little Sister painted on the barrel of the main gun.

A'armo'o noticed that someone had drawn a crude approximation of Terran male genitalia on one of the road wheels of Trucker's tank.

”They are largely identical in obvious combat performance, making them easy for my men to use,” A'armo'o answered.

”What do you think of the plan?” Trucker asked. He used one finger to scoop the cud out from between his lower lip and lower gum and slung it to the ground, his other hand pulling out a plas can that he began shaking in a weird way that had one of his finger thumping the side.

The Terran ability to do two different things while speaking to another person still astounded A'armo'o.

”Seize the landing zones the enemy is using, mine them, pull back? It seems over-simplified,” A'armo'o admitted.

”Yeah, seems that way to me too. Sounds like a good way to catch a brilliant pebble from some smart-ass in orbit,” Trucker shrugged. ”Have your warboi keep an eye out for any orbital strikes.”

A'armo'o nodded as Trucker put more cud in his lower lip. ”This battle is a daring strategy, but seems fraught with risk. Still, I have my orders.”

”Good luck, A'armo'o,” Trucker said, turning away and heading toward his tank.

A'armo'o blinked. He'd been looking right at the base of Trucker's neck.

He'd noticed the three LED's at the base of every human's skull. They usually were green.

He'd seen Trucker's blink three times and change color.

The bottom one red, the next two were amber.

A'armo'o wondered what it meant as he headed for his own tank.