Chapter 380 (1/2)
While Mal-Kar drove the tank into the robotic repair bay I approached the work crews busily clearing and upgrading the bunkers. They all clasped their hands together respectfully as I approached and I waved at them to go back to work, looking for the leader of each of the (now) four crews.
The leader of the first one, a Shavashan by the name of Tan'Kurik, went to set down his magnetic rivet gun and I waved at him to forgo the normal bowing and scraping.
People were dying. People. I had no time for such formalities that my people stressed even at the most dire times made me want to fire flared in the air and scream in rage.
”How may I serve, Most High?” Tan'Kurik asked.
”Go through your crews, find out who still has family in the city. I will not leave them to the mercy of the Precursor's claws,” I told him.
He nodded and I moved away, going to each crew leader.
By the time the bus was unloaded I had a list of habs.
Three of them.
And a hospital.
I kicked myself for not considering the vast neo-sapient medical center just inside the city.
”Men, we have to go!” I shouted, running for the armored recovery vehicle. Mal-Kar ran to the bus and together we drove back into the smoke and flame of the city. I kept one hand on the control for the remote controlled 15mm plasma dual barreled rotary machinegun, the electronic eye of the weapon slaved to my protective mask's lenses.
The vehicle was not fast, it was built for power not speed, but the thick armor and the sheer bulk of the massive machine meant that the scattered burnt out vehicles were no impedance to our progress toward the hospital.
The hospital was intact and for that I thanked every being I could remember from Julkrex's prayers.
It took forever. Nearly three hours to clear out the hospital of the sick and injured.
The nurses and doctors that were still present objected to the fact I loaded them up in the armored vehicle until they saw that I had loaded them in with the most precious of our cargo.
The infants and children and pregnant beings, even the egg incubators.
Twice more we heard the scream from the skies.
THERE IS ONLY ENOUGH FOR ONE
The words made everyone flinch and I saw the power drain to the psychic inhibitors I had cranked up to over three quarters of the way to maximum. The large bus, in addition to armor, had been sporting installed dampeners and I was, as I had been many times over the last hellish hours, glad that I had ordered them installed.
I went slower than normal, allowing the massive machine's bulk to keep the vehicle steady, just a slight rocking motion.
It was long past midnight by the time we returned.
We escorted the newest ones to the ammunition locker that I had asked the refit crews to use every bit of medical equipment they could strip from the nearby military medical center, which had been abandoned the day before.
Mal-Kar was readying the bus when we saw the first of them.
Powered armor infantry.
The ran by, not stopping, heading from east to west, bypassing us as if we weren't there. Some had marks on their armor, but most of them had unblemished armor as they ran by at speeds you would need a hovercar to match. Most of them were without weapons and all of us stared at them as they ran by.
I knew what it meant, even if my men did not.
The lines were collapsing.
I moved over to our aid station, which, so far, had treated the dying tank commander and the injuries of the work crews. The N'Kooran came over at my bidding, ducking her head slightly.
”Treat any who need it. If they try to take the supplies, let them. Do not attempt to fight them if they rob you. They are panicked and will harm you, and you are more important than any medical supplies that I could scavenge from a treatment clinic,” I told her.
She looked doubtful but nodded.
I went over to the tank, which sat, pristine and new looking, and climbed inside. I charged the powerplant and fired it up, the armored behemoth vibrating around me. Putting on a helmet I listened to the communications channels.
They were chaos.
Orders, counter-orders, panicking officers. Some called for retreat, others for an advance, still others called for digging in. There were requests for medivac, close air support, extraction, and the sound of panicked pilots refusing to enter the fray.
I switched to the tank command channels, wishing I knew which channel my own armored host was using.
The Most High of the Eighteenth Armored Host was screaming that they were all going to die, that they could not face the Precursors.
It was then I heard his voice.
”And where will you go, Du'unmo'ot? Will you sprout wings and fly away like an akltak hatchling? Perhaps you will launch yourself to moon on your own flatulence?” Most High A'armo'o asked, his voice calm and full of confidence. ”Will you and your men die fleeing battle or will you stand and fight?”
”We cannot fight them! Our weapons barely damage them! They outnumber us! We can't hold them back!” the Sixteenth Most High bleated out.
”But our weapons do damage them,” A'armo'o said. ”Precision, speed, and application of your training and experience will carry the day.”
I could hear the sound of a tank's plasma cannon firing behind Most High A'armo'o's words.
”The infantry has broken! We have no air support!” another Most High screeched. ”All is lost!”
The tank suddenly chimed and my radio automatically switched channels.
”This is Most High A'armo'o, Great Most High of the Armored Host. Stand fast, do not flee the line! There is no place to run, no place to flee too. The Precursors are here and now is when your mettle shall be tested,” the Great Most High said. ”If your leaders have abandoned you, tie into the battlefield tactical network I am providing. If your subordinates have fled, tie into the network and I will assign you those who still possess the will to fight.”
There was silence and I reached out one shaking finger, pressing the button to link the tank to the battlefield tactical network. The tank pinged several times and I was connected.
”State Identity.”
”Gunner Ha'almo'or.”
”Identity confirmed. State vehicle status,” the VI said.
”Repaired and refit. Munitions fully loaded,” I answered.
”State crew status.”
”Gunner only.”
”Confirm: Gunnery station only.”
”Confirmed. Gunner only.”
”State command structure status.”
”None.”
”Confirm: No command, local or otherwise.”
”Confirmed.”
It was silent for a moment and I wondered if I was to be abandoned again.
There was clicking and I was surprised at the voice I heard.
”Gunner Ha'almo'or, the network has you still in your motorpool but in a tank belonging to another Armored Host,” Great Most High A'armo'o stated. ”That tank was listed as destroyed fifteen hours ago.”
”The commander managed to reach this location. He died during treatment. I had the tank repaired and reloaded. Fifteen of the forty bunkers are depleted, but I still have munitions and repair facilities,” I told him. I waited a second and before he could reply I blurted out what I had been doing.
He was silent a long moment.
”Gunner Ha'almo'or, I fear I must charge you with a grave task,” Great Most High A'armo'o said.
”I do not fear, Great Most High,” I told him.
”Continue your mission. What you are doing is far more than one more gunner. I know you are eager to engage in battle, but without saving the civilians, all of this is meaningless,” his voice was serious and it felt as if he was standing next to me. ”I will list your station as a refit and rearming point with medical support, but continue what you are doing.”
”Save these people's families, Ha'almo'or. A'armo'o, out.”
I sat in the tank, my chest full of something I could not identify. A feeling of pressure, of pleasure, but also, in some way, of pain and anxiety.
I shut down the tank and left it.
I joined my men.
Together, we returned to the city.
The screams welcomed us.
More and more powered infantry ran by, some stumbling, all of them scrambling over what was in front of them, their minds so robbed by fear that they could not consider going around an obstacle, but could merely rear up and paw at it with their front hooves and beat on it with their armored fists.
Vehicles began speeding by. Light attack flitters. Most unscarred, unmarred. All packed full of armored infantry.
All fleeing the front lines.
They ignored us, fleeing toward the west, toward the mountains, galloping through the city with no thought in their mind but running.
When dawn came we were exhausted.
Tanks waited to be reloaded and refit. Several neo-sapients manned the equipment, just overseeing the computerized robotic systems.
The tank I had talked to Great Most High A'armo'o was gone. I hoped, when I realized it was gone, that the new crew would be as dutiful as the commander had been.
I chewed stimcud, my men chewed stimgum, and we went back in as a bloody dawn rose.
It was almost noon when we heard it.
The only thing that could make things worse.