Chapter 392 (2/2)

”All commanders, perform a fighting withdraw toward the nearest populations centers. All infantry commanders who still command men, who are to be commended for their valiant actions and gallantry, are to sweep through the cities, creating fighting positions,” the calm voice of the grand commander of armor stated. ”All armored vehicles, move to the coordinates I have sent. We will create a fighting line around the population centers and seek to keep the Precursor machines away from the population as long as possible.”

I breathed a sigh of relief as my tank hummed around me. We had grounded it, letting the guns cool, letting the slagged armor on the rear port flank cool, giving Lu'ucilu'u time to load in new algorithms for her EW systems.

My datalink clinked and pinged, a message coming in directly to me.

”Ha'almo'or, are you there?” the voice was A'armo'o, speaking directly to me again.

”Yes, Grant Most High,” I said, feeling awed. I rubbed my chest, working to banish the ache.

”I cannot spare you any forces for the task I have set you upon, this task you have shouldered yourself,” A'armo'o stated. ”How are your plans proceeding?”

”We have not rescued as many as I wish in the six hours since dawn,” I told him truthfully. ”Only six thousand living beings,” I gave a slight shudder. ”My medical center is overwhelmed, I have no doctors, only the medical kits from abandoned tanks and lifters, and I cannot save the badly injured. I am forcing them flank to flank, haunch to chest, into the shelters,” I gave another shudder. ”Most High, they all weep as I lock the door.”

”You have rescued six thousand beings in six hours, Ha'almo'or?” he asked me.

”I have, Most High,” I replied.

”You said it was not as many as you wish. How many did you wish to save?” He asked me.

”All of them,” I admitted. ”All of them, Most High. What use am I if I cannot save them?”

There was silence a moment.

HEAVY METAL INCOMING! MAKE WAY!roared out.

”Save the civilians, Ha'almo'or, as many as you can,” Most High A'armo'o said softly. ”Gunner Fifteenth Class Ha'almo'or, I am proud to call you, and those who labor with you, brother. A'armo'o out.”

I sat for a moment, putting my face in my hands. I wanted to weep, my mind racing, my thoughts jumbled together, memories jangling in my brain.

The Terrans were coming.

HEAVY METAL IS HERE!

No. The Terrans were here*.*

”Soon, we will face the mad lemurs of Terra in addition to the Precursors,” I said, reaching out and taking hold of the controls of my tank's massive main gun. ”The vehicles are loaded, the hab has been emptied. We must return.”

”We are nearly out of ammunition,” Julkrex said.

”The battlescreen projectors are nearly burnt out, we have no spares to rotate in,” Lu'ucilu'u stated.

”We will guard their rear,” I stated.

HEAVY METAL IS HERE!roared out again.

I shuddered again, remembering that each roar was not a single ship, but rather an entire combat group of them. Dozens of them.

Armed to the teeth with weapons dangerous even to those who fired them and armored beyond reason to withstand even Precursors main battery fire.

It would have taken nearly an hour to reload the tank, the robotic systems working as fast as they could.

We simply moved to a new tank that Feelmeeta painted ”EMERGENCY SERVICES” on the side again in blue paint.

The sun was high in the sky, but hidden, just a glimmering red circle in the sky that was hidden by smoke and ash, as we drove back into the city.

We did not listen to the channels, they were full of panic and dismay.

I was ashamed of my fellow soldiers as I saw them run by or drive by, their weapons and in some cases, even their armor, abandoned as they fled the battlefield.

”Where do they think there is to go?” Karelesh asked as he narrowly avoided hitting a fast infantry assault grav lifter full of panicked troops.

”Where there are no Precursor machines,” Feelmeenta said quietly.

We were silent as we moved up to the last hab. We had two buses now, over a dozen heavy lifters, and nearly a score of infantry lifters, all of them containing armed neo-sapients.

Twice they had been forced to shoot panicked Lanaktallan troops who tried to take the lifter from them. Following my orders and shooting to kill, not wound, not maim, not frighten.

Shoot to kill was the phrase of the day.

We were heading back, following the wrecker, the lifters, when the starboard battlescreen gave a rippling snarl as the Precursor machines stormed out of a half-collapsed building.

I kept calling ”SHOT OUT” reflexively as I stomped the firing bar as fast as I could convince the loader to slam ammunition into the chamber. Julkrex ran all three guns at once, his hands moving rapidly. Two hand operated and one slaved to his helmet visor. Karelesh kept us moving, dodging as many shots as possible, sliding us to the side.

He was pulling the Precursors to the side of the hover-bus's path, the path of the refugees.

The tank was taking hits, more and more. The forward battlescreen collapsed and Karelesh turned us around even as I spun the turret to keep the Precursors in sight.

”Battlescreen projector two reload jammed!” Lu'ucilu'u called out. ”Trying to override!”

”SHOT OUT!” I answered, stomping the firing bar, converting an abandoned luxury limo into slashing shrapnel, the second shot pushing the shrapnel on a wave of superheated protomatter.

We took another hit, and another, and another. The gun was beeping but I stomped the override and shut down the computer assist, running the gun by eye.

The front of a building crashed down as a Precursor machine ten times the size of my tank pushed through the bottom of the building.

I put a shot into its face, then a second.

Its return fire collapsed our battlescreen and ripped the armor off over the back deck. Particle beams vomited from a dozen cannons tore into us. Nacelle seven and eight's housing was vaporized and we scraped to stop. Another hit ripped enough armor off of the turret's starboard side that a hand's width gap appeared. Another hit and the tank spun as the massive energy transfer from the particle beam caused our armor to explode outward.

I stomped the bar and the computer refused to fire, the barrel snapped off only a meter from the armor of the turret.

I slapped the override and stomped again.

”SHOT OUT, DAMN YOU!” I bellowed.

”My friends, it has been a pleasure,” Julkrex said, running the two remaining guns.

”I will see my family again soon,” Lu'ucilu'u said.

”WE AREN'T DEAD YET!” I roared out. I reached up and tried to open the gunner's hatch. It was jammed and I slapped the emergency button. The hatch blew off on the explosive bolts and I stood up, poking my helmeted head out. I aimed by eyeball and fired again.

The plasma just washed over the massive machine.

It slowed and I could feel its cold malevolence.

It knew there was nothing we could do.

Another stomp and I heard the beeping telling me that the gun was empty.

There was no more ammo.

I reached down and grabbed my plasma rifle off the rack, lifting it up and aiming through the sight.

There was a roaring sound, a high pitched shrill whistling shriek with the roaring sound of thrusters right at the last second.

Explosions suddenly bracketed my tank as large objects slammed into the ground. They were eight sided cylinders, a heavy retrothruster at the base surrounded by smaller guidance thrusters. They hit the ground, blowing tarmac and gravel into the air.

I kept firing at the Precursor machine, yelling at it.

No words, for I had none. Just maddened yelling and screaming that had no words, only sounds.

I would not go quietly into the darkness of death.

No.

Lanaktallan are silent when born. I had been quiet and silent all my life.

No more. Not now. Not in my last moments.

I would go out screaming like an insane lemur.

The sides of the objects dropped and out came nightmares.

The Mad Lemurs of Terra had arrived.

--Excerpt From: We Were the Lanaktallan of the Atomic Hooves, a Memoir.