Chapter 420 (1/2)
The day was cold as the tank swept through the ruins of the city streets. Down by my right foreleg was a Terran soldier, sitting on a seat that had been ripped out of a bus and welded to the frame so he wasn't thrown around by the maneuvers involved in heavy combat.
I had had my doubts about the Terran soldier operating the loader manually, using a modified socket wrench to rotate the carriage to bring rounds up out of the ammunition bay to a position he could grab them with his hands. From there to the chamber and slamming it shut, he could do the entire thing in less than ten seconds, faster even then the standard autoloader in the tank.
He had operated it for two days, never seeming to slow down or become fatigued.
I had my face pressed against the gunner's sight, looking over the landscape as we moved through the ruins that had been a city housing millions.
”Anything?” I asked.
”No, Most High,” my electronic warfare technician, a welkret that had previously worked in the air control tower down by the docks dealing with grav-lifters and hovercraft.
I wrung all four hands. ”There has to be more. There has to be.”
The Terran touched my shoulder. ”Ha'almo'or, we have been sweeping for two hours. Before that, we only found three wounded trapped under wreckage. There are no more.”
”Do another sweep, maximum sensitivity,” I ordered.
Veltri, the welkret sensor tech, obediently ran another scan. She was scanning for datalinks showing life signs as well as thermal imaging and CO2 plumes.
Nothing.
Jurmek, a shavashan missing part of his tail and sporting a cybernetic eye, swept around a corner where collapsed rubble had completely choked off the intersection but a basement collapse had left enough of a surface for us to move deeper into the city.
Around us skyrakers moaned in pain and exhaled smoke.
”Ha'almo'or, we've swept the city three times, 11th ACR did flyovers, they've got Simbas, Goodbois, and Purrbois, even fishbois out there looking,” the human told me. He touched my shoulder again, and strangely enough I could feel it through my armor. ”There are no more. I'm sorry.”
”There has to be!” I yelled, sweeping the cupola in a full three sixty, looking through my sight.
There was nothing but cold rain, black smoke, and rubble.
And the huddled dead.
”There were millions of beings in this city two weeks ago,” I said. I closed my eyes and let my hands drop from the gunner controls. ”There were millions.”
I straightened up with a jerk. ”Do another scan,” I ordered. I put my face back against the sight. ”Just one more. Please. Just let me save one more.”
--adjusting scans-- the little Mantid, who's name involved particle movement deep in a stellar mass but went instead by the number 593, chirped over my comlink.
”Thank you,” I told him.
The tank was silent except for the mechanical sounds for a long moment.
”No life signs, Most High,” Veltri told me.
”What about the drones?” I asked.
”Nothing,” Veltri said.
”We'll do another spiral once we reach the crater in the center of the city,” I said. I licked my dry lips, ignoring the slight headache and blurriness even in my cybereyes. ”There has to be more. There just has to be. They can't all be dead.”
My crew was silent as we slowly moved to the four overlapping craters in the middle of the city, where the Precursor machines had blasted the city when they came in and then when they left as if to mock me.
The rain hissed and crackled against the battlescreens.
Twice I ordered the tank to stop and got out to check in vehicles, check the dead, look under some rubble.
I found nothing but debris and the dead.
As we left the city I pushed myself back from the sight, opening my faceplate so I could rub at my exhausted eyes. My crew stayed silent as I pulled the last stimshot from my satchel and injected it. I grabbed my seat and groaned as my heart started pounding, it felt like my head was going to both explode and collapse at the same time, and all four of my stomachs tried to rebel.
It passed quickly and I felt refreshed, even if there was the taste of zingy metal on my back teeth and my across my feeding tendrils.
I watched around us as we slowly moved out of the city, running a search pattern, looking for any survivor that might have managed to crawl free of their hiding place.
”Again. Head to the city center, we'll spiral out again,” I ordered. I pushed my face against the sight. ”Please. Please please please.”
My crew was silent as we did it again.
When we reached the outside of the city there was the trill of a high priority transmission. Dalpat, a Telkan who used to handle truck dispatch, raised his head up from where he'd fallen asleep on the console. He blinked, touched his helmet, and looked at me.
”It's for you, Most High,” he said gently.
”Gunnery Assistant Ha'almo'or here,” I said.
”Return to base,” the voice said. It was full of authority that hit me in the spinal reflexes.
The transmission cut off.
I moaned and wrung my hands.
Maybe if I just ran one more sweep...
Jurmek turned the tank, heading across the rubble, the smaller stones clattering against the fan blades and nacelle sides. I kept looking, kept searching, trying to spot even the smallest sign of any possible survivors.
I saw none.
I thought about ordering Jurmek to turn around, to do one more sweep.
I just wanted to find one more. Please. Just one more.
But we detected no more lifesigns as we slowly left the city and headed to the base that had grown up around my makeshift shelters. At one point several grav-lifters from the forward operating base joined us as well as the vehicle marked ”EMERGENCY MEDICAL SERVICES” in hand written blue paintstick.
We wove between the battle screens and the dirt berms the Terrans and the people who had elected to stay and assist me had created. Tanks were lined up, many of them damaged, and I could see that many members of the Great Herd were waiting in lines as if they were waiting for my damaged and cobbled together tank. There were several Terran tanks present, including a couple of hover tanks.
My datalink clinked as Dalpat messaged me.
”Most High, I'm seeing Great Grand Most High A'armo'o's transponder as well as the transponders for the commanders of Third Armor Division and First Recon Division,” the Telkan told me.
”Order the crews to refit their tanks,” I said, exhaustion making the order automatic.
”Yes, Most High,” Dalpat said, although his voice carried something in it I could not identify.
Jurmek idled the tank into the queue for reloading and refit and bellied it down. After a moment the engines shut off and the back deck lowered down. My gunner's sight retracted into the hull as Veltri stood up from her sensor station.
”We should eat,” she said softly.
”Come on, Ha'amo'or,” the Terran said. He helped me get the gunner's cradle into position, two of the motors no longer worked right and had to be manually shifted.
”Thirty minutes,” I said as I turned around and moved toward the exit.
”As you say, Most High,” Jurmek said.
I exited the tank and blinked, the wan sunlight filtering through the clouds bright to my eyes after so long looking through the sight. I stumbled toward where the boxes of Goody Yum Yum bars were sitting, almost tripping twice.
I opened the bar and looked at the joke.
Why did the tree seem suspicious on sunny days? It was a little shady.
I chuckled, a smile breaking through my misery. I moved over and sat down, slowly eating the bar, relishing the taste and washing it down with the G8R8 that the Terran had put in my canteen. My chest hurt and I groaned, leaning forward and closing my eyes, feeling dizzy.
After a moment I straightened up.
And almost screamed in fear when I saw the Matron staring at me with accusing eyes.
”How long have you been awake, Most High?” she asked me.
”Uh,” I answered. I stood up slowly, my legs trembling.
”Well?” She asked.
I suddenly remembered something I'd seen a Terran do.
”Look! I'm over there!” I shouted, pointing off to the side where my tank was.
”What?” Frowning in confusion the Matron turned at the waist to look and I galloped away, running behind one of the tents. I hid behind some empty equipment crates, sitting down, and took another bite of my bar, chuckling at my own cleverness.
I opened a second bar.
Why was the archeologist depressed? His life was ruins.
I snorted in laughter and started eating the bar.
”There you are,” the Matron filly said. I turned and looked to see she was behind me with two big Terran warborgs. ”Don't run away.”
I stood up and clattered to the side to get clear of the empty crates, intending on running out the other side of the small passage between the tents.
The Matron stood there with more warborgs.
”Most High Ha'almo'or, what kind of example are you setting?” the Matron asked me.
I sighed and hung my head. She was right.
”Now, how long have you been awake?” she asked me, moving up to me. She tapped my helmet and I saw ”MEDICAL OVERRIDE” pop up on the visor right before it retracted.
”Thirty-nine hours,” I admitted, swallowing thickly. I had dry mouth again.
She touched the collar of my armor and it retraced. Her fingertips touched my neck as she ran a scanner over my lower abdomen.
”Pupils constricted, rapid breathing, sweaty, cardiac implant is reporting flutters, muscle tremors,” she made a chiding noise. ”How many stims have you taken?”
”I am unsure,” I admitted.
”Please, follow me. You need a medical check,” she told me.
”I must return to my duty,” I told her.