Chapter 469: Dead Blood (1/2)

”Terrans, nay, humans are defined by the phrase 'how far will you go to attain victory? What will you suffer and do to yourselves to achieve victory when all is lost?” - Terran Diplomat Dreams of Something More speaking to the Lanaktallan Unified Council.

The flag bridge was a study in quiet chaotic order. It was not dealing with orbital mechanics, a fight for a stellar system, but rather was being repurposed to oversee the entire theater of ground combat. In the middle of the flag bridge were multiple holotanks, all of them displaying data. High ranking flag officers from multiple races studied the data and examined the maps.

There was not a single human present.

The commander of the fleet, Admiral Shtuklar, stared at the holotank that showed the entire protocontinent on the surface of the planet. The map was marked with not only geographical features, industrial locations, population centers, but also by who had control of what and where combat was taken place.

Things were looking bad to Admiral Shtuklar, who had never commanded ground side troops before.

Nine hours had gone by. In that time he'd seen the terrain around First Telkan Marine Division change multiple times, repeating itself three times so far. Casey's dust cloud and munitions detonations had begun moving toward the northwest, toward the mountains, but the Terran was still out of contact. The Atomic Hooves, First Lanaktallan Tank Division, was engaged in combat and being slowly forced to steadily retreat in the face over overwhelming enemy forces. First Armored Recon Division was finding it harder and harder to move through the spaces between enemy forces the enemy spreading out further and further, rapidly taking territory with what appeared to be an unending supply of reinforcements. The Treana'ad War Hordes were the only thing keeping it from being a disaster, the massive insectiod warriors advancing into the enemy in huge numbers. Eight Hordes had made planetfall, three more were in process of transit, and the last twelve were preparing to deploy.

But the enemy was endless.

For seven hours orbital bombardment had been useless. The hits would register but the interference would clear to show that the bombardment had apparently never occurred.

Admiral Shtuklar wasn't sure what to do as he turned to General NoDra'ak, who was staring at a monitor, the life support equipment attached to his robotic therapy frame beeping quietly.

”We could lose this,” Admiral Shtuklar said softly.

”No,” Smokey No said, lighting a cigarette. ”It's going to be a tough fight, we'll win, but it's going to take much longer.”

”I wish we had not lost V Corps,” Admiral Shtuklar said. ”The sheer firepower would come in handy.”

NoDra'ak nodded slowly, staring at the holotank. ”We don't have the troops to drop into this section,” he said, highlighting the eastern fifth of the protocontinent. ”The enemy is more or less unopposed here, and I believe that is what is allowing them to gain more and more troops somehow.”

”Admiral, General, I've got something weird here,” one of the techs called out.

The two officers turned to look and the Rigellian female tossed it up on the holotank.

All of the vehicles in V Corps were undergoing self-tests. The armories were being emptied out.

General Trucker's authorization code burned dully.

Ge'ermo'o, still acting as General A'armo'o's attache to the Terrans, stared that words. For some reason they made his flanks prickle up.

Major General of the Iron Manuel G. Trucker, 3rd Armor - Commanding, 8th Infantry - Pro Tem Commander

Ge'ermo'o thought to himself that those simple words should not seem so coldly malevolent.

”How long ago was he released from the medical bay?” Admiral Shtuklar asked.

The analyst consulted her war station. ”Just under nine hours, Admiral,” she said. She looked up. ”He's opened up the morgue, it was assumed that he was just going to witness his dead troops.”

General NoDra'ak suddenly felt fear prickle up and down his damaged left side.

”Inform the General I would like to speak with him,” Admiral Shtuklar said. He turned and looked back at the holotank holding the planet in it. ”We need to figure out a way to stop the invaders from operating with impunity in this area,” he said, tapping the large section that was marked as under enemy control.

Ge'ermo'o nodded. ”I wish we had the military forces, but alas, we do not,” he said softly.

”Sir, V Corps force's vehicles are being loaded into drop pods and drop cradles,” an analyst said. He made an odd sound that Ge'ermo'o couldn't identify. ”Mantid engineers have reported that they've done extensive modifications to the retrothrusters.”

”What kind of modifications?” Admiral Shtuklar asked.

”The engines are normally calibrated and shielded to minimize radiation output at max thrust, but the Mantids were ordered to remove the interlocks and safeties and ramp up the radiation output beyond safe levels,” the analyst said.

”Why would someone order that?” another analyst asked.

Ge'ermo'o knew why. To turn the retrorockets into a weapon. Fry the landing area and anything near it.

NoDra'ak's implant pinged. A high security authorization request.

He knew what it would be before he even opened it.

The flag bridge seemed to fade away around him as he stared at the request on his optic nerve interface.

It had last been used during the Orion's Belt Conflict, nearly two thousand years ago.

But this was the first time the prerequisites for it had been met since then.

It was monstrous. It was unthinkable.

It was wholly human.

Without any outward sign of his trepidation and nervousness, no, let's be honest with ourselves, shall we? His fear, he authorized it but attached a requirement that General Trucker authorize it officially, from the flag bridge.

He relaxed in the therapy harness and closed his eyes. Ten hours of anti-coagulants and medical nanite treatment and he was finally able to breathe down his left side. It felt thick and sticky, but he wasn't feeling like he was on the edge of suffocation.

It felt like his left legs were sprawled out but he ignored the sensation.

His left legs had been shattered and crushed when he had flown across the bridge to impact the wall when the crash translation had occurred.

Ge'ermo'o watched as the terrain around First Telkan changed from forest to urban again. He sighed, blinking all six eyes and holding them closed for a moment. He knew what was happening down there.

The Telkan Marine Division would use atomic weaponry to shatter windows and destroy buildings as well as knock out the power before deploying chemical weapons in order to maximize the casualties.

But if they did not, the enemy would 'harvest' the long dead natives, increasing the effectiveness of their autonomous war machines.

General Ge'ermo'o was secretly relieved, deep inside, that he had not been the one to make that decision. The Telkan Officer, one First Lieutenant Vuxten, had come up with the battleplan and transmitted it to the Fleet.

Ge'ermo'o knew that the Telkans could not hear them.

The message came in again, repeating itself for the fourth time.

The thudding of heavy footsteps followed the swoosh of the elevator grav-lift door opening. Ge'ermo'o opened his eyes and felt them widen in shock.

General Trucker was moving forward. His uniform was, as usual before the battle, spotless and presentable, with starched creases.

Only instead of adaptive camouflage he was wearing OD green cloth.

The human's eyes were bloodshot, blood glimmered at the bottom of his eyes, and there was smeared blood on his cheeks.

”You've looked better,” General NoDra'ak said.

”Felt better,” Trucker answered. To Ge'ermo'o it was obvious that the human's tracheal voicebox implant was malfunctioning. The speech was buzzing, atonal, and rough, as if the speaker was blown out.

”What do the doctor's say?” NoDra'ak asked.

Trucker shrugged. ”They've got me on immunosuppressants right now,” he said. ”They estimate that I may or may not survive after ninety-six hours. It's a twenty percent chance I'll survive.”

”You've faced worse odds,” NoDra'ak waved at the holotank. ”Have you seen the circumstances?”

Trucker nodded slowly. He pointed at Casey's blot. ”He's about to move southwest.”

A single tiny droplet of blood oozed out his left eye, only moving halfway down his cheek before it was gone, having left behind all its volume on the flesh between. Ge'eremo'o watched it, fascinated.

Trucker moved up to an unmanned console and punched in some commands.

Ge'ermo'o watched half the analysts suddenly grow still. A Telkan midshipman's eyes opened wide and he kept looking for his board to the burly human and back.

”V Corps combat elements will be moving to engage the enemy here,” Trucker said, highlighting the patch where no forces were able to engage the enemy. ”Hard drop, dead center. Heavy infantry to support the tanks, light and medium infantry will dig in to protect the artillery and rocket systems.”

”General, uh, you do realize that all of the humans in V Corps are dead, right?” Admiral Shtuklar said gently.

”Yes,” Trucker said, the one word buzzing but still sharp and intent. The burly human looked at the Admiral as he raised a plas bottle and spit into it.

Ge'ermo'o noticed thick strands and thin layers of blood mixed in with the saliva and cud-juice.

”Who will pilot the vehicles? What infantry?” Admiral Shtuklar asked.

”The Vānaras,” Trucker said.

Ge'ermo'o turned slightly to look when one of the lights at the edge of the flag bridge flickered.

”What you're talking about...” Smokey 'No let his words trail off.

”Is covered in doctrine,” Trucker said, his voice modulator still roug sounding. ”We're Third Armor and Eighth Infantry. We're V Corps. We are the world enders, the world burners. We are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and none may survive our wrath.”

Several beings inhaled sharply and Ge'ermo'o wondered if the sudden smell of freshly spilled blood he could faintly smell had anything to do with it.

General NoDra'ak nodded slowly. ”We have MAD doctrine and always have,” the large insect said slowly, lighting a cigarette.

To Ge'ermo'o the lights seemed to flicker and dim in the flag bridge. The Lanaktallan officer saw the uncomfortableness, the fear, the revulsion on many Space Force officer's faces. He looked up the simple word and found himself almost overwhelmed by mythological and religious concepts.

The Admiral speaking pulled his attention away, although Ge'ermo'o did bookmark the data. He was an attentive and studious officer, which is why his men loved him, and the data might prove to be important later.

”General, do you really...” the Admiral started to say. Trucker, his eyes bleeding, blood oozing from his mouth, made a chopping motion with one hand, cutting the Admiral off.

”V Corps does not give up. We are the dead men walking,” Trucker snarled. He looked down at the flashing hand print outline on the command console. ”We all know this. It's who we are. You know it when you join Victory Corps.”

”Victory or death,” Admiral Shtuklar said, his voice slightly disbelieving.

”Either is fine,” NoDra'ak said.

Ge'ermo'o softly said the words with the Treana'ad warrior, almost as if he knew what the big insect was going to say.

Trucker reached up and tapped the 3rd Armor Division on his right shoulder.

”We are the Third Herd, and It Will Be Done,” he snarled.

General NoDra'ak nodded slowly, then looked down at the panel in front of him. He reached out with his right hand, his left hand in a medical container somewhere, and placed his hand on the flashing outline of a hand on the console in from of him.

”Engage the enemy, save the civilians,” General NoDra'ak, V Corps, Commanding, ordered, staring at General Trucker.

To Ge'ermo'o there was a low moaning noise, like a Terran female lemur in pain far away.

Trucker nodded. He put his hand on the console. ”Orders received, General.”

Ge'ermo'o felt as if a cold wind had blown through his soul.

On the TO&E (Table of Organization & Equipment) that was listed on a nearby ”UPDATING STATUS” flashed three times.

V CORPS (OLD BLOOD) appeared.

The letters flickered.

V CORPS (DEAD BLOOD)

BLACK CAULDRON NANITE INFUSION UNDERWAY

Ge'ermo'o watched Trucker stiffly walk from the flag bridge.

When he turned back he saw General NoDra'ak looking at him.

”If you had one shot or one opportunity to seize control of the battle or the war in one moment, would you capture it, or just let it slip through your fingers?” NoDra'ak asked.

”Victory,” Ge'ermo'o said.

NoDra'ak nodded in the subdued atmosphere of the flag bridge. ”You are about to see that while Terrans may be defeated, they are never beaten,” the Treana'ad said.

Ge'ermo'o moved over next to him, looking at the holotank.

”Not even in death does duty end,” Smokey 'No said softly, exhaling smoke from his right feet and the spiracles on the left side of his abdomen.

---------

System Power 9.62%

I wake up. I hurt. Bad. My mouth tastes like cherry nipple gloss from the joygirl on Nexite-7 but I hardly notice through the pain. It's a full body pain, like the time my liquid atmosphere had been past use date. My blood hurts, my bone marrow aches, my joints burn, my nerve endings shiver as they're stretched out.

I've hurt worse. A Mar-gite ripped off one of my arms.

Warning, severe neural damage.

Shutting down

VĀNARAS OVERRIDE

I could see the words, floating in the darkness.

I could remember. I'd been having beers with the boys. I was going to be rotated out of the Old Blood unit, after all, I'd died on Telkan, but we hadn't gotten a replacement for me yet. I'd just lifted the bottle of narcobrew when everything had suddenly gone black.

Self Test

Did the ship blow up?

Bootstrap 3.14 (c) Syntex Cybernetics Division

Warning, severe chassis damage

Warning, severe implant connection errors

Warning, severe neural damage

Shutting down

VĀNARAS OVERRIDE

continuing bootstrap

I'd suffered massive damage. Cybernetic linkage damage, long term memory damage. Short term memory damage. Wetware damage. Bioware damage.

The system kept trying to lock out my combat enhancements, but VĀNARAS OVERRIDE kept flashing and my implants were unlocked.

Finally I could feel my whole body, feel the pain.

My heart wasn't beating.

VĀNARAS PROTOCOL appeared in my vision.

I suddenly remembered what it was.

A hard kick to my chest and my heart started beating. Sluggish, difficult, but still squishing along.

What is dead cannot ever die but arises again stronger.

----------------

A'armo'o heard the command channel trill and he let go of the TC's gun, kicking the elevator lever and lowering himself into the main battle tank the Terran engineers had designed for the Lanaktallan of the Atomic Hooves.

”General A'armo'o here,” the Lanaktallan said.

”Third Armor and Eighth Infantry as well as the majority of V Corps will be landing. Attempt no communication. They will be outside the commo net,” A voice said. Lt Commander Haisley-Cotton appeared in his vision, letting him know who the speaker is.

”Then how can I interlock with them if I cannot communicate with them?” A'armo'o asked.

”There will be no interlock with V Corps forces. Avoid contact. Fleet Command, out,” the voice said and cut the link.

A'armo'o frowned but kicked the lever to lift himself up again.

His forces had rallied, the heat and slush had dropped.

He was done retreating.

It was time to take the fight to the enemy.

”All Atomic Hooves elements, prepare to advance!” he roared out over his comlink even as he wrapped all four hands around the handles to the 20mm rotary autocannon.

-----------------

”Why the hell not?” Ekret asked.

”Don't know, boss,” Bouncy said. ”Commo is weird. The message repeated like a dozen times.”

”Temporal interference,” Ekret snarled. He shook his head. ”Whatever's going on, it's eighteen thousand miles away.”

---------------

V Corps deployed in one massive drop. No layered drop, no strikes at the defense batteries. Just a screaming fast drop through the atmosphere, each drop pod or cradle leaving behind a black smokey trail as they roared through the atmosphere. They left behind fiery white rings as they broke the sound barrier.

Right before they slammed into the ground the retrorockets fired. Massive ion thrusters ejecting screaming bluish white flame as the antimatter fuel was nearly all consumed. Graviton and inertial compensators howled, taking the load, dropping the impact to a 'mere' 5G.

The sides slammed down.

For long moments nothing happened.

The full High Conclave turned their attention. The howling radiation and the kinetic impact had destroyed servant spawn for miles around the landing points. The enemy had landed in the middle of the Atrekna held areas, disrupting a major reinforcement operation.

Several smaller Quorums reached out, confident that there would be nothing to fear. They could not detect any psychic inhibitors, although the temporal stabilizers, deployed by every one of the enemy units, were already spun up and at full power.

It was simple, they would seize control of the minds of the newest ones and perhaps even set them against their fellows. At the very least, the would be able to shut down the massive temporal stabilizers.

The first one found a mind. Dully glimmering to the Atrekna's senses. Like a damp piece of clay. It reached out, its intellect honed razor sharp, able to slice through mental defenses with ease and allow the tentacles of thought to overwhelm the other creature's mind.

It paused for a moment when it touched the other mind. It felt... off. It left the taste of old, rotted meat in the Atrekna's mouth. The thoughts were slow, sluggish, largely unformed. Instinct was behind it, mostly primal instincts, but some instincts were hammered into the mind from outside sources.

It pushed past the dull, slimy, almost greasy surface thoughts of one of the enemy.

It was like the Atrekna had plunged its feeding tentacles that concealed its mouth into swamp water full of rotted meat, rancid grease, and spoiled vegetables. The thoughts were slow, disconnected, sludge-like.

kill kill kill kill kill kill kill

Just a single urge repeated over and over. A dull whisper, backed by an intense hunger, an unending, never satiated appetite for something.

don't touch me the other mind whispered.

The Atrekna felt cold hands reach for it.

i'm so hungry

The hands tried to grasp the Atrekna's thoughts, tried to pull the Atrekna deeper into the mind it had touched with the intent to overwhelm it.

come and see