Chapter 637: The Spoked Offensive (2/2)

”Comrade,” the insectoid said, nodding at Undrat. ”Who is in charge?”

”Lieutenant Tharkmut,” Undrat said, pointing at where the last officer of the Regiment was leaning against a twisted and destroyed autonomous war machine mobile fire platform.

The Treana'ad moved off.

Undrat waited until the Lieutenant got everyone in order, figured out who's armor was the worst off and who needed the most resupply.

Undrat's armor was the worst. Five blowthroughs, two of them down to his armored pilot's suit. His left leg and right arm only moved because Undrat had the strength to move them, the myomer muscles destroyed by enemy fire and voracious pollen. Undrat himself was largely uninjured. Three cracked torso rings, one of his front teeth knocked out, a broken nose, and two broken fingers.

Undrat considered himself fortunate.

The Lieutenant moved up to Undrat, standing for a long moment, the Saurian Compact Kobold staring at the Tukna'rn silently.

”Fit to fight, trooper?” the Lieutenant asked.

Undrat thought for a moment, comparing his physical condition to the doctrine manuals.

”If the medic so determines, sir,” Undrat replied.

The Lieutenant nodded and pointed to where a positive pressure tent had been inflated. ”Go see the medics, trooper.”

”Yes, sir,” Undrat said. He moved away slowly, the left leg of his power armor heavy as half the thigh muscle had been eaten away by virii and pollen.

As he approached the tent he glanced off into the distance.

The ground still spewed cinders into the air even as the lava and debris was spewed from the steadily rising mouth of the cindercone volcano.

Undrat had seen the explosion shatter the ground, had ridden the shockwave of the crust breaking, had advanced into the dust cloud pushed forward by the blast wave. His weapon had shattered the Dwellerspawn that had attempted to flee the massive explosion that had ruptured the earth itself.

The cindercone was twelve-hundred feet tall and still rising.

Undrat knew that the enemy had lost something important there.

As he stepped into the positive pressure air locker he felt pride that he had done his part.

-----

Ekret sat on top of his tank, chewing on a ration bar, his faithful crew around him. The sky was cloudy, lightning in the gray sky. The rain was cold but clear, no longer black and sticky.

Ground effect trucks rolled by and Cheapshot waved at them. Infantry in the back waved back.

Ekret wasn't sure what his tank had killed. Whatever it was, the sats hadn't detected any energy flares in the megaton range around the time he'd fired the last round the main gun of his tank was capable of.

All he knew was that the Atrekna lines had fallen apart. That the Atrekna leadership caste seemed to lose cohesion, flee the field of battle or attack insanely with psychic powers. The Dwellerspawn had gone mad, often attacking one another instead of charging forward in a single mass.

Two days of fighting had led to the pressure easing up.

As near as the ships in orbit, the ones that survived anyway, could tell, there wasn't a single Atrekna leadership unit on the planet. Not a single autonomous war machine or Dwellerspawn had been phased into existence in two days.

Without the Atrekan benefiting from their rapid temporal reinforcement trick Confederate firepower, precision attacks, and maneuverability had carried the day.

Even better, the rising sun was more yellow than orange.

Ekret closed his eyes, swallowed the last of the ration bar, then sighed. He could feel the sun's warmth on his face.

”Tank recovery vehicle coming up,” Cheapshot said. ”Looks like they're getting around to us, boss.”

Ekret just nodded, keeping his eyes closed.

It was a good morning.

One of the best.

-----

P'Kank limped into the command and control center for Forward Operating Base Jeweled Anaconda, his pro-tem XO following him. His armor was discolored from acid hits, cracked from phasic blasts, and slagged here and there from autonomous war machine energy weapons. The entire front of his thorax plating was cratered by hyper-vee railgun rounds in the 5mm range.

But he felt great.

”Sir,” the Colonel in charge of the base said.

P'Kank approved of the fact the Colonel didn't salute.

”Damn good to see you, sir,” the Colonel, a Rigellian female, said, stepping forward and shaking P'Kank's hand. ”If it hadn't been for you, we might have lost the base.”

”I was in the neighborhood and it looked like you had it well in hand,” P'Kank demurred. He turned and pointed at the holotank. ”How's it look across the theater?”

”When the Atrekna leadership caste pulled out, the Dwellerspawn and autonomous war machine cohesion collapsed,” the Colonel said. ”It was touch and go at first, but the Atrekna aren't bringing in rapid reinforcements so their casualties are finally starting to take their toll.”

”Good,” P'Kank said. He tabbed up a stim, feeling sting and shuddering as the amphetamine raced through his ichor.

”Troops are rallying, we're establishing command and control again,” the Colonel said. She made a motion and started moving over to another holotank. ”The Confederacy trains for loss of command, thank the Digital Omnimessiah and Kalki's white goats.”

P'Kank followed, limping, as the Colonel kept talking.

The battle for the planet wasn't won.

Not yet.