Ekret's cybernetic leg, crafted by Terran prosthetic engineers and layered with armor taken from his old tank, whined slightly as he walked across the gigantic bay of the CNV Iktikakit, a massive repair, transport, and drop ship. The ship was big enough that it held three divisions of armored vehicles, a division of support personnel, and the fabrication/repair facilities to keep the tanks and vehicles in running order.
His old tank, one hundred and fifty ton 'light' tanks had been destroyed on the battlefield during close combat with thirty times the number of Precursor machines as his HHC unit kept the Precursor machines from overrunning a hospital.
The rest of his tanks had been left behind when V Corps (Old Metal) had lifted off the planet. His men had gone with them, their contracts purchased by Terran from a nearly bankrupt corporation that had sold the contracts for a pittance.
In front of Ekret were new tanks. With capabilities standard to Terran recon tanks but configured for multi-species use to accommodate the tanks of Ekret's First Recon Division. Well, they weren't all tanks but they were all armored vehicles.
Beside him walked the big human General Trucker, commander of 3rd Armor Division (Old Metal), the big human less flesh and more machine that when Ekret had met him, his flesh and blood left hand replaced by a black warsteel cybernetic prosthetic.
Like Ekret, Trucker was unable to accept tissue regeneration therapies or cloned parts, although they both were able to accept the custom biological enhancement implants commonly known as bioware. The big human had lost the hand in the last day of fighting before the Precursor threat was crushed, although he privately admitted he had not realized it at first.
Together the two soldiers stopped and looked at the activity in the bay. Human technicians and neo-sapients worked together, performing maintenance on the armored vehicles. Not only had the Terrans purchased the contracts of every member, living or dead, of Ekret's recon division, they'd apparently bought out every neo-sapient contract on the planet and any near-civilized who had wished it.
Ekret was in charge of the 1st Recon Division (New Metal) and this was his first view of his unit's vehicles all together.
"Hell of a sight, ain't it, Ekret?" Trucker asked, although it wasn't really a question. He spit juice from where the gap between his lower mandible gum and his lower lip was full of shredded plant, spitting into an empty plas bottle. "Always hits you right in the chest to see your metal and your men together for the first time."
"Yes, it is," Ekret answered. The big human was right. It was breathtaking and slightly anxiety causing to see all of it laid out in front of him and know that not only was he in charge of all of it, but those men would live and die by his orders.
"It looks like the Precursors are pulling out all across The Zones," Trucker said, following Ekret as the furry tank commander started walking toward where his implant told him that his own tank was parked.
"Any idea why?" Ekret asked. "I doubt they're afraid of us."
Trucker shook his head. "108th Military Intelligence (Old Brains) believes that in light of that serious defeat they took in Sigma-Nine-Nine-Five they are pulling back to rearm, refit, and do the Precursor equivalent of retrain. They ran face first into 17th Task Force of the Terran Space Force, took heavy causalities without even seeing the Space Force metal."
"So where are they sending us and how long do we have to prepare?" Ekret asked, stopping next to his tank. Cheepeek AKA Cheapshot, an Avian neo-sapient and highly skilled gunner, had the main gun's base shroud open and was looking inside with a diagnostic scanner. Ekret wasn't worried, if there was a major problem Cheepeek would have let him know.
"They're rotating us for downtime. We've been engaged in direct combat for most of the last one hundred days," Trucker said. He leaned against the tank, between the port hoverfans. "We're heading toward a system V Corps is going to use for training."
"My men could use some relaxation and training would be a good thing," Ekret said. "It is still difficult to believe the amount of firepower that the Terrans trust us with."
Trucker opened his mouth but Ekret held up a hand.
"The Unified Military Forces are an arm of the Unified Corporate Council and each Corporation is careful to allocate as few resources as possible and that means as little weaponry as possible," Ekret said. He heard Heslettek yell "HEADS UP!" and stepped to the side, a spanner falling from on top of the tank where his EMCOM officer was doing maintenance on the external arrays. "The Terrans just seem to go 'here's a bunch of guns and as much armor as we can pack onto it, now go kill those guys' without worry about resource conservation."
Trucker just nodded. He'd heard Ekret talk about that very subject repeatedly over the last three months. Every time there was an undertone of anger that made Trucker wonder how many of Ekret's men had been lost due to penny pinching barrel scraping.
"Your vehicles are standardized, deployed to the war zone in standard configurations with modifications made in the field, not to lessen the price, but to increase capabilities and effectiveness. This cuts down on refamiliarization time for the crews and increases their effectiveness," Ekret said, picking up the spanner and tossing it up to Heslettek, who went back to adjusting the scanner.
"Yup," Trucker said, spitting more juice in the bottle.
"You Terrans have bought out our contracts, so now we must learn how your military functions, how it not only makes war, but how it operates," Ekret said. "For this reason I am looking forward to the training."
"Good. Your men need some downtime first. I checked your records and none of your men have ever engaged in the amount of combat you faced in the same time frame," Trucker said. "There's also other aspects to consider."
"Citizenship," Ekret said, feeling the word out with his mouth. "A strange concept."
"I can understand how it may seem to you," Trucker said. Heslettek cursed and Trucker held out one hand, catching the spanner and tossing it back up to the EW officer.
"My men and I, we do not understand many things about it," Ekret admitted. "There appears to be little difference between being a Citizen and not being a citizen. We suspected that the non-Citizens were a second class caste, but instead, it appears all it does it open opportunities for advancement into higher service positions, provide discounts or grants, and many many responsibilities."
Trucker spit into the bottle. "Well, it's an old concept. Some of the sections no longer apply. Voting is a big one. Everyone has the right to vote, hell, wars have been fought over that right. A Citizen's vote counts just as much but no more than a non-Citizen's vote. It's hard to explain easily. I've been a Citizen since I was twenty years old, so I don't really know anything else."
Ekret nodded. "So it is an archaic part of your system. Why has it not been eliminated?"
"Because nobody is willing to vote it away. There's a lot of cultural baggage with it and even non-Citizens want to keep the distinction," Trucker said, shrugging.
"It just seems strange. You Terrans are a strange people," Ekret said. He slid an empty ration tube out of his pocket and put it in his mouth. "Although we probably seem strange to you."
Trucker shrugged. "Naw, for the most part, you guys are just folks, ya know? You want the same basic things as we all do."
"A nest, friends, food, liberty, a say in things, and safety," Ekret said. "Balanced carefully."
"The basic needs," Trucker nodded. He put his fingertips to his implant, a habit that Ekret had found himself adopting.
--General Nodra'ak wants all Division commanders in his office, General Ekret-- Zhukov informed Ekret through his implant.
"Thank you, Zhukov. Alert the General I am enroute," Ekret answered. There was a ping to let him know that the Digital Sentience, an advisor and mentor, had received his massage.
"What do you think ol' Smokey No wants?" Trucker asked, walking with Ekret toward the lifts.
"To inform us all that we must learn ballet and dance the Dance of the Nine Headless Chickens," Ekret said wryly, chewing on the plas ration tube.
"I'd look good in a tutu. Maybe with some holo-sparkles on it," Trucker grunted. "Get me some of those little white ballet slippers with some sequins."
It had taken Ekret a while to understand Terran humor. The idea of the big half-cyborg Terran dancing around in a sparkling tutu made Ekret snort with suppressed laughter.
General Halkrut, Ekret's second in command, hustled up next to them, dressed in coveralls smeared with lubricants. In the elevator he peeled it off, revealing his adaptive camouflage uniform, which he fussed at to make sure he was presentable.
On the lift they were joined by two other Division commanders. General Yeager of the Air Combat Division and General Sheshleet of the 21st Infantry Division. Yeager had a piece of aircraft armor in his hand that he kept rubbing with his fingers, a habit he'd had so long the chunk of debris was worn smooth and made shiny. Sheshleet, a Rigellian Saurian was yawning, tabbing a stim into the inside of his arm. Ekret knew the 21st had been conducting infantry drills in one of the massive holobays for almost 72 hours, going for 'fatigue and deprivation training' which was something Ekret planned on doing with his men.
The room was crowded, the Division commanders largely sitting in chairs. General Nodra'ak was looking at a hologram that was tuned so only he could see it, everyone else seeing random sparkles in the air above the table's emitter.
Finally the last of the Division officers were present. General Nodra'ak took out a pack of 'cigarettes' that were rumored to be imported from Terra itself, slapped on end against a blade-arm for moment, then he slowly unwrapped it.
"We will be dropping into the system in the next 72 hours, men," the Treana'ad said, dropping the waste from opening the pack into the table's reclaimer. He slowly withdrew a long white tube with a brown end, taking time to stare at everyone. "The system is in the Long Dark, the Dead Zone to some of you, unclaimed and, we believe, unexplored by the Unified Civilized Council. It's estimated to be a few hundred light years from any possible Precursor forces, but we are not going to count on that."
The big insectiod put the tube in his mandibles and lit the end, slowly inhaling and blowing out smoke. Ekret slipped the tube back out of his pocket and put the shredded end in his mouth.
The holodisplay in front of his came to life, showing a mostly transparent wireframe.
"Space Force has ordered us to dig in. We'll be met by the 271st Space Force Engineers. This is going to be a Logistics Base for Space Force as well as a training ground to allow our newer members to undergo familiarization training," Nodra'ak said. He started jabbing at his own holo with the cigarette, causing parts of everyone else's holo's flash.
Ekret took notes as General Nodra'ak annotated where preliminary plans had detailed different facilities would be placed in the system, then on each world. Nodra'ak listed to suggestions, rejected some, accepted others, and tabled some for further discussion.
It still surprised Ekret that a commander as high ranking as General Nodra'ak would care about his subordinates opinions. The Treana'ad commanded more forces than most system Most Highs, billions of tons of metal and hundreds of thousands of troops.
Most of the Civilized Worlds would have considered it an army and unsustainable. Instead, to the Terrans, it was an entirely self-contained 'joint services' unit capable of extended deployment without outside support.
The sheer scale of it sometimes startled Ekret.
"In other news, and I want you to pass this on to the troops, 21st Civilian Logistics has let me know that they have completed, one hundred percent, in retrieving all willing family members of our newest troops. There's some hoopla going on, something about possible emancipation for those that our somewhat allies consider 'neo-sapients', but I have no firm data on that," Nodra'ak said.
A chime sounded as a small green mantid tapped his holo.
"Yes, Alpha-338?" Nodra'ak asked.
Icons flashed above the small mantid's head. Ekret's implant translated it for him.
"Current estimation of completion of civilian housing and support areas?"
General Nodra'ak lifted his bladearms in a rough estimation of a human shrug. "That depends on how long it takes your engineers, working with General Yeager who will be providing drone mapping, to locate an appropriate spot for necessary base infrastructure."
The icons for 'understand' flashed.
The briefing went on as Ekret took notes.
It was strange to Ekret, just how much officers communicated with one another. He was used to each Most High jealously guarding their areas of authority. Here everything was interlocked. Not to say there wasn't any friction, apparently General Yeager often argued with General Ulkenakit, commander of Air Cavalry, over areas of operation, but there was not the fabrication of untruths and the withholding of information that Ekret had faced his entire career.
Ekret chose his own unit's primary base. A trick of geography on the planet putting five different biospheres with twenty-five miles of the base, allowing him to train his men in different environments. Trucker backed his choice, so did the commander of 8th Infantry. Which meant that the base rapidly expanded, all the way to two BOLO's, including JAWS, being stationed at it.
He was startled when Alpha-338 promised that the base would be largely finished in under a month. After that would just come customization.
The meeting lasted nearly eight hours, with four breaks, before Trucker and Ekret were riding back down the elevator.
"May I ask a question?" Ekret asked, almost out of habit.
"Shoot," Trucker said, shaking the round plas canister of shredded leaf in one hand in such a way that his finger smacked the side.
"How did you get this kind of efficiency?" he asked. "Not that I doubt Alpha-338, but I would have expected our armor base to take thirty or forty years to build."
"Human history is fifty-thousand years of fighting interrupted here and there by vague peace. Think of fifty-thousand years of Council history, now invert the peace and war times, and you have Terrans," Trucker said. He paused to scoop out some of the shredded leaf with one finger and deposit it behind his lower lip.
Ekret pulled out his gnawed plas-tube and put it in his mouth, knowing by Trucker's speech patterns that the big human wasn't done.
"We had to learn to build fast and semi-permanent, since sometimes you dug in under fire, or had mere hours to get it done. Alpha-338 is part of the Mantid engineer caste, he's got an instinct for construction even sharper than his fellow greens. He can run the coding on a construction pod to get it to run at better efficiency than even factory specifications would suggest. Greenies are good at engineering work," Trucker said, pulling an small empty bottle out of one pocket.
"That's why our crews are having a green mantid added to them," Ekret mused.
"Yup. My own Cry Little Sister has a half-dozen greenies on the active combat crew. They've saved our asses more than once," Trucker said. The doors slid open, revealing the massive bay.
"Welp, lots of stupid shit to do," Trucker grunted, stepping out into the bay.
Ekret nodded. "Time to put the eaten meal back into the ration bag."
------------------
"SHOT OUT!" Cheapshot yelled.
"HIT! STILL UP!" Bouncy called out over the datalink.
"Can't see shit! Get my scanners back online, 749!" Cheapshot snapped.
"Affirmative," everyone's datalink decoded the two flashed icons. The interior maintenance panel was open and the small foot high green mantis, a toolpack in front of its torso, was yanking the thin wafers out of the panel that glowed the green of maintenance mode rather than the red of active and replacing them with new ones from the small nanoforge on the top of its abdomen.
"TARGET!" Ekret said, feeling the tingle in his paws.
"SHOT OUT!" Cheapshot yelled.
"compensating" 749 flashed across the datalink.
"NEGATIVE IMPACT!" Bouncy squealed.
"Get behind him, Steps," Ekret snapped to Sselssen, his driver. "He's trying to get behind us."
A loud clanking sound hammered out from behind and to the right of Ekret.
"Losing air pressure in nacelle three!" Sselssen said. "Compensating."
The tank vibrated as Sselseen applied more power to the turbofan and graviton assist for hover-nacelle three, at the mid-line starboard side of the tank.
There was more clanking.
"Nacelle four. Enemy's chewing up our fans!" Sselssen called out.
"TARGET!"
"SHOT OUT!"
"NEGATIVE IMPACT!"
"Scanners back up!" Cheapshot said, leaning back and kicking the plasma-cannon's autoloader to unstick it. Heat from constant firing had made the lining expand, causing it to stick. The autoloader slammed shut.
749 shut the panel and opened another one, disappearing into the maintenance space.
"Hold on!" Sselssen yelled and the tank suddenly slewed around as the saurian scraped the front right nacelle against the ground, using friction assist to turn the hovertank.
The round hit dead center of the tank's side. A big 200mm sabot shot. The crew compartment filled with white light, then everything went dark.
'shit' 749 flashed in the darkness.
The light came back up, showing the smooth white surfaces of the simulator.
"GOTCHA EKRET! - TRUCKER" appeared in midair.
Ekret ground his teeth on the empty ration tube and shook his head.
---------------------
In the elevator Halkrut, his XO, looked at Ekret. "The Precursors never targeted our nacelles before. They went for hull shots."
Ekret took the empty ration tube out of his mouth and put it in his pocket. "So far. The Precursors are a determined and adaptible enemy, it's only a matter of time until they start developing tactics to offset our advantages. MILINT believes that's why they withdrew, to formulate strategies."
Halkrut opened his mouth then shut it, reaching up to comb his whiskers. "Unified Military Forces would have never had us train as if the Precursors knew all our weaknesses," he mused.
"And they have not achieved victory in a single engagement," Ekret agreed, smoothing the fur on his still living leg.
"At times I feel it is unfair to pit General Trucker against us in simulations. Many of his crewmembers have been inside tanks since the time of my grand-guru," Halkrut said, tugging on his whiskers. "But I have noticed a steady increase in skills among our men."
"You don't get better fighting the worst, you get better fighting against the best," Zhukov said over the datalink.
"You are right, Honored Zhukov," Halkrut admitted, flicking his tail.
The door opened and the two former neo-sapients walked down the corridor toward the large briefing room.
"Welp, time to tell Smokey-No about all our dysfunctions," Halkrut said, shaking his head. "It is strange that failures are used as learning tools rather than a reason to replace or terminate the contract of the being making the mistake."
"Terrans are strange," Ekret agreed.
----------------
"Suggestions, Ekret?" Nodra'ak asked, jabbing the end of the smoking tube at Ekret, through his own hologram.
"Perhaps a second combat maintenance technician for each vehicle? My men do not have the extensive experience with our vehicles that I would prefer," Ekret replied.
Nodra'ak put the tube in his mandibles, obviously thinking. After a moment he nodded. "An excellent suggestion. I'll make the changes," the Treana'ad turned to Trucker. "And you?"
Trucker tapped his own holo. "Ekret's men, and some of mine, are starting to show fatigue. We need time off for the men."
Nodra'ak went still, thinking again.
"Announce a four day weekend. That includes all officers and commanders. The only people I want on duty are the MP's," Nodra'ak said. He paused again. "Inform the men that in the next week the first of the family transports will arrive. After the weekend, let's shift to maintenance mode, get the paperwork done, re-configure the bases, shuffle some units and personnel, and other tasks we have been putting off."
Ekret nodded, making notes.
-----------------
"Might I make a suggestion, General Ekret?" Zhukov broke into Ekret's chain of thought as he stared at paperwork.
"Yes, Zhukov?"
"Perhaps you should take time to design your unit standard. It will take your mind off of going over the same paperwork for the tenth time as well as provide a morale boost to your men," Zhukov said over the datalink.
Ekret looked at the clock and jerked in surprise. It was nearly midnight. The realization made him yawn.
"Perhaps tomorrow, Zhukov," Ekret said. "I think now I'll go to bed."
"Sleep is important to optimal function. I will take the time to defragment and perform other maintenance tasks," Zhukov said.
"Good night, Zhukov. Pleasant dreams," Ekret said, standing up.
"And you, General," Zhukov answered.
Ekret was asleep almost before his face hit the pillow.
---------------
SPACE FORCE ALERT
V CORPS (MIXED METAL) IS TO GO TO IMMEDIATE STAND-TO ALERT! SYSTEMS UNDER ATTACK BY UNKNOWN FORCES!
-----NOTHING FOLLOWS---------
Ekret's cybernetic leg, crafted by Terran prosthetic engineers and layered with armor taken from his old tank, whined slightly as he walked across the gigantic bay of the CNV Iktikakit, a massive repair, transport, and drop ship. The ship was big enough that it held three divisions of armored vehicles, a division of support personnel, and the fabrication/repair facilities to keep the tanks and vehicles in running order.
His old tank, one hundred and fifty ton 'light' tanks had been destroyed on the battlefield during close combat with thirty times the number of Precursor machines as his HHC unit kept the Precursor machines from overrunning a hospital.
The rest of his tanks had been left behind when V Corps (Old Metal) had lifted off the planet. His men had gone with them, their contracts purchased by Terran from a nearly bankrupt corporation that had sold the contracts for a pittance.
In front of Ekret were new tanks. With capabilities standard to Terran recon tanks but configured for multi-species use to accommodate the tanks of Ekret's First Recon Division. Well, they weren't all tanks but they were all armored vehicles.
Beside him walked the big human General Trucker, commander of 3rd Armor Division (Old Metal), the big human less flesh and more machine that when Ekret had met him, his flesh and blood left hand replaced by a black warsteel cybernetic prosthetic.
Like Ekret, Trucker was unable to accept tissue regeneration therapies or cloned parts, although they both were able to accept the custom biological enhancement implants commonly known as bioware. The big human had lost the hand in the last day of fighting before the Precursor threat was crushed, although he privately admitted he had not realized it at first.
Together the two soldiers stopped and looked at the activity in the bay. Human technicians and neo-sapients worked together, performing maintenance on the armored vehicles. Not only had the Terrans purchased the contracts of every member, living or dead, of Ekret's recon division, they'd apparently bought out every neo-sapient contract on the planet and any near-civilized who had wished it.
Ekret was in charge of the 1st Recon Division (New Metal) and this was his first view of his unit's vehicles all together.
"Hell of a sight, ain't it, Ekret?" Trucker asked, although it wasn't really a question. He spit juice from where the gap between his lower mandible gum and his lower lip was full of shredded plant, spitting into an empty plas bottle. "Always hits you right in the chest to see your metal and your men together for the first time."
"Yes, it is," Ekret answered. The big human was right. It was breathtaking and slightly anxiety causing to see all of it laid out in front of him and know that not only was he in charge of all of it, but those men would live and die by his orders.
"It looks like the Precursors are pulling out all across The Zones," Trucker said, following Ekret as the furry tank commander started walking toward where his implant told him that his own tank was parked.
"Any idea why?" Ekret asked. "I doubt they're afraid of us."
Trucker shook his head. "108th Military Intelligence (Old Brains) believes that in light of that serious defeat they took in Sigma-Nine-Nine-Five they are pulling back to rearm, refit, and do the Precursor equivalent of retrain. They ran face first into 17th Task Force of the Terran Space Force, took heavy causalities without even seeing the Space Force metal."
"So where are they sending us and how long do we have to prepare?" Ekret asked, stopping next to his tank. Cheepeek AKA Cheapshot, an Avian neo-sapient and highly skilled gunner, had the main gun's base shroud open and was looking inside with a diagnostic scanner. Ekret wasn't worried, if there was a major problem Cheepeek would have let him know.
"They're rotating us for downtime. We've been engaged in direct combat for most of the last one hundred days," Trucker said. He leaned against the tank, between the port hoverfans. "We're heading toward a system V Corps is going to use for training."
"My men could use some relaxation and training would be a good thing," Ekret said. "It is still difficult to believe the amount of firepower that the Terrans trust us with."
Trucker opened his mouth but Ekret held up a hand.
"The Unified Military Forces are an arm of the Unified Corporate Council and each Corporation is careful to allocate as few resources as possible and that means as little weaponry as possible," Ekret said. He heard Heslettek yell "HEADS UP!" and stepped to the side, a spanner falling from on top of the tank where his EMCOM officer was doing maintenance on the external arrays. "The Terrans just seem to go 'here's a bunch of guns and as much armor as we can pack onto it, now go kill those guys' without worry about resource conservation."
Trucker just nodded. He'd heard Ekret talk about that very subject repeatedly over the last three months. Every time there was an undertone of anger that made Trucker wonder how many of Ekret's men had been lost due to penny pinching barrel scraping.
"Your vehicles are standardized, deployed to the war zone in standard configurations with modifications made in the field, not to lessen the price, but to increase capabilities and effectiveness. This cuts down on refamiliarization time for the crews and increases their effectiveness," Ekret said, picking up the spanner and tossing it up to Heslettek, who went back to adjusting the scanner.
"Yup," Trucker said, spitting more juice in the bottle.
"You Terrans have bought out our contracts, so now we must learn how your military functions, how it not only makes war, but how it operates," Ekret said. "For this reason I am looking forward to the training."
"Good. Your men need some downtime first. I checked your records and none of your men have ever engaged in the amount of combat you faced in the same time frame," Trucker said. "There's also other aspects to consider."
"Citizenship," Ekret said, feeling the word out with his mouth. "A strange concept."
"I can understand how it may seem to you," Trucker said. Heslettek cursed and Trucker held out one hand, catching the spanner and tossing it back up to the EW officer.
"My men and I, we do not understand many things about it," Ekret admitted. "There appears to be little difference between being a Citizen and not being a citizen. We suspected that the non-Citizens were a second class caste, but instead, it appears all it does it open opportunities for advancement into higher service positions, provide discounts or grants, and many many responsibilities."
Trucker spit into the bottle. "Well, it's an old concept. Some of the sections no longer apply. Voting is a big one. Everyone has the right to vote, hell, wars have been fought over that right. A Citizen's vote counts just as much but no more than a non-Citizen's vote. It's hard to explain easily. I've been a Citizen since I was twenty years old, so I don't really know anything else."
Ekret nodded. "So it is an archaic part of your system. Why has it not been eliminated?"
"Because nobody is willing to vote it away. There's a lot of cultural baggage with it and even non-Citizens want to keep the distinction," Trucker said, shrugging.
"It just seems strange. You Terrans are a strange people," Ekret said. He slid an empty ration tube out of his pocket and put it in his mouth. "Although we probably seem strange to you."
Trucker shrugged. "Naw, for the most part, you guys are just folks, ya know? You want the same basic things as we all do."
"A nest, friends, food, liberty, a say in things, and safety," Ekret said. "Balanced carefully."
"The basic needs," Trucker nodded. He put his fingertips to his implant, a habit that Ekret had found himself adopting.
--General Nodra'ak wants all Division commanders in his office, General Ekret-- Zhukov informed Ekret through his implant.
"Thank you, Zhukov. Alert the General I am enroute," Ekret answered. There was a ping to let him know that the Digital Sentience, an advisor and mentor, had received his massage.
"What do you think ol' Smokey No wants?" Trucker asked, walking with Ekret toward the lifts.
"To inform us all that we must learn ballet and dance the Dance of the Nine Headless Chickens," Ekret said wryly, chewing on the plas ration tube.
"I'd look good in a tutu. Maybe with some holo-sparkles on it," Trucker grunted. "Get me some of those little white ballet slippers with some sequins."
It had taken Ekret a while to understand Terran humor. The idea of the big half-cyborg Terran dancing around in a sparkling tutu made Ekret snort with suppressed laughter.
General Halkrut, Ekret's second in command, hustled up next to them, dressed in coveralls smeared with lubricants. In the elevator he peeled it off, revealing his adaptive camouflage uniform, which he fussed at to make sure he was presentable.
On the lift they were joined by two other Division commanders. General Yeager of the Air Combat Division and General Sheshleet of the 21st Infantry Division. Yeager had a piece of aircraft armor in his hand that he kept rubbing with his fingers, a habit he'd had so long the chunk of debris was worn smooth and made shiny. Sheshleet, a Rigellian Saurian was yawning, tabbing a stim into the inside of his arm. Ekret knew the 21st had been conducting infantry drills in one of the massive holobays for almost 72 hours, going for 'fatigue and deprivation training' which was something Ekret planned on doing with his men.
The room was crowded, the Division commanders largely sitting in chairs. General Nodra'ak was looking at a hologram that was tuned so only he could see it, everyone else seeing random sparkles in the air above the table's emitter.
Finally the last of the Division officers were present. General Nodra'ak took out a pack of 'cigarettes' that were rumored to be imported from Terra itself, slapped on end against a blade-arm for moment, then he slowly unwrapped it.
"We will be dropping into the system in the next 72 hours, men," the Treana'ad said, dropping the waste from opening the pack into the table's reclaimer. He slowly withdrew a long white tube with a brown end, taking time to stare at everyone. "The system is in the Long Dark, the Dead Zone to some of you, unclaimed and, we believe, unexplored by the Unified Civilized Council. It's estimated to be a few hundred light years from any possible Precursor forces, but we are not going to count on that."
The big insectiod put the tube in his mandibles and lit the end, slowly inhaling and blowing out smoke. Ekret slipped the tube back out of his pocket and put the shredded end in his mouth.
The holodisplay in front of his came to life, showing a mostly transparent wireframe.
"Space Force has ordered us to dig in. We'll be met by the 271st Space Force Engineers. This is going to be a Logistics Base for Space Force as well as a training ground to allow our newer members to undergo familiarization training," Nodra'ak said. He started jabbing at his own holo with the cigarette, causing parts of everyone else's holo's flash.
Ekret took notes as General Nodra'ak annotated where preliminary plans had detailed different facilities would be placed in the system, then on each world. Nodra'ak listed to suggestions, rejected some, accepted others, and tabled some for further discussion.
It still surprised Ekret that a commander as high ranking as General Nodra'ak would care about his subordinates opinions. The Treana'ad commanded more forces than most system Most Highs, billions of tons of metal and hundreds of thousands of troops.
Most of the Civilized Worlds would have considered it an army and unsustainable. Instead, to the Terrans, it was an entirely self-contained 'joint services' unit capable of extended deployment without outside support.
The sheer scale of it sometimes startled Ekret.
"In other news, and I want you to pass this on to the troops, 21st Civilian Logistics has let me know that they have completed, one hundred percent, in retrieving all willing family members of our newest troops. There's some hoopla going on, something about possible emancipation for those that our somewhat allies consider 'neo-sapients', but I have no firm data on that," Nodra'ak said.
A chime sounded as a small green mantid tapped his holo.
"Yes, Alpha-338?" Nodra'ak asked.
Icons flashed above the small mantid's head. Ekret's implant translated it for him.
"Current estimation of completion of civilian housing and support areas?"
General Nodra'ak lifted his bladearms in a rough estimation of a human shrug. "That depends on how long it takes your engineers, working with General Yeager who will be providing drone mapping, to locate an appropriate spot for necessary base infrastructure."
The icons for 'understand' flashed.
The briefing went on as Ekret took notes.
It was strange to Ekret, just how much officers communicated with one another. He was used to each Most High jealously guarding their areas of authority. Here everything was interlocked. Not to say there wasn't any friction, apparently General Yeager often argued with General Ulkenakit, commander of Air Cavalry, over areas of operation, but there was not the fabrication of untruths and the withholding of information that Ekret had faced his entire career.
Ekret chose his own unit's primary base. A trick of geography on the planet putting five different biospheres with twenty-five miles of the base, allowing him to train his men in different environments. Trucker backed his choice, so did the commander of 8th Infantry. Which meant that the base rapidly expanded, all the way to two BOLO's, including JAWS, being stationed at it.
He was startled when Alpha-338 promised that the base would be largely finished in under a month. After that would just come customization.
The meeting lasted nearly eight hours, with four breaks, before Trucker and Ekret were riding back down the elevator.
"May I ask a question?" Ekret asked, almost out of habit.
"Shoot," Trucker said, shaking the round plas canister of shredded leaf in one hand in such a way that his finger smacked the side.
"How did you get this kind of efficiency?" he asked. "Not that I doubt Alpha-338, but I would have expected our armor base to take thirty or forty years to build."
"Human history is fifty-thousand years of fighting interrupted here and there by vague peace. Think of fifty-thousand years of Council history, now invert the peace and war times, and you have Terrans," Trucker said. He paused to scoop out some of the shredded leaf with one finger and deposit it behind his lower lip.
Ekret pulled out his gnawed plas-tube and put it in his mouth, knowing by Trucker's speech patterns that the big human wasn't done.
"We had to learn to build fast and semi-permanent, since sometimes you dug in under fire, or had mere hours to get it done. Alpha-338 is part of the Mantid engineer caste, he's got an instinct for construction even sharper than his fellow greens. He can run the coding on a construction pod to get it to run at better efficiency than even factory specifications would suggest. Greenies are good at engineering work," Trucker said, pulling an small empty bottle out of one pocket.
"That's why our crews are having a green mantid added to them," Ekret mused.
"Yup. My own Cry Little Sister has a half-dozen greenies on the active combat crew. They've saved our asses more than once," Trucker said. The doors slid open, revealing the massive bay.
"Welp, lots of stupid shit to do," Trucker grunted, stepping out into the bay.
Ekret nodded. "Time to put the eaten meal back into the ration bag."
------------------
"SHOT OUT!" Cheapshot yelled.
"HIT! STILL UP!" Bouncy called out over the datalink.
"Can't see shit! Get my scanners back online, 749!" Cheapshot snapped.
"Affirmative," everyone's datalink decoded the two flashed icons. The interior maintenance panel was open and the small foot high green mantis, a toolpack in front of its torso, was yanking the thin wafers out of the panel that glowed the green of maintenance mode rather than the red of active and replacing them with new ones from the small nanoforge on the top of its abdomen.
"TARGET!" Ekret said, feeling the tingle in his paws.
"SHOT OUT!" Cheapshot yelled.
"compensating" 749 flashed across the datalink.
"NEGATIVE IMPACT!" Bouncy squealed.
"Get behind him, Steps," Ekret snapped to Sselssen, his driver. "He's trying to get behind us."
A loud clanking sound hammered out from behind and to the right of Ekret.
"Losing air pressure in nacelle three!" Sselssen said. "Compensating."
The tank vibrated as Sselseen applied more power to the turbofan and graviton assist for hover-nacelle three, at the mid-line starboard side of the tank.
There was more clanking.
"Nacelle four. Enemy's chewing up our fans!" Sselssen called out.
"TARGET!"
"SHOT OUT!"
"NEGATIVE IMPACT!"
"Scanners back up!" Cheapshot said, leaning back and kicking the plasma-cannon's autoloader to unstick it. Heat from constant firing had made the lining expand, causing it to stick. The autoloader slammed shut.
749 shut the panel and opened another one, disappearing into the maintenance space.
"Hold on!" Sselssen yelled and the tank suddenly slewed around as the saurian scraped the front right nacelle against the ground, using friction assist to turn the hovertank.
The round hit dead center of the tank's side. A big 200mm sabot shot. The crew compartment filled with white light, then everything went dark.
'shit' 749 flashed in the darkness.
The light came back up, showing the smooth white surfaces of the simulator.
"GOTCHA EKRET! - TRUCKER" appeared in midair.
Ekret ground his teeth on the empty ration tube and shook his head.
---------------------
In the elevator Halkrut, his XO, looked at Ekret. "The Precursors never targeted our nacelles before. They went for hull shots."
Ekret took the empty ration tube out of his mouth and put it in his pocket. "So far. The Precursors are a determined and adaptible enemy, it's only a matter of time until they start developing tactics to offset our advantages. MILINT believes that's why they withdrew, to formulate strategies."
Halkrut opened his mouth then shut it, reaching up to comb his whiskers. "Unified Military Forces would have never had us train as if the Precursors knew all our weaknesses," he mused.
"And they have not achieved victory in a single engagement," Ekret agreed, smoothing the fur on his still living leg.
"At times I feel it is unfair to pit General Trucker against us in simulations. Many of his crewmembers have been inside tanks since the time of my grand-guru," Halkrut said, tugging on his whiskers. "But I have noticed a steady increase in skills among our men."
"You don't get better fighting the worst, you get better fighting against the best," Zhukov said over the datalink.
"You are right, Honored Zhukov," Halkrut admitted, flicking his tail.
The door opened and the two former neo-sapients walked down the corridor toward the large briefing room.
"Welp, time to tell Smokey-No about all our dysfunctions," Halkrut said, shaking his head. "It is strange that failures are used as learning tools rather than a reason to replace or terminate the contract of the being making the mistake."
"Terrans are strange," Ekret agreed.
----------------
"Suggestions, Ekret?" Nodra'ak asked, jabbing the end of the smoking tube at Ekret, through his own hologram.
"Perhaps a second combat maintenance technician for each vehicle? My men do not have the extensive experience with our vehicles that I would prefer," Ekret replied.
Nodra'ak put the tube in his mandibles, obviously thinking. After a moment he nodded. "An excellent suggestion. I'll make the changes," the Treana'ad turned to Trucker. "And you?"
Trucker tapped his own holo. "Ekret's men, and some of mine, are starting to show fatigue. We need time off for the men."
Nodra'ak went still, thinking again.
"Announce a four day weekend. That includes all officers and commanders. The only people I want on duty are the MP's," Nodra'ak said. He paused again. "Inform the men that in the next week the first of the family transports will arrive. After the weekend, let's shift to maintenance mode, get the paperwork done, re-configure the bases, shuffle some units and personnel, and other tasks we have been putting off."
Ekret nodded, making notes.
-----------------
"Might I make a suggestion, General Ekret?" Zhukov broke into Ekret's chain of thought as he stared at paperwork.
"Yes, Zhukov?"
"Perhaps you should take time to design your unit standard. It will take your mind off of going over the same paperwork for the tenth time as well as provide a morale boost to your men," Zhukov said over the datalink.
Ekret looked at the clock and jerked in surprise. It was nearly midnight. The realization made him yawn.
"Perhaps tomorrow, Zhukov," Ekret said. "I think now I'll go to bed."
"Sleep is important to optimal function. I will take the time to defragment and perform other maintenance tasks," Zhukov said.
"Good night, Zhukov. Pleasant dreams," Ekret said, standing up.
"And you, General," Zhukov answered.
Ekret was asleep almost before his face hit the pillow.
---------------
SPACE FORCE ALERT
V CORPS (MIXED METAL) IS TO GO TO IMMEDIATE STAND-TO ALERT! SYSTEMS UNDER ATTACK BY UNKNOWN FORCES!
-----NOTHING FOLLOWS---------
