The wooded ground whipped by underneath the belly of the striker, which did little more than make a low humming noise as it traveled Nap of Earth along a winding path. Behind it flew three others, making a diamond formation, all of them with their weapons in storage mode to maximize stealth and minimize their profile.

Mukstet, piloting Foxtrot-Nine-Two of First Squadron, First Wing, not only paid attention to his sensor systems, which still kept jumping around and snarling due to the planetary level of jamming, but also looked out of the armaglass windows to keep visual confirmation.

"Got smoke at two-o-clock, anyone else copy?" he said. The other three pilots signalled that they did and Mukstet banked his striker hovercraft, opening a channel to his flight crew. "Anything on commo or with EW?"

"Jamming is still heavy. If I didn't know better, I'd wonder if the quantum links are jammed too. It's pretty bad and getting worse," Kanput said, his voice slightly offended. "I'm trying to isolate and filter it but it's really weird and changes up."

"Electronic Warfare board is lit right up. We're not being attacked but we've got some serious hash in the systems," Tegket said. "Feels weird not to have the Chiefs here," he said, referring to the two Terran Chief Warrant Officers who had been with them as soon as they had been assigned Nine-Two.

"They'll be back. They're SUDS'd up," Mukstet said.

"Brr, I don't see how they can do that. Get killed over and over. I'd start screaming about the second time they brought me back," Kanput said. "Chief Tardra'ak told me he was once killed nine times on a single drop during the Mar-gite Invasion."

"Screw. That. Noise," Tegket said. "I wanna go quick. Just whap! and there's the Digital Omnimessiah or Chrome Saint Peter asking me if I had a good time."

That got laughter from the three crewmen.

Mukstet dropped the speed as they approached the smoke, firing a recon drone which streaked out in front of them, vanishing form the instruments and sight in less than a single breath.

"Got the drone. Looks good. Coming up on the target," Tegket said softly. "Wait, wait, crap. It's a drop cradle, one of the big ones. Looks like it took heavy fire on entry and crashed."

"We'll set down and see if anyone made it," Mukstet said. He opened a link to the back. "Corporal Paklak?"

"Here, sir," the young Telkan NCO said. He was replacing Sergeant Kuplo, who Mukstet had put in charge of security and construction of the striker base.

"Get your men ready to dismount. We're coming up on a damaged drop cradle. I want it checked out. If we can pull anything usable, do so, otherwise follow Corps doctrine and blow it all in place," Mukstet said, still slowing down.

"Aye aye, sir," Corporal Paklak said. He turned to the four dismount light scout Marines he had with it. "All right, Recon. We've got a downed drop cradle. We're going to check it for any friendlies or any salvage. Weapons warm. Looks like just a crash but we all know Precursors can be sneaky."

Mukstet cut Paklak out of the commo circuit, smiling to himself with the fact that Corporal had either forgotten to log out of the channel or he wanted Mukstet to hear him giving orders.

The cradle came into view and Mukstet gave a low whistle at the sight.

It was massive, big enough Mukstet could have fit an entire squadron of strikers inside of it. Thick battlesteel armor that was still smoking and pitted. The graviton pods were all sparking and blowing thick black smoke. He could see flames here and there in the landing systems.

"All Wing elements, we'll stay grounded in case there's a sneaky Precursor around using NoE scanning to watch this area," Mukstet said.

"That's a big drop cradle," Skuntak said over the link. "What do you think is in it?"

"Tanks," Huxmet said.

"With our luck? Waste waiting for reclaimation," Puknaket laughed.

"I'll take either. Waste we can feed into the nano-forges the little brothers have dismounted. Tanks have the big creation engines onboard to make those big honking tank rounds," Mukstet said.

"Terran tankers or Telkan tankers?" Puknaket wondered.

"Let's hope it's Terran heavy tanks," Skuntak said.

"Except we'd have to get them back," Mukstet said.

"Perimeter secure. Transponder beacon's shot. It's from the Warkwaw Skwerk, I don't know which ship that is," Paklak said.

Mukstet checked his database.

"It's a troop transport, Rigellian named, armor only," Mukstet said. "Let's hope the crew-cradles were in that thing?"

Paklak opened a viewport. "If they were, they ain't now."

The view showed the entire side was gone, the interior scooped out at least halfway through. The drop cradle was in separate sections inside. The cradle had hit hard, buckling the frame and had half its forty-foot high mass buried in the dirt.

"Well, we know where the transponder went," Mukstet sighed. "All right, get inside, see what the payload is."

"Aye aye, sir," Paklak said. "All right, men, let's crack this oyster open."

"Got a channel. No audio, just visual. Looks like a local news reporter," Kanput said. "Wanna peek?"

"Sure," Mukstet said, putting it on the center window.

The local Hesstlin news reporter was ducked down behind a car. Her face was covered with dirt and soot with shiny tear tracks below her eyes. Her fur looked singed and her ears were flat against her skull even as her whiskers trembled. Her wide eyes looked somehow wider than normal even though Mukstet had never seen a Hesstlin before. She was talking rapidly, pointing beyond her.

**ANALYZING LIP MOVEMENTS** popped up across the screen.

"Sorry," Kanput said. The words cleared.

The camera popped up, showing the street beyond.

Heavy Terran tanks were moving by, their air defense systems live, coherent light spitting out of the rapid fire lasers. Telkan Marines were on the back decks, crouched down behind the turret. Kanput could see the markings on the side of the tank.

Second Armor Division.

The camera focused back on the female, who was still silently talking quickly. In the middle of the sentence the lip reading program kicked in.

**forces from the Terran Confederacy are forcing back the attackers as I speak. Terran military authorities encourage everyone to take shelter immediately as a second wave of attackers has just arrived in system. If you cannot reach a shelter, enter a basement or subway. Barring that, stack matresses on any large table and hide beneath it with bottled water and packaged food.**

"Go ahead and log it. I've seen enough," Mukstet said, shaking his head.

Space Force had mainly been doing a troop transport to take Second Telkan and III Corps to the planet for integration exercises. As far as Mukstet could remember from mess hall talk, the whole "Navy" aspect of the fleet aside from the transports had been about a dozen destroyers, a handful of frigates, and a scattering of cruisers.

He could remember the Boop had been surrounded by at least a dozen Precursor ships, all firing into the troop-ship from a range that could be measured in meters.

"Mukstet, do you read?" came Paklak's voice.

"I read you," Mukstet answered.

"Not sure what this thing is. Got some big vehicles, but I've never seen anything like them. We're at the back of it. There's a stasis locker reading green across the board. Got some armored pods too. Rest of the pods are missing. Looks like this cradle took a shot in the belly that blew out of the roof. The center is completely gone," the Corporal said. "Orders?"

"Pop the stasis locker. Should be full of greenies, they'll know what's going on," Mukstet said. "973, take a couple men and go assist."

--roger roger--

"All right. Tell the little brothers to be careful, the interior's still hot. Think it might have been a ground based anti-ship particle beam that cored this thing out," Paklak said before closing the comlink.

Proper radio procedure goes out first, Mukstet sighed to himself. He wanted to be by the book, but instead of coming in on high speed runs to provide close air support he was watching some insects sit on his forward screens.

--27rst SB(M)-- 973 signalled. --3.54 is here oh boy oh boy--

Mukstet frowned. Having a decimal in a name was unusual for a greenie. He brought up the handbook and ran a search for decimals and twitched his ears in surprise. Decimals in names were reserved for officers with multiple specialties and were rare.

"Any Terrans make it?" Mukstet asked.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"Negative. Looks like they were in an armored section in the middle and took a near-perfect hit. Got six armored pods we're cracking now. Might be humans," Paklak said.

--3.45 here sir Screams at Ta'Xet is waking up-- another mantid signalled. --moving to decant--

Mukstet checked his database. 27st Sustainment Battalion (Main) was part of First Cavalry Division. Overstrength, dedicated to handle the needs of 4th Armor Brigade and 19th Special Troops Battalion. Tanks, fast attack strikers, artillery, counterbattery, air defense, even military police.

There should have been almost 600 Terrans and an entire company of Mantid specialists.

Mukstet checked his drone, which was still moving in slow circles around the wreckage. Nothing, just trees.

I'm gonna miss the whole war, sitting out here in the forest, he thought to himself.

"Sir, the mantid Special Skills Company survived in the stasis locker, but it looks like only the Rapid Ready Team's pods made it. Eight Terrans, pods say two are badly injured, the rest are banged up," Paklak said. "Got a russet mantid in here, says she's Screams at Ta'Xet and the lead surgeon."

"Patch her in," Mukstet ordered.

"Greetings and salutations. I am Major Screams at Ta'Xet, XO of Charlie Company's Surgical Team," the calm and steady voice came through. "I wish to have your men load the pods into the surgical vehicle before opening it."

"It's thirty miles to the striker base," Mukstet said.

"That will take just over two hours to reach at operational speeds, a little under an hour at transport speeds. Do you wish us to decant the Terrans at this time or wait until we arrive at base?" Screams asked.

"We're exposed out here. I'd rather get back to the striker base as soon as possible," Mukstet said. "Minimal EM sig, we don't know the enemy's capabilities."

"Very well. I will have the Special Skills soldiers get the vehicles ready for movement. Screams, out," the mantid said.

Mukstet breathed a little easier after hearing the officer's calm tones.

Kanput broke in. "I've got a signal. It's hashed, but it's definitely a First Cav transponder. They're under heavy attack and need close air support. Fifty-eight miles out, north by northwest, that's the best I can do by the signal strength and direction. I triangulated it off the Wing's strikers."

Mukstet sat up, bringing the systems off of standby. "Dismount Team Alpha and Dismount Team Charlie, mount up. Foxtrot-Niner-Seventeen and Five, stay here and provide support. Lead them back. Ten, you're on my port side, we've got friendlies in need of CAS."

It took a little less than three minutes for Paklak to signal that the dismount crews were loaded.

"Get on the door guns. If First Cav is getting pressed, the Precursors are in strength," Mukstet said, lifting off and hitting the thrusters. He banked, heading in the direction that Kanput had tossed up, then hit the pedal. The striker nosed down, the gravitons kicking in, and started picking up speed.

"Keep on the horn, let them know we're coming in. Foxtrot-Niner-Ten, make sure your transponder is squawking the correct codes, I don't wanna get spiked by our own air defense," Mukstet snapped out. The striker was up to six hundred knots, staying just under the sound barrier.

"Roger, Two," Huxmet said. "Transponder locked. Yours looks good. Going from queriable to broadcast."

"Tech check in," Mukstet ordered.

--all techs in position-- 973 answered.

"All techs in position," Huxmet stated.

At almost 700mph/1100kph, the flight in took less than ten minutes and gave the striker craft time to fully deploy their systems.

"Unidentified First Cavalry unit, this is Foxtrot Niner Two, Second Telkan Combat Aviation, inbound on your south by south-east," Kanput started calling out. "We will be making overflight in two, repeat, two minutes. Mark friendlies with green star cluster flare or red smoke."

Mukstet cut Kanput's broadcast from his awareness, dropping the striker a few feet lower so he was barely skimming above the treeline. He could see the smoke coming up fast and angled toward it, Foxtrot-Nine-Ten sticking on his port side.

"Drop to engagement speed," Mukstet ordered, easing off the throttle. The striker slowed to just over sixty mph.

"Deploy weapons," Mukstet ordered. "Check linkages."

"Roger," Huxmet said, his voice tight.

"Weapons ready," Mukstet snapped. "Sensors free!"

"Sensors free!" Huxmet answered.

The whole thing was melded into composite. Mass detection, thermal overlay, ferrous detection, standard light, LIDAR, RADAR, phased millimetric particle scanners, the whole nine yards into one complete picture that was put directly on the front of his helmet's faceplate. He knew the windows were showing standard visual light scans of the exterior despite the fact that armored shields had rolled into place.

"Open troopbay doors," Mukstet ordered, hitting the toggles on his own.

"ON THE GUNS! RIGHT CHECK! LEFT CHECK!" Paklak roared out.

"Countermeasures hot," Mukstet ordered.

"Check," Huxmet answered.

"Thirty seconds," Mukstet warned.

The trees suddenly thinned, revealing the battlefield.

A hastily dug in fortification, battlescreens visible from the air, was facing off against a horde of Precursor machines. As they went by Mukstet counted three heavy weapon positions and at least nine standard weapons as well as a mortar belching out chaff and smoke. Red smoke was starting to spread and someone fired off a green star cluster flare.

There were nearly two hundred Precursor vehicles, including one of the big ones with the triple snail shell. The rest of the vehicles were spread out in a half-crescent, slowly advancing on the Terran troops. They were taking heavy damage from the fighting position but were still advancing despite damage and losses.

"CONTACT! WEAPONS FREE!" Mukstet snapped out.

The pilot part of Mukstet smiled widely.

"ENGAGING!" Paklak yelled out. "STARBOARD GUN HOT!"

The M183E5 six barrel 10mm minigun roared to life as one of the dismount team raked the Precursor machines with the doorgun. A solid shaft of light connected the side of the striker to the Precursors. The mix was five APDS rounds to one tracer but the high speed minigun made it look like nothing but tracers as the gunner raked the Precursor vehicles.

Then they were past, Mukstet banking hard, hearing the airframe groan. He could feel a light flutter in the portside gravitons but they held. He reoriented, nose down, tail up, wings deployed out. He opened up with the guns, hammering the Precursors on their top decks, even as he cut loose with missiles at the big one. Ten ripple-fired next to him, the strikers shuddering as the pilots cut loose with the entire missile pods loadouts.

The outer shell blew out on the bigger Precursor, throwing smoke and debris into the air. Smaller ones exploded as cannon fire or missiles found weak spots in the topside armor.

Then they were past again, looping back around. Groundfire was starting to pick up, but the battle-screens were shunting it easily. Mukstet dropped down to the point where they were barely above the big Precursor and came in hard, opening up with the guns even as the nano-forge printed out replacement missiles. For a split second he was locked up then the chaff and flares broke the lock. The massive shell sparkled, dimpled, then suddenly exploded. The door gunners were firing high angle shots as the strikers raced by.

He came back in on another loop, coming in fast and low, when it hit him.

It was like a pillow made of soft feathers with rocks behind it. It hit his mind, locked up his body for a second, and even his heart stuttered for a second. His vision tunneled down and his lungs were frozen as his hand went dead on the stick.

His neural link slammed his heart into movement and kicked him in the chest, letting him take a whooping breath.

PSYCHIC SHIELDING ENGAGED

For a second he was back on the wall, firing at the grotesque half-finished creatures charging the walls of the refugee point he was desperately defending as it was all hands on deck. Bellowing in rage as the Precursors charged the wall, tentacles flailing, cilia whipping, jaws gnashing, the battering of their screams, both heard and unheard, smashing into his brain.

"MY LITTLE BROTHER IS IN HERE!" he roared out, his fingers reflexively finding the firing studs on the control stick and holding them down.

Then his suit squeezed blood into his brain and his head cleared.

He was going in sideways, dropping out of the air. He hit the ailerons feathered the graviton, and leveled out, pulling up just before he would have slammed into a Precursor. As it was he got so close that his battlescreen hit, flared, and converted the Precursor's upper section into fiery shrapnel. Mukstet glanced and saw Ten slam into the ground, bounce upward, bobble for a second, then shoot up into the air, taking heavy ground-fire. The starboard wing on Ten exploded but Huxmet kept it in the air, hammering the Precursors with his center-line cannon.

--setting wavelength-- 973 said. --didn't know could do that--

"It's OK, you got it up in time," Mukstet said, panting. His nose and ears had bled but he could still see clearly. He changed the channel. "Foxtrot-Nine-Ten, status?"

"Huxmet here. Dalrup is unconscious, psychic assault, two of my dismount Marines are unconscious. Lost my starboard wing and graviton, still in it," the other craft reported.

"Let's get back in," Mukstet said, banking tight. Ten looped out wider, unable to pull a turn that tight, then came in right on Mukstet's six.

The missiles were reloaded and Mukstet dumped all the pods at the bigger one. Both the outside shells were gone, gutted and blowing fire and smoke, when the missiles whipped through the point defense and slammed into the shell.

The interior mechanisms blew out the other side in fire and smoke. Huxmet's rockets lost lock, found new targets, and spiraled in through the point defense to rake the smaller ones.

The ground forces were still putting up defense, the heavy guns pounding any of them that charged forward, the lighter weapons knocking out the drones and light attack craft.

"They're pulling back!" Huxmet said on the next pass. More and more of the Precursor machines were either reversing or trying to turn around. The ones that tried to turn found themselves targeted by the heavy guns, which ripped through the side armor like tissue. Those that succeeded found that their rear armor wasn't thick enough to shrug the pounding of the ground troop's guns.

"Keep on them! Don't let them rout!" Mukstet called out, sweeping across the line again. It was textbook perfect, something you never even saw in training. An almost perfect line of armored vehicles, a straight run with the center-line main gun.

He upped the cyclic rate as they came in, cutting loose with the APDSHEX, slashing across the top decks of the last of the Precursor machines.

Then he was past again, coming around in a loop.

"Slow burn, Ten, let's knock out the stragglers," Mukstet ordered.

"Roger, Two, slowing down," Huxmet answered.

It took two more passes before the sensors were clear. Mukstet checked his instruments. Nanoforges at 32% heat and 11% slush, no casualties. All three of his unconscious troops had woken back up and got into the fight. Ten was still in it, although missing a wing kept the striker at only 250 knots.

"Let's land, see who we've got," Mukstet ordered. "Probably the 3/9 Rangers or Troop A."

"It's an element of 207th Signal Company," Kanput said.

"You read that, Paklak?" Mukstet asked.

"Roger, sir," the Corporal said.

The striker settled down onto the torn up grass, whining slightly as the gravitons went to standby.

There was just over a dozen troops in light armor jogging forward, half of them carrying the heavy guns at two each. Most of them had heavy packs and at the motions of one of them they broke into two groups, one heading toward Foxtrot-Nine-Ten, the other heading for Mukstet's Foxtrot-Nine-Two.

The dismount teams helped them up, grabbing the Terran's hands with their own and yanking them onboard.

"That's it, sir!" Paklak said.

Mukstet hit the door power and closed the doors, lifting off and orienting toward the striker base. After a moment a large human came in and sat down in the pilot's seat. Their face-shield went transparent and Mukstet could see the sweating pink face of a Terran.

"Lieutenant Varren, 207th Signal Company. Goddamn good to see you," the Terran said.

"PFC Mukstet, Second Telkan Marine Combat Aviation," Mukstet said, paying attention to flying the striker. "Glad to see you."

The human relaxed. "We're probably scattered all over. We had to pod it to the surface and even then, I'm not sure how many made it off the Patricia Lee as it is," he said. "We came out of hyperspace and literally slammed into a Precursor ship."

"Orbits a shit-show, sir," Mukstet said. "Commo is out across the planet as far as we can tell."

"Polyrhythmic phase delay jamming algorithms or some gobbledygook like that according to two of my men," the officer said. He shook his head. "I'm an Ordnance officer, just got assigned to 207th. They start talking bandwidth octopulse signal compression and phased multi-frequency whatever the hell and my brain just fuzzes right up. I can tell you the sixty-three different 40mm rounds right down to color and weight, but if it's any more than 'push button to make talky' I'm completely lost."

Mukstet chuckled at that.

"You taking us back to one of the log bases?" the Lieutenant asked.

"No, sir," Mukstet said. "We're in the process of building a striker base but right now we've got no commo with anyone else. We've got my Air Combat Squadron, a stasis locker of mantids, some construction equipment, and some equipment we're salvaging from a drop-cradle. We were doing a patrol when we managed to get your signal."

The Lieutenant shook his head.

"Ain't war a bitch."