"It doesn't matter how big the war is, whether it's entire clusters, individual star systems, single worlds, a sole continent, or just a region, when the gunfire roars, it's just that battle that matters to the men fighting the battle."
"There can be a thousand other mother fuckers around you during the battle, but for you, there is only what is directly in front of you." - Anonymous
A glance told Ru'udamo'o that Speaks was only half there. The black mantid, inside his armor, was slumped down, head hanging down, the front of his helmet open. The mantid was drooling, the saliva discolored by ichor. The black mantid was mumbling, making bubbles in the saliva.
Ru'udamo'o reached over and grabbed Speaks helmet, shaking his head.
"WAKE UP!" Ru'udamo'o yelled out.
The black mantid scrabbled his bladearms against the dash for a second then jerked.
"...'m 'wake," Speaks mumbled. He shifted slightly. "'m knocked int'a cocked hat."
Ru'udamo'o frowned, reaching over and shaking the black mantid again.
"Where we you hatched, born, whatever?" Ru'udamo'o asked, slowing down to take the corner. He couldn't be sure the enemy wasn't watching the LawSec cams for any speeding vehicle. Outside the neighborhood was dark, dim, trash blowing in the streets and the alleyways strewn with debris. The area was on the bottom level of the multi-level city and was supposed to be uninhabited.
But here and there were lights in the windows.
"Strawberry Ripple Moomoo Sunrise," Speaks mumbled.
"What?" Ru'udamo'o asked. He slowed down for the light, spotted the four or five Lanaktallan hanging out in the entryway of a burned out store and kept going.
"'s in the Hive Worlds," Speaks said. He stirred slightly and groaned. "I was hatched in the Treana'ad systems," he coughed and groaned. "Father was a gunsmith, mom was a milkmaid guard."
"Gunsmith?" Ru'udamo'o asked. The car slowed as he took the corner.
"Made custom propellant pistols, engraved and inlaid, fancy grips," Speaks said. He shifted again and groaned then coughed. "Called Oldwest Banging Irons. Brother took over when dad died," he said. He leaned his head against the window. "Best damn equalizers in the Hive Worlds," he coughed. "Gave Dreams one of my dad's guns to celebrate ten years of Diplomatic Corps service."
The last part was barely audible to Ru'udamo'o as he turned onto a tight sidestreet, the side of the sedan squealing as he brushed a dumpster.
"'s okay, 's okay," Speaks was mumbling, hanging loose in the restraints.
Ru'udamo'o came to a stop, barely able to get the door open to get out. He struggled out, silently cursing his size, and went over to steps leading down. He banged on the door, waited a minute, looking around, then drew his pistol and banged on the door again.
The eye level plate slid back and a set of watery looking Lanaktallan eyes looked out.
"Open the door," Ru'udamo'o growled.
The plate slid shut and the sound of locks being undone was loud. Satisfied, Ru'udamo'o turned back to the car, gently pulling the mantid out and carrying him down the steps.
"Who is that?" the Lanaktallan asked.
"A mantid," Ru'udamo'o said. "He's been shot at least twice, hyper-velocity kinetic weapons."
"I do not know how to treat a mantid," the Lanaktallan said.
"Then you better look it up on Gal-Net," Ru'udamo'o said. He followed the other Lanaktallan through the hallway, pushing through plastic strips, ignoring the smells of old blood, rotting tissue, and harsh cleaners.
"I don't want to know, do I?" the other Lanaktallan asked, moving over to steri-field. He waved at the surgical couch. "Set it down."
"No, you do not," Ru'udamo'o said, carefully setting the mantid down.
Speaks coughed again, hacking up a chunk of ichor.
"Found treatment data on Gal-Net," The other Lanaktallan, one Su'rgimo'o, moved up and looked down. "I'll need help getting his armor off."
Ru'udamo'o nodded. "Turn on your security. If they come for us, we won't have much time."
The other Lanaktallan swallowed nervously, moving over to the computer and typing a few commands.
"There," he said.
Ru'udamo'o checked his Terran Confederate magac pistol then turned back to Su'urgimo'o. "Tell me what I can do to help."
------
A single shot from the main gun blew the cupola clean off the hovertank, killing the next three tanks in line. Casey shifted to the right as the return volley was fired, easily moving out of the way, planting one foot and firing the heavy gun again.
On either side of him were a pair of himself, each of them showing raw, highly trained but still raw skill as they moved through the battle, fighting to get closer to the massive building they were drawing closer to. It looked like a lightbulb, was featureless and dull brown, the only hint of its importance was the massive power draw and heavy data flow.
He floated in that perfect moment, firing his weapon, the others of him moving in perfect tandem, finely crafted gears in a singular engine of destruction.
He heard the radio snap and ping.
"I am Lady of Yue," a musical woman's voice said. "I greet you."
"I am Lozen, I greet you, sister," Casey's armor answered.
"I am Urduja, I greet you, sister," another suit answered.
Casey smiled.
-----
"FORWARD, YOU DOGS, TO VICTORY!" the massive demon bellowed out, pointing at the line of infantry and tanks that were pinned between the hammer of the legions of Hell and the anvil of Trucker's forces.
Men and women who had been killed, come back to the line, to repeat it as often as necessary, roared in one great voice as they climbed out of their shattered fighting positions that they had fought and died in for months. They fired a thousand different models of rifles, hundreds of different anti-armor weapons, and roared their defiance from tens of millions of throats.
Their boots, sandals, shoes, and armored feet hammered against the blasted dirt and dust of the plains of Hell as they threw their fury directly into the faces of the forces that had invaded Hell. Each one knew that at their back were the innocent, those who had been cast from Heaven or Limbo and into Hell by the masters of the forces they faced.
None of them had flinched at the fact that, in death, they were still tasked to fight and kill.
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Hell, Heaven, beaches, asteroids, blasted planets, forests, jungles, deserts, it didn't matter the terrain. The equipment only mattered slightly, as it all packed the same punch no matter what it appeared as. It didn't matter that they were killed only to fall from the Heavens, screaming, to land on the ground and pick themselves up out of the crater.
They were done yielding ground, done retreating.
"NOT ONE STEP BACK!" thousands yelled.
"RETREAT, HELL!" others yelled back.
"GIVE THEM NO QUARTER!" a man dressed in the uniform of a Pre-Glassing military howled under the sky the color of bruised flesh.
Millions dressed in the armor of Anthill roared and lifted up one defiant fist. "FOR TERRASOL!"
Millions raised their bladearms in defiance. "FOR MOO-MOO'S, MI-LUKI, AND P'THOK!"
Tens of thousands of figures raised up four arms and cast their six eyes to the sky. "A RED DAWN AND A BLOODY FIELD!" they bellowed out.
Legion looked down from where he was hovering in place, his wings of burnt bronze slowly flapping, and smiled.
-----
Dee'thmo'o lunged up out of the trenchwork, the helmet askew on his head as his brimstone shod hooves clattered on the wooden poles that held up the side of the trench. Heavy machinegun bullets whipped by him, the Reaver gunner missing Dee'thmo'o but sending a good dozen Lanaktallan tumbling back into the trenchwork as the heavy bullets hit and shattered their upper torsos.
"WE SHALL NOT YIELD!" Dee'thmo'o yelled, leveling the crank powered gatling gun he held in three hands and turning the crank with the fourth. The heavy gun roared and shuddered as Dee'thmo'o trotted forward, knowing good and well he was out in the open. "FEAR NOT AND FOLLOW!" he called out.
A Pukan ran up next to him, waving the banner back and forth.
A rifle bullet hit the Pukan at the top of the head, ripping away a chunk, but the Pukan stayed on his feet, waving the banner, even as blood flowed down the side of his head.
"FOR RACK, FOR RUIN, FOR A RED DAWN!" a Telkan yelled out, kneeling down and firing a rocket launcher at the machinegun nest. The rocket missed by a foot or two and the Telkan took a half dozen machinegun and rifle bullets to the chest. He flopped back, one arm torn away, into the mud, blood, riven flesh, and bodies.
Dee'thmo'o ran over, grabbing the rocket launcher and lifting it to his shoulder with two hands.
To his right the massive warmek 'Pride and Glory' hosed down a Reaver infantry company with napalm even while the shoulder launchers pounded the enemy tanks and light mechs with heavy rockets.
Dee'thmo'o knelt down, the machinegun trying to get on him, trying to bring the hate, and triggered the rocket launcher.
The rocket whooshed out, covering Dee'thmo'o in a cloud of smoke as the chemical engine and the grav-driver both kicked in.
Bullets hit Dee'thmo'o in the chest, ripping away two arms, blowing half his upper abdomen off, severing two legs. The bullets left holes in him the size of an egg, meat and blood exploding out of his back.
He went down, dead.
"She's my wife! Pair bonded by the Breeding Authority yesterday! Please, take her and the children," Dee'thmo'o heard his own voice said.
RESPAWNING
Dee'thmo'o opened his eyes with a jerk, lunging forward and grabbing the gatling gun off the table. He pushed the stick mag in even as he galloped out of the spawn point. Rockets shrieked overhead, missiles howled as they flew just meters above the ground. The sky was lit with tracers and mortar rounds, with artillery and rockets hammering down.
"FORWARD TO VICTORY!" Dee'thmo'o yelled, waving his arm. He could see over the trench that the Reaver lines were starting to bend, starting to fold.
He could see his own dead body in the mud and blood, but beyond it the machinegun bunker burned.
His brimstone shod hooves clattered as he climbed out of the trench.
-----
There was two, maybe three Joans fighting six, nine, maybe twelve Novastar, the Joans turning in place and starting to saw through a leg before multiple shots hit her and knocked her to the side.
Vuxten blinked, trying to clear his blurred vision, his attention pulled from the Joan to the massive black bulwark of armor in front of him.
Vuxten barely had time to take in how big the armor was before two more shots hit the armor, the night flashing into daytime lit by white light. The concussion knocked him from the edge of the creek, flipping over and over, to splash down in the stream, half-conscious.
Drown-proofing training kicked in.
He flexed and relaxed a muscle that didn't exist three times out of instinct as he started kicking his feet. He could see the light above through his cyber-eye, see which way the silver bubbles were going, and he kicked hard, still holding onto the SMG.
He broke the surface, inhaling in a big whooping gasp as the night lit up again and thunder slammed across the creek bed, rippling the water and making his real ear pop and start a high pitched whining, while the other muted for a moment and came back.
A quick glance around showed him where his armor was, still half in the creek, and he paddled toward it, still keeping a grip on his weapon.
The pebbles in the mud of the bank pressed into his knees and free hand as he crawled out of the water, crawling toward his armor.
"471, you there, buddy?" he asked over his comlink.
A triple detonation lit up the sky, heat hammered on his exposed skin and fur, the creek steamed, and a vast concussion rolled over the creek. Vuxten panted as the wind suddenly swept back toward where the Joan had been and the air thickened with dust and debris even as the water steamed.
In the upper left of his vision the radiation symbol flashed and turned to yellow.
He crawled up next to his armor, putting his palm against the induction link.
His armor was badly damaged, but the reactor was still online, basic systems were still on.
Another white flash through the suspended dust and smoke and the hammer hit him again, throwing him back into the water, which was blood warm. This time it was shallow enough he was able to get to his feet, only neck deep.
He was still holding onto his SMG.
He waded out and knelt down, putting the SMG on the bank. He crawled into the armor, wiggling his neck to make sure it was in the right place. He put his arms in the sleeves, pushed his fingers through the glove, and wiggled them.
It took the jack twice to punch in, the locking ring felt sluggish and he could feel it whirring as his armor did its best.
Vuxten bypassed the startup, doing a combat restart, and the armor whined and sputtered as it wrapped back around him. He routed the HUD to his cybereye and sat up slowly.
ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC
GRAV GRAV GRAV
appeared in his vision.
The world went white again and the surface of the creek shimmered and danced.
Vuxten could see 471's status as he got to his feet. His buddy was injured, but not critically, but possibly out of the fight.
His grenade launcher and his missile launcher were gone. His grav-stabilizer was gone. He had a hole just above his left hip that was into the core systems and leaked kinetic gel. His chest plate was cracked in two places and the armor was severely compromised.
Vuxten ran through the menus manually, putting priority nanite repair on the missing visor and the grav-stabilizer then the near blowthroughs.
It looked like grey crystalline ice covered where his missing visor should be. For a moment he almost panicked, feeling claustrophobia grab him. The crystal cleared and the HUD shifted from his eye to the emergency visor.
He bent down. grabbing the SMG and synching it up as he stood up straight.
A bound put him at the top of the creek and he stumbled slightly as the grav system in the left foot went out in a shower of sparks.
The big one had its forearm shielding its face as it advanced on the three Novastar. The Joan was circling, trying to get an angle, one arm missing just above the elbow and half of her helmet shot away to reveal scorched fur and bloody raw bone.
Vuxten came in fast, keeping low, long shallow leaps where he changed the angle slightly each time.
A Novastar main gun round missed him by maybe two meters, throwing him ass over teakettle, but he rolled with it and popped up running.
His return fire didn't miss, tearing divots out of the side of the hip of the Novastar, which was missing the hip guard plate. He caught something good when cherry juice sprayed out of the joint and the Novastar's movement got a hitch in the walk.
Vuxten knew the shot was coming and turned slightly, lifting his left shoulder pauldron, curling his arm, and bracing his feet.
The shot hit the pauldron, scarring the bird of prey done in burning warsteel, the sheet force of the impact sliding Vuxten six feet as his feet threw up dirt and stones.
But he was still on his feet and took off at a sprint, running so that the Novastar pilot had to step to turn.
The big suit reached one, slapping the weapon away, driving punches into the armor that clanged like the hammer strikes of an angry forge god, throwing showers of sparks and shards of armor.
"I bring to you the mercy of the Digital Omnimessiah, in the name of my beloved brother, Vat-Grown Luke, oh lost ones," the armored figure intoned, grabbing the Novastar's shoulder. The fingers tightened and the armor creaked and groaned.
Matthias drove his fist into the faceplate once, twice, three times.
The headless armor dropped when Matthias opened his hand, releasing the shoulder.
Vuxten slid to a stop, taking a knee, and aiming the SMG.
The Novastar centered the cannon.
Vuxten walked his burst up the Novastar's chest.
The Joan's chainsword came down, right at the neck joint, sawing back and forth. The Novastar let go of the gun, which auto-retracted, reaching up toward the helmet as sparks showered.
Vuxten took off running, angling on the only one he could see, even though he could see three of them all overlapping.
The Joan screeched her victory as she raised the severed head up, raising it high to the sky.
Matthias grabbed the last one, which was trying to choose between aiming at the Joan and aiming at Vuxten. One hand against the Novastar's side, just under the armpit, the other grabbing the biceps.
Vuxten slid to a stop, staring, as the big Terran just ripped the arm off and tossed it behind him.
"May you find mercy in the light of my brother, Vat-Grown Luke," the armored figure said, grabbing the head from behind.
The pilot screamed, once, over the speakers.
Matthias twisted off the head and tossed it behind him.
Vuxten stopped, swaying slightly, as silence suddenly descended in a clear, still, perfect moment.
--what hit me?--
Vuxten went down on one knee, lifting the magac to his chest with both hands and lowering his head as relief filled him in such a tsunami that he began to weep.