Chapter Three.

“Thy divine weapon Vel is only a manifestation of your will. To succeed in life or war, become like a spear. Harden yourselves against adversity without becoming inflexible.”

Skanda the War God and his dictates.

Five minutes later saw the company standing at attention with their gear and kit piled up in front of them, awaiting their formal in-country briefing. While they were talking about their scary landing, in marched Command Sergeant Major Chandor, a woman who had battle scars on her jowly dog face. Who always looked like she was ready to take the biggest bitch in any pack, right in the throat. As she was the living embodiment of having been there, done that, and just as important had the ribbons and scars to prove it. She was also wearing a full tactical load out of equipment and in addition to her sidearm, she was carrying a 18mm shotgun in a combat sling.

"Good evening Fighting Mongooses of the 221st Combat Engineers!" She was the type of person who usually spoke in capital letters at the top of her gravelly voice.

"Due to your early arrival and some of our hosts not being all that happy you have arrived, I am charged with giving you your in-country brief. Listen up ladies, it is very simple. As of this moment you will go armed at all times. And yes before you ask, it means to the crapper and even to the shower facilities. You no longer go anywhere outside of your barracks or maintenance bays by yourself. You will travel with at least two others. Your helmets, body armour and basic combat ammunition harnesses will be on your person at all times. Again before you ask, even when you are doing Physical Fitness training."

She paused for a moment to let her announcement sink in. "You should know right here and now, there is no such thing as a front or front lines. Everywhere you are, is potentially a combat zone. We are not only fighting a growing insurgency, which is being funded and fueled by the Atlantean Alliance, we are also fighting a civil war. The Yeti, who established the government we are trying to help, were themselves less than a hundred years ago the slaves of the Ourtai. Each one of you will have an in-country download for your tactical slates. I suggest you download it, and study it. Finally there isn't a lot on the lolly that isn't covered in shit. Pull your big girl buggies up and get on with it.”

Sergeant Major Chandor, waited a moment for the appropriate chuckles to die down before finishing her briefing. In the silence between laughs, distant thunder rumbled.

"Hear that ladies? That is our response to your warm welcome. Outgoing messages of love. Sent via 155mm howitzer rounds."

If there had been much in the way of whispering or cross talk during her speech, it died as a fire mission went into the rapid pace of a well crewed battery servicing a target.

Rapt attention was then paid to the good Sergeant Major when she cleared her throat."For those of you who were not listening, weapons on your person at all times. The one time you are without it, invariably the ORM will attack. There is nothing more useless in my mind, than a woman who can't defend herself. If you can't think you can do that, then you might as well shoot yourself in the head now. Save us the trouble of shipping your ashes back to your parents at a later date-I have grave’s registration folks I can call over in a two minute notice. Travel together in threes at a minimum. Three women armed are usually enough to frighten off any of the local mob who might get a little froggy. Use the chain of command and listen to those who have been deployed before you. They have valuable information to share, and their experience should help keep you alive. Stay alert, stay alive! Welcome to the People's Republic of Kazan! Welcome to the show!"

Nodding her head, Senior Lieutenant Tamari Kapoor turned to her fellow officer Lt Verma, and whispered out of the side of her mouth, "No kidding. Welcome to the shit show."

****

Two months of steady engineering work saw Lt. Tamari Kapoor tired and irritable. The 1st Company, of the 221st Combat Engineers had pulled out a month earlier, after explaining, demonstrating, and giving up as much hard earned knowledge of Kazan as they could leaving their sister company the 2nd on their own and struggling to catch up...They called it the “Grind,” And Durga was it ever. Constant patrols. Equipment breaking down, with a sense of growing resistance and push back...

****

The man in the dusty robes, reeking of Auroch sweat and blood, stood in the dusty trading square of Kurait looking at the Hegemony female 'soldiers' “If you can call them soldiers. They should be on their knees offering their bodies for service or washing a man's feet” and their pet men who did their beck and call. His contempt burned in the corner of his eyes, as he looked upon the male members of the Hegemonic taking orders from their female officers. Female haughtiness and contemptuous looks upon their alien faces as they gazed upon his 'primitive' world made his stomach churn in anger and revulsion. They had no respect, or had any idea what it meant to be a true man treading upon the waking face of the world. He knew for all of their supposed piety to their gods and goddesses, technology was their true god; and like any true devotee to a powerful god, they were determined to bring enlightenment to the sweaty unwashed masses of Kazan. And damned to any who might wish to live a different way!”

The man spat in the dirt, as a foul taste filled his mouth, noting their uniforms, patches, and vehicles. A myriad of details about them became written on the slate of his mind, as his internal dialogue raged against what he saw, “Life was hard. It was supposed to be hard. Full of struggle and strife. Seeing your enemy driven bloody before you and the taking of your defeated foes, making slaves of their women was the real life of a Kazar. Relying on machines to keep the sickly and weak alive or to do your work for you, was a curse. Death should be a blessing.”

His youngest son, and best herder of his rangy cattle approached his father, and saw his foul mood, and quietly backed away to the relative safety of the trading tent they used when at market. For it was known it was dangerous to approach when his ire was up; incautious men had died as a result.

It galled the tall man with piercing hate filled eyes, watching the Idegen males scurrying around to do their mistresses whims. It was the knowledge they were doing everything in their powers to take his world, and his place in it away from him, with nothing more sinister than inoculating children against disease, with their magic elixirs and injections, which made his blood boil.

“Thanks be praised to Maktul, Atlanteans at least understand what it means to be a man, and believe the conquered to be our meat! “

Tazim Kural was not the simple trader of meat and hides, he played in the market towns of Kazan. He watched the Idegen outlanders and kept notes in the dots and dashes of the local trade script his people had used since the first true man had walked upon the face of the open grass. He was a holy man of the terrible swift death that follows each man to his grave. Enlightenment came to Tazim when young. It was this knowledge he was born dead, which gave him the power to live like a true man, and bring those who lost their way back to the path of righteousness. His holiness was identified by the adepts and his feet were set on the path of a true human...

The scriptures told of the evils of complex machines, and how Haralkarat had been given as a gift to those who would trade a pure life for one of ease with machines, those who live such a life no longer could be called men. A man did meaningful work. A man's reward should come from the sweat of his own brow and the strength of his arms, and the children he sired.

“Soon I will call the faithful to conduct a raid, and begin the cleansing of our world from becoming slaves of the Idegen.” Tazim mused with silent rage. “Soon scum. Verily your blood will water the grass sea, and we shall take back what was stolen from us.”

Tazim smiled at the female requisition officer of the Hegemony who walked up to his table and asked about ordering seven hundred kilos of dressed Auroch for her battalion mess facility. He snapped his fingers and invited her under the shade of his awning, as his youngest son brought weak tepid tea with sweet barley cakes on an earthen platter. Profit is profit. Taking from the enemy also falls within the strictures of Haralkarat. Stroking his russet colored beard, he mused. As both parties sat down to drink the weak tea, the bargaining began in earnest.

Reading the young woman's last name on her uniform, it took a few moments for the alien surname to register. “Is this the one the Atlanteans have whispered to us about? Is this the one the finger of the Gods have touched? I thought she was a combat officer? I must place my servants in her way. The oracle of the Atlanteans said this one must die.” Tazim's smile grew large on his face, and he began to deliberately earn the young commissary officers' trust...

****

Kazan had come as a bit of a shock. The information briefings division had given Senior Lieutenant (promotable) Tamari Kapoor, was not the same thing as smelling or seeing an endless sea of grass stretching for hundreds and hundreds of kilometers in any direction or the bleakness of the desert regions. It was a very stark contrast, like a line of demarcation drawn by the fingertip of the Gods themselves. She also thought it was a good thing Space Command had launched a constellation of satellites for them to use in navigation. There just weren't any markers to go off of or much of one at any rate, discounting the odd hill. Kazan itself was shaped like a long shallow bowl with mountains as the only means of identification, at the extreme borders of the country. Never close enough to use for land navigation.

I think it is the lack of trees which throws me. Plenty of shrubs but cursed little in the way of trees or shade!

For a land of high desert with the eastern half of the country grass filled with steppes, Kazan's fabled dust was all pervasive. It got into everything. A week after her unit had arrived, the electronics began failing or their optics in their fighting vehicles began to clog and cloud over. But the worst surprise was the flies. Here several months into their deployment their vehicles were spending almost as much time in the repair bays as they were in the field. Which meant it was just a drudgery kind of wake up, fix shit you had fixed the day before, go patrol looking for something that might kill you, come back and begin the process all over again.

“The glorious life of a Combat Engineer!” Tamari saw an image of herself covered in filth, with a rifle in one hand and shovel in the other. “What the well dressed Engineering Officer looks like!” Her self pitying ruminations were interrupted by her Gunner.

“ I heard from a good source, Durga looked upon Kazan, and looked upon hell. She decided hell wasn't half bad so I heard she ordered Kali to give this shit hole flies.” Sergeant Sita Chambial, Tamari's gunner and military aide, looked over their firebase cum operations center as they were finishing up yet again another set of diagnostics on their vehicles night vision system, she then turned and smiled her patented goofy smile.

Lt Kapoor looked at her gunner and hid her head in silent laughter trying to maintain some sort of composure. Sita's comment wouldn't have been half as funny as she found it, if Kapoor wasn't as tired as she was, and if it didn't appear to be a true statement.

“Sergeant Chambial, I have wasted enough hours on this piece of crap for one day. Go haul the imagery unit out, and take it to the tech unit and see if they can pull a diagnostic on it. If it comes up as I think it is going to, as defective seals, get some made and then come back and install it. I want this vehicle up and running for stand-to first thing in the morning.”

Wiping her hands on a greasy rag, which every vehicle in the Hegemony always seemed to have an abundance of, Tamari climbed out her vehicle commander's hatch, dropped down onto the back combat ramp of her vehicle. Pausing Tamari took a moment to marshal her thoughts, as she lit one of her clove oil cigars.

Looking into the interior of her vehicle where Sgt Chambial sat in her gunner's station, “Grab your accomplice scrounger, Private Behai out of whatever game of dice or other nefarious activity she has slithered off to and get it installed and tested.” (It was known fact Behai was a quiet, modest, reserved young soldier, who kept mostly to her quarters or in and around the vehicle she was assigned to drive. No one knew if she even had a social life. But it was also a known fact, she could not be trusted around anything that wasn't nailed down or under lock and key, and even then...maybe.)

Sergeant Chambial smiled. It was her best feature, her smile. It took a normally broad if not ugly but unattractive face and illuminated her defiant spirit. She was also one of the few who could appreciate Tamari's dry sense of humor. “Yes ma'am we are on it.”

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Since being assigned to Lt Kapoor, Sita's patented smile was one of the few things, which kept her out of trouble for the sarcastic and anti-authoritative statements she mumbled under her breath on a regular basis; that and her absolute competence for all tasks set before her. She could change a tire or defuse a double dead fall landmine. It was common knowledge she had been told by several senior NCOs and Officers to keep her mouth shut, but for some reason she never had the ability to do so. She was however the best gunner in the company and was never found without her trademark smile, even when doing scut work cleaning the latrines.

The 2nd Company, 221st Combat Engineers known as the 'Fighting Mongooses,' was an old and established unit of the Hegemony. They had existed as a combat engineering unit since the great Mawar Rebellion in '06 some two hundred years ago. They could build fortifications, roads and bridges and even more quickly destroy them. They could even emplace mine fields of a dozen different types, and diffuse at least forty different kinds of munitions and mines from an entire galaxy of manufactures and hostile nation states. What they were not trained to do was act as cavalry or light infantry. Yet with the latest rounds of military expenditures, they were being forced into roles they had no previous training for, with the dreaded phrase “mission creep,” her unit had been taking on a larger and larger role of responsibility they were not really prepared for.

Lieutenant Tamari Kapoor, being the daughter of the Kapoor of Kapoor, had wanted to follow in her ancestors footsteps as a cavalry officer. All of the Kapoor future Matrons of the vast Kapoor Clan had always been Cavalry.

“Not damn dirt digging Engineers!” Angry thoughts of what she considered a misplaced destiny poked like hot spears into her consciousness. It had been almost five years since she had graduated, and her not getting posted to the 1st Guard Lancers still rankled.

“Duty is heavier than a mountain and death lighter than a feather.” Was one of her mother's favorite sayings. And with her mother's voice echoing in her head she went off to take care of a problem which might keep some of her people alive...

Her posting was a sore spot, “Hell we still raise cavalry mounts back home! Our own household security forces are mounted troops! OK, they might be in Panther armored cars... The Deodar Lancers of Kapoor are legendary! And I am stuck here commanding farmers, buffalo herders, and diggers of night soil trenches; Who considers a fun time throwing water grenades at each other using heating tabs and used water bottles when they get bored!”

“Seldom does self pity get the lance stuck in!” Her Sword Mistress' words echoed in Tamari's head as she decided to talk to her company senior NCO, Gunnery Sgt Chavram. Although her sense of duty didn't stop her from kicking the odd rock in her path as she stomped off. “Take that!”

Ten minutes later Tamari found her senior company NCO inspecting a new motor/wheel assembly on her personal vehicle the maintenance techs were replacing. Kartikeya Industries, had built the AFV Mk-II “Rath'' or War Chariot for combat in the open plains of R'un, fighting and maneuvering against Atlantean armor brigades which were at the time poised on the border ready to invade the homeland at any given minute.

Tamari walked softly by the back combat ramp, and ran her appraising eyes over the MK-II. It had good reactive armor panels, proof against most anything up to certain heavy duty wire guided missiles and a main gun round from a battle tank. She ran her hands over its pebbled surface with its explosive panels microns below the paint layer. “It feels like a mechanical lizard. Hot in the summer, cold in the winter.”

It was a rugged design with one weird character flaw. It had a tendency to burn out the overloads in the independent motor drives. Each of the eight wheels on the vehicle had its own independent drive motors. It didn't need a transmission or drivetrain. Each motor was controlled by what the troops called the brain box. In essence it was an electronic transmission telling each wheel assembly how much power was needed and when it was needed.

Patting the reactive panels, Tamari thought, “Damn sure glad I have one of these, where I can fight back if attacked and not run away like our under-gunned Engineering carriers.”

****

The MK-II had been modified for service in Kazan by the Ordinance weasels in the Design Bureau. They had made some significant changes to the AFV. The biggest one was the removal of the anti-tank missile launcher on the side of the Vehicle Commander's turret assembly; and for the Vehicle Commander an eight barrel 12.5mm chain gun had been installed with its ammunition storage put in place of where the launcher used to be.

Staring up at the commander's turret assembly, “This is where I keep my teeth!” Tamari gave a predator's grin, remembering the long extra hours on the gunnery range she had spent mastering its weapons and communication systems.

Tamari stood silently by the back deck watching an interesting example of applied NCO leadership in action; while waiting for a moment when she could announce her presence. Gunny Chavram stood staring at the techs as they bolted in a new part fresh off the fabber production unit which was still making happy chirping noises as it gave birth to what looked like a final drive gear torsion unit for a dead lined heavy service truck up on a technicians lift.

“Gunny, do you have a few moments you can talk?” Tamari asked as she walked up behind the NCO.

Spinning around and rendering her salute, “Absolutely ma'am. Give me a moment and I will be right with you.”

Tamari pulled back to a shady spot under the metal mechanics shed and lit a clove cigarette she had come to love a great deal. She then watched Gunny Chavram very creatively chew the technicians out using word combinations which would have made a male prostitute blush. This was followed shortly later by a lot of vocalization just below the level of her hearing. And even more finger pointing, with a technician taking the old unit to a work bench for disassembly and examination, while the rest of them just nodded their heads and made placating gestures. Finally Gunny Chavram gave a stiff nod of her head, and with a commanding voice, told the technicians she wanted a report streamed to her tactical slate within the next hour.

“Ma'am, what can I do for you today?”

“Before I get to what made me find you, I want to know what that was all about.”

Seeing her Company Executive Officer had already lit up, she made a gesture as if asking if it was OK for her to light one up as well. Tamari nodded affirmatively.

Pausing for a moment Gunny Chavram, sighed and started in, “Static electricity brought on by exposure to grass, and this damn pervasive fine particulate dust. It causes a short in the electronic control interface of the drive motors. It builds up on the circuit boards, The dust that is, and it causes a low voltage and intermittent short circuit as the dust is conductive and it bleeds energy off. Which in turns causes a cascading failure in the motor; which instead of getting a steady control signal, gets either too much or even worse too little power. Too little power is actually worse for the control linkages as it burns them out faster than too much because there are overloads in place.”

“Two things Gunny, first-how did you discover this? Secondly, is there a remedy?”

“Yes ma'am there is a remedy. But not one that those technicians will find in the database Maintenance Command sends out in their emails. As to how I found out, it’s sort of an embarrassing story. I just know how to fix it.”

“Oh hell no. Now you’re really going to have to tell this story to me.”

Gunny Chavram breathed in deep and blushed, “Ma’am the remedy is, you fill a prophylactic with petroleum jelly and insert it into the maintenance port. It works better than the gaskets which come programmed by the fabber unit. Seals the dust down to the two to three micron range. When you tighten the bolts on the maintenance port it squeezes the jelly conforming to the size and shape of the port. And then Narinda is your Aunt! Bang! You are back rolling along. Fifteen minutes fix per wheel assembly and by keeping it in the condom, you don't get gunky petroleum jelly and grit gumming the works up even worse.”

Tamari made a rolling come here gesture with her hand...

Finishing off her own cigarette, Gunny Chavram looked down into her XO's face, “And we discovered this by doing border patrol in R'un. We kept losing our second set of motors on our AFVs. One week it was the left side and then the right the following. Drove us crazy. ”

“Who is this 'we' you speak of, Gunny?”

“Oh I am sorry. I thought you knew. I was once a very promotable sergeant in the 1st Guards regiment before I switched over to engineering. And the reason no one wants to admit to the fix is, who wants the vaunted and famed protectors of the Matron of Matrons and guardians of the Hegemony knowing they run their vehicle's motors on dick grease and condoms?”

Both women tall and short just shared a moment... Tamari could feel her eyes bulging. Each one was afraid to move for what seemed like an eternity. Then finally Tamari just couldn't hold it in, and began laughing a deep belly laugh. Tears poured from both women's eyes.

When she could stop laughing, Tamari opined, “No I bet there is some sort of dark secret ritual promising rebirth as a gaseous pox riddled goat or something for revealing 'that' little secret.”

“Near enough ma'am. What can I do for you today?”

“Oddly enough it was because I found out where you came from before landing here. I do have to review the company personnel files. I read you had come out of the armor branch although I missed the part about your being from one of the Guard regiments. I wanted to pick your brain for a few moments about some issues I see coming our way... I just didn't realize it was the 1st Guards regiment.”

“Karma is weird. And so is the universe. Wonder what the odds are that the very Regiment I wanted to belong to, one of her former NCOs, is standing tall in front of me?”

“ Lt Kapoor, I can tell you a couple of things. The 1st Guards are not all their propaganda would have you believe. And her officers do believe their own regimental mess conversation. I also know your family has a long association with them. But I would stack any of our farm girls against the best they have... And with that being said, what can I do for you ma'am? What is the pressing issue?”

“Gunny two of the ugliest words any professional soldier will ever hear... 'Mission Creep.'”

“Oh ma'am you do hit in the chesticles!

“We are running out of bridges to build, fortifications to create and all the nice boring duty engineers are expected to do for a living. If you haven't noticed, our engineering tasking missions are in decline and our Explosive Ordnance Disposal missions are growing weekly. I have been reading emails and field reports from the far Eastern operational area. Improved Mines and Munitions are on the rise and even more important, vehicle ambushes associated with those anti-IMM missions are also on the rise as well. I want our company Vehicle Commander's and their drivers, and especially gunners to include Sgt Chambial and my driver Benai drilled heavily on cavalry tactics, and on what to do during an action on contact, or the actions to take during an ambush. I don't want to get caught with our buggies hanging down around our knees. Furthermore, I think you are the NCO who can help instill some new tactics to a non cavalry unit.”

“Oh ma'am, don't you know, I just love to train the young and innocent! It would be my pleasure.” Gunny Sergeant Chavram smiled an evil smile, which never made it to the folds in her hard as diamond eyes.

“Good Gunny! I can't stop a mine clearing action. But I can do something about what to do if they start shooting at us with rocket propelled grenades or anti-armor munitions. I want our ladies to instinctively know what to do, and I will set aside training time in our schedule to do so.”

“I can and will deal with this.” Gunnery Sergeant Chavram said, while thinking to herself, “Look at this Lt Kapoor. We may not be a Guards unit, but she is going to treat us like one. Maybe, just maybe our company will get through this deployment relatively in one piece. Good call!”

“Task Sergeant Chambial when you need help training the others. I read in her profile, she came over from armor with you at the same time.”

“Yes ma'am she did. You have the best gunner in the company. Even if she is a pain in the ass to deal with. Especially her damn black Chaa.”

They both laughed at the ugly memory of drinking her Chaa. But even though Sgt Chambial was her aide, (A paid position similar to a butler or maid.) No threats of violence or money could get her to make anything but stand-a-spoon-up-in-the-middle-of-a-mug Chaa.

Tamari nodded her head with the memory of the bitter fluid still in the back of her throat, and simply said, “Goddess that stuff is horrible. I must have done something really horrible in a past life to deserve having to drink that shit.”

A few more moments were spent ending the conversation, and then the two women nodded their heads and went their different ways. One to see about securing several large boxes of condoms and lubrication, and the other to the never ending piles of orders, emails and requisition forms and training schedules.