First Contact

Chapter 805: Ultimis Diebus Hominum

"Welcome to 432nd Maintenance and Support Brigade, Major," Colonel Ashwarkek said, leaning forward to shake Vuxten's hand.

"Thank you, ma'am," Vuxten said, taking the Rigellian female's hand and shaking it briskly.

"Have a seat, Major," the Colonel said. She pointed at a seated Kobold. "My XO, Lieutenant Colonel Davis," she pointed at a Treana'ad Warrior. "My Command Sergeant Major, Kal'Tark."

Both of them nodded as Vuxten moved over and sat down.

"How was convalescent leave?" the Colonel asked.

Vuxten shrugged. "As good as sitting around doing nothing for two weeks can be, and as enjoyable as two weeks of physical therapy can be."

That got chuckles.

"Well, seeing as you got atom smashed right in the face, just be glad you're here," the Sergeant Major chuckled.

Vuxten nodded.

"Sorry it took so long to arrange this sit down, but we've been really busy lately," the Colonel said. "I saw that your Engineering Assistant is scheduled to return to duty in a few days."

Vuxten nodded. "He was pretty banged up. Took him a while for his neural injuries to fully heal."

The Colonel glanced at the surface of her desk, which Vuxten knew was displaying data. "Says here that he passed his telemechanics check this morning," she looked back up. " Normally, he'd be assigned to the main maintenance shop, but seeing as you two have spent the better part of," she glanced down. "Eight years together, and involving the special circumstances, I had a different plan."

Vuxten frowned. "What?"

She sat down, resting her elbows on her desk, and smiled. "Well, this is your first non-combat arms posting, Major. From your conscription, you've been combat arms," she said. "This time, however, you'll be taking over from Major Hokneth, who is being medically discharged next month. I want your Engineering Assistant to work with you."

Vuxten nodded. "I'm taking over what exactly?" he asked.

"Right now, I'm putting you in staff operations officer for maintenance schedules and material logistics handling," the Colonel said. "Get you some experience on the non-combat side of the Confederate military."

The XO cleared his throat and Vuxten looked at him.

"Don't consider this a punishment for what happened to your last unit," the Kobold said. "But after eight years of combat arms, the Confederate military wants you to expand your skillset."

Vuxten just nodded, the words of a certain Colonel on one particularly interesting day coming back to him.

"Plus, you're the highest ranking Telkan in the Telkan Marine Corps, the experience you gain here will be critical to the later successes and doctrine developments of your military forces," the Sergeant Major said, lighting a cigarette. He held the pack out, but all three officers shook their heads. "You Telkan, you can fight, we've seen you can lead, now we need to see if you can sustain the line."

Vuxten nodded.

"I know you're still on light duty, Major," the Colonel said. She gave another smile and picked up a laser pointer. She clicked it and an image appeared on the wall.

The battalions and companies beneath the Brigade. The full Table of Organization and Equipment.

"Let's start with 138th Maintenance Battalion," she said. "It's a full power armor third shop, capable of rebuilding a suit of power armor from nano-forge templates," she smiled. "It's also where your armor is being stored due to its, shall we say, unique requirements."

Vuxten just nodded and settled himself in for a long lecture.

-----

Telkan Marine Corps PFC Bit.nek had been inducted into the "That Guy" club over a two months ago. He'd come through a battle where he'd been caught out in the open by an atomic round without much more than a few light abrasions and bruises. Strangely, he hadn't even required much radiation therapy or chelation. He'd been in the hospital less than 24 hours, and most of that for 'observation', before being released and sent back to his unit. He'd been transferred to 21st Replacement, then assigned to 3112 Infantry Battalion, Second Telkan Marine Division, less than a week later.

Bit.nek found he didn't mind being known as "That Guy" by his comrades. He had "BORN TO DIE!" stenciled on the backplate of his hard shell plating. He'd put "SMASHY SMASHY" over the nanoforge atomic element number of Uranium-235 on his helmet. His power armor had an atomic blast cloud stenciled on the chest with "ACCEPTABLE LOSSES!" on it.

He'd spent the last month of combat first into the fray. He'd always made it, his armor suffering light, if any, damage from the no-holds-barred in-your-face combat against the Atrekna servitors. He'd taken part in the final assault on Crystal Palace and the whirlwind of full on combat there.

He'd exited the wreckage of Crystal Palace with only three little dings in his armor.

His engineer buddy had slept through the entire fight.

In training for the last month, he'd always been first through the door, first down the hallway, first out of the striker, first out of the drop-pod.

His best friend, made during the fateful battle that had wrecked his previous unit, was a Hesstlan tanker who had fought the rest of the battle for the planet as infantry, right next to him. Almret was a native of Hesstla, who had actually joined the Hesstlan Armor Corps after both battles for his home planet. Almret had survived the atom smasher, fought without a tank for 3 hours, and come out the other side unscathed. During the battles for the planet, he'd been reassigned to 19th Armored Cavalry Regiment, Hesstlan Tanker Corps, which was assigned as armor support for 3112 Infantry.

More than once Almret drove into combat with Bit.nek standing on the hull, running the TC's gun.

They'd formed a fast friendship in the dust of the atom smasher round, and it had lasted through the rest of the battle and into the retraining, rearming, and refitting afterwards.

After all, they had more than just the battles in common.

Like Bit.nek, Almret had no family any more.

The wars on their home planets had even wiped away their extended families.

Almret was the driver of a tank full of "That Guys", who had survived after their tanks had been blown out from under them. The Tank Commander, a Hesstlan Staff Sergeant by the name of Egradely, had fought on foot in three different battles and had been the gunner of a tank during General P'Kank's legendary offensive that threw the Atrekna off of Hesstla.

In the NCO Club, Bit.nek sat a table full of "That Guys", got drunk with a bunch of "That Guys", fist fought with a bunch of "That Guys", and even hit up the coingirls and joyboys with "That Guys".

His CO looked at his escapades with exasperated amusement. His fellow Telkan Marines considered him a legend in the making. His fellow "That Guys" threw their arms over his shoulders or gave him a playful headbutt when they ran into one another.

Bit.nek didn't mind being "That Guy" in his company.

Because, like most "That Guys", he didn't care if the enemy killed him. It never crossed his mind that they might kill him, because, to him, it didn't matter.

As long as he went out with blood all over his hands.

While his CO yelled at him for his escapades, his buddy's cheered him on and his comrades figured 'better him than me' when it came down to it.

He was perversely pleased with the award ceremony that had taken place when they'd promoted him.

He'd been drunk as a lord, staggered to the front of the formation, had wavered back and forth, blinking his bloodshot eyes, reeking of booze, still smeared with the paint and chalk dust of joygirls, his fur still sparkling with stripper glitter, while they'd read out the acts of valor he honestly had almost forgotten about. They'd pinned the award to his uniform, then promoted him.

The rank had barely been put on when he'd vomited up all kinds of interesting colors, some them even glowed in the dark.

None of it got on the Battalion CO, but he'd went to the back of the formation wearing his old rank anyway.

But that was OK.

He was "That Guy."

Four hours later he'd charged an emplaced bunker that had his entire platoon pinned down with four guns, two grenade launchers, and a rocket launcher. He jumped over the lip of the crater his squad was hunkered down in, running through the fire, lowered his shoulder, and rammed through the bunker's forward wall, killing the servitors inside with his bare hands.

The image of Bit.nek beating one servitor to death with another had made the Brigade newsletter.

His engineer buddy, 822, had put a pair of holoemitters, entirely out of regs, on the collar of his armor to broadcast a pixel-art Hesstlan smiley-face emoji in front of his own faceplate that was one-way.

His CO and XO had seen it and just looked the other way, shaking their heads.

Now it was all down to training and wait to be rotated out to a new theater. A new planet in the sector where the Atrekna were dug in hard and particularly refusing to die.

And training meant garrison.

And "That Guy" never did good in garrison.

Which is why it was 0130 when he came staggering out of the black market brothel being run out of the empty Conex yard, buckling up his adaptive camouflage pants. Two of his buddies were there, including "Cathy", whose real name was Kathreelee and was a Hikken who'd fallen in with the Telkan Marine Corps back on Delvut-15 and Operation Thimble. She was a "That Guy" who had survived everything the Council and then the Atrekna and the Autonomous War Machines had thrown at her with little more than a notch in one ear over the last nine years (relative to her).

"What's so important?" Bit.nek asked, accepting the bottle of alk that Cathy handed him.

"Got a tip from my buddy Big Mike in Range Control," Almret slurred.

Bit.nek took a long pull off the bottle and handed it back to Cathy. "Thanks," he burped. He looked at Almret. "What kind of tip?"

"Some shit we're gonna wanna see," Cathy answered, taking a hit off the bottle then rubbing it against the side of her furry face. She handed the bottle to Shek'lan. "Trust me, this is not something you're gonna wanna miss, brother."

The trio staggered over to the massive training building, going in through the back door, and drunkenly trying to be quiet as they made their way to the Range Control Master Control Office.

"Say that three times fast," Cathy snickered.

"Range Control Master Ranger Control... dammit," Bit.nek laughed.

Almret knocked on the door and it opened to reveal Gunnery Sergeant Myk'larshker AKA Big Mike, a Pubvian.

"You guys made it just in time," Big Mike said, turning around. He folded his middle leg up, heel against his tailbone, and motioned at them to follow him as he hurried in.

The trio came in, Big Mike accepting the bottle of harsh alk when Cathy handed it to him.

"Urban Combat Course Seven?" Almret asked.

"You got it," Big Mike said.

"I didn't even know you guys worked this late," Cathy said.

"Normally don't. Our boy here, though, command's keeping him under wraps, so he had to do stuff at night," Big Mike said. He tapped a few controls. "Watch the screens."

The screens came live, showing that Course Seven was live with a company sized sweep and clear of six blocks of enemy held territory. Full pain and interaction, with flashing warnings that to most of the Confederate and Council species, the level of pain and impact would be lethal.

"Wait, is that The Grinder scenario?" Almret asked.

"Yup," Big Mike said. He typed with all three hands, pausing to turn his head around backwards and doublecheck the doorway.

"Isn't the record so far the twenty-two percent mark?" Bit.nek asked.

"Not any more," Big Mike said. He made a shushing motion and leaned down, activating the mike.

"Scenario live in three... two... one... MARK!" he said.

The drunken trio watched as a Terran burst out of the beginner box, moving at a dead run, throwing themselves headfirst through a window in a shower of 'glass' from the eVR and hard light constructs.

Bit.nek noticed that the Terran wasn't wearing powered armor or even a loading frame. Not even full tactical adaptive camouflage armor. Just front and back torso covering. No leg or arm pads.

Not even a helmet.

The four observers passed the bottle back and forth, the newcomers each taking a seat, and watched as the Terran ran through a course where he was outnumbered four hundred to one by 'servitors' that had 'knowledge' of the ground, emplaced weapons, booby traps, and were well prepared.

At one point the Terran threw a punch, his fist going through the wall, and grabbed a servitor, pulling it through the macroplas wall, stabbing it, using it for cover as he fired the rifle at the others, then moved on.

"Digital Omnimessiah, I'd give my vagina to be able to move like that," Cathy slurred as the Terran threw himself behind a wall right before a light machinegun opened up, peppering the wall with short laser bolt shots.

The quartet watched as the Terran burst through a door, in between twelve servitors, and killed them all with pistol and knife.

"How many times did he stab that guy?" Almret asked as the Terran killed servitors drawn by screams and shouts of alarm.

The Pubvian checked the board. "Twelve times in 1.15 seconds," Big Mike said.

"He's not even tired," Almret said.

Big Mike checked the board. "A little winded. Blood oxy is at 98.9 but he bounces right up with each breath. He's burning a lot of calories, lot of carbs. He's into his own fat storage now," Big Mike said. "He's ripped through about four thousand calories."

"I try to eat that much, I'd OD on turkey buttholes," Cathy laughed.

Twenty minutes in and the buzzer sounded.

The Terran had killed every servitor on the course.

"Wow, thanks, Big Mike, that was a hell of a thing to watch," Almret said.

"No problem," the Pubvian said. He socked Almret on the shoulder. "Take care, doofus."

"You too," Almret said.

"Nice meeting you two," Big Mike said.

"You too," Bit.nek said.

"Gimme a call the next time some shit like this goes down and I'll blow you while you watch," Cathy said, wiggling her ears.

Big Mike laughed and unlocked the door. "Don't make too much noise on the way out."

The trio 'snuck' out, stumbling into the oh-dark-thirty night. They staggered over to the nearest lamp post, leaning against it, and passed the almost empty bottle around.

"That was some badass shit to watch," Cathy said. She shook her head. "I'd sacrifice both of you and my tits to the Detainee to have moves like that," she laughed. She went through a quick set of hand katas and held the pose at the end. "Damn, makes my shoulders hurt just trying to copy him."

"Fucking Terrans, man," Almret belched. He tipped the bottle over and made a mournful sound when nothing dribbled out. "Command, it's a bust here, request new coordinates."

Bit.nek laughed. "Let's hit the NCO Club. They don't close for another twenty minutes."

"Good plan," Almret said.

Together the three "That Guy" staggered into the darkness.

"Enraged Phillip, can you imagine being that much of a badass with just one eye?" Bit.nek asked.