Chapter 754: The Inheritor's War

Chapter 754: The Inheritor's War

"Grav strikers don't fly, they vibrate so badly that the ground gets a restraining order" - Red "Stormy" Clanslee, Age of Paranoia Military Theorist, TerraSol

His name was Yrler.

It meant, in his own language: Right Eye.

He had a scar all the way around his right eye, interrupting the fur. It was his most noticeable feature as he was a people that weren't all that notable.

He was a Hikanian, a small people with fluffy fur, wide eyes, and big heads. His people were a little people, emotional, caring, content with their automated farms and their close knit families.

They had been beneath the boot of the Unified Council for a thousand generations when the Precursor Autonomous War Machines had arrived. Luckily for the Hikanian people, the Mad Lemurs of Terra had arrived right afterwards and kicked the robots right back off the planet.

When the Overseers had come back, the Mad Lemurs had kicked them back off too.

Then came the Atrekna.

The Mad Lemurs were gone, but their friends were still there.

For twelve years Yrler had fought the Atrekna. Deprivation and hardship had left him only 1.1 meters tall rather than the glorious 1.5 meters he should have been. He had scars under his soft fur where talons and debris had cut his sensitive skin.

He had survived the Atrekna invasion. More than that, he'd helped others survive.

This time he had helped kick the Atrekna back off the planet.

But none of that mattered to Yrler any more.

Yrler, real name Pelfar-8726c71, was a heavy combat striker solo pilot now. Part of XXXIV Corps, First Telkan Armored Division, First Air Cavalry Regiment, 1st Brigade, 1st Battalion, Alpha Company.

The tip of the spear.

And Operation Iron Piglet was on.

Which meant the XXXIV Corps would be assaulting eight systems, together with V Corps, VII Corps, III Corps, and XL Corps.

More troops that the Atrekna probably thought even existed.

Yrler knew that Operation Iron Piglet was going to be one of the most significant events of his life.

His excitement involved more than that, he was part of Operation Atomite Djinn.

Which meant he would be on the sharp end, the very bleeding tip of the warsteel spear of the Confederate Military.

He would be fired like a missile at the planet. If one thing went wrong, he'd hit the planet at relativistic speeds and then the invasion wouldn't matter to him, the Task Force, or anyone on what had been the planet.

But that was fine.

He was a grav-striker pilot.

His life expectancy in many wars had been in negative seconds.

That didn't matter to him.

It didn't matter to him that he was the only Hikanian grav-striker pilot in the entire Confederate Armed Services, much less a solo combat striker.

What mattered is that other people needed help.

Yrler knew what it was like to be small, unimportant, and helpless.

-----

"The Boss Hogg has eight hundred graviton assist orbit to ground mag-launchers," the Colonel was saying, standing next to the large 2.5D image being projected by the holotank. "That means that in less than ninety seconds all of First Battalion will be launched toward the surface."

Yrler made a note, not looking away from the holotank.

Suspended was a 2.5D representation of the single super-continent of the planet that the Task Force was heading toward.

"Alpha Company, First Battalion will be engaging any enemy infantry or armor units in this area here," the Colonel said.

Alpha Company will be dropped wherever the grav-tube operators feel like and whatever is funniest to them Yrler annotated on his dataslate.

"This area is where Alpha Company will concentrate their operations until Logistics Bases and Forward Support or Operations Bases are constructed, which the Combat Engineers estimates should be within the first couple of hours," the Colonel continued.

All strikers are going to end up being pushed by hand into the combat zone by the pilot with the green mantid engineer sits on top and throws rocks at the enemy.

Yrler's dataslate pinged to let him know he had a topographical map loaded up. He checked it, saw it was from before the Atrekna had occupied the system, and made a note to check with Naval Intelligence to see if they had updated topographical maps.

"Enemy air defense is expected to be light, as Atrekna air defense systems are biological in nature it can be expected that air defense will pick up rapidly as the Atrekna redeploy forces," the Colonel kept saying. "It will take some time for the Atrekna air defense to adapt to the new strikers and shielding."

Enemy air defense should be considered in strength and rapidly adapting, Yrler wrote down.

"At this time, it is believed that any air defense systems, biological or autonomous robotic units, will be largely ground based," the Colonel said. "However, it should be crude and easily countered."

Enemy air defense will be ground and air based and possibly use magic.

"Naval and Army Intelligence believes that the Atrekna forces will largely consist of previously engaged combat units, which means the new shields and armor will be more effective than previous iterations," the Colonel said.

On one hand it seemed to fly by, but for another part of his brain, each second seemed to take an eternity. He was aware of each breath, each heartbeat, the slight trickle of sweat down the back of his head, the slight leg cramp from the tension.

"Five"

Yrler held onto the 'oh-shit' bars that were mainly there to give him to something other than the control yoke to hold onto during launches like this.

"Four"

Yrler swallowed and blinked.

"Three"

The grav striker seemed to lean forward slightly. His weapon statuses went from green to amber.

"Two"

--here we go-- 515 said.

"LAUNCH LAUNCH LAUNCH" she didn't raise her voice so much as her voice got sharp, authoritative, and intent.

The system grabbed his striker and whipped it forward. The fifty meter thick armored hull whipped by so fast that Yrler's brain barely processed it.

Then he was in space.

On his macroplas forward viewscreen/window the rings of the grav-slide appeared. He was perfectly in the middle of the rings as he shot forward at speeds that Yrler suddenly wondered if the striker had ever been tested at.

The countdown for outer atmosphere interception appeared but the striker was already slowing, the distance from the grav and mag-field generators reducing speed.

The control yoke moved into position and Yrler felt the pedals get the mushy feeling of 'half live' as the striker's computers took over from the Boss Hogg's launch control computers.

Yrler held onto the 'oh-shit' bars since the rings were still purple for outer orbit and he had eighteen seconds before he hit the first faint wisps of atmosphere.

"Blue Flight, check in," came the voice of Chief Warrant Officer Third Grade Hurklet.

"Blue-One here, all system nominal," Yrler said, triggering his commo.

The others checked in quickly.

Five seconds to outer atmosphere.

Yrler grabbed the stick and swallowed.

If anything went wrong he'd have a split second to react.

The rings turned red and the heavy combat striker started shuddering.

A piece of trivia floated up in Yrler's brain.

A green striker pilot has a 68% chance of getting killed during their first combat insertion.

Yrler was suddenly less than happy with his brain.

The rings flashed yellow and Yrler felt himself thrown against the belts as the braking system kicked in, dropping him to a 'mere' MACH-Three instead of the speed he'd been fired at from beyond the orbit of the outer moon in the first ten seconds after the Boss Hogg's micro-jump.

He blinked twice, felt a puff of air against his eyeballs to make him do it involuntarily.

Training suddenly kicked in even as his upper intellect was still processing what he was seeing. The warboi software embedded in his reflex system suddenly screamed and kicked him straight in the chest.

Yrler grabbed the stick, stomped the controls.

"BREAK RIGHT BREAK RIGHT BREAK RIGHT!" Yrler chanted out over the commo channel, reflexively hitting the emergency broadcast.

Below the incoming Blue Flight, what had looked from orbit like large patches of vegetation loomed.

And were massive air creatures stately floating along surrounded by a cloud of pollen that acted as chaff as well as smaller creatures.

Yrler slammed the button, slicing open the side of the grav-tube, and rolled out, spinning the grav-striker even as reflexes, hammered in by training, took over.

The warboi software embedded in his brain tracked size, velocity, mass, elevation, direction, dropping the data straight to his subconscious reflexes before bothering his thinky-goo stuff about it.

"GUNS LIVE!" Blue Leader called out even as targeting carets bracketed the huge floating creatures.

Yrler's thumb moved and he flipped the cover off the firing rocket. He felt the gun barrel deploy of the heavy main gun.

Streaks suddenly erupted from the sides of the massive creature he was heading for, climbing toward him.

Yrler realized that the Atrekna creature had just gone guns hot too as he hauled back on the stick, hitting his grav-brakes to drop speed even as he leveled out and arrested his dive.

Alarms trilled, letting him know he was locked up but the warboi told his subconscious before he realized it himself that it was broad-spectrum wide-area targeting coming from the huge creatures below him.

His battlescreens came on with a snap as the bright sparks floated lazily toward him. Chaff and flares deployed as he snap rolled left out of the way of the lead missile.

As it whipped by Yrler frowned. He'd only seen it for a split second.

But he'd swear it had a mouth and eyes.