Chapter 790: The Inheritor's War

Chapter 790: The Inheritor's War

I have seen the humans live in mud and dirt, with virtually no supplies but a cracked nanoforge spitting out lard-like nutripaste that tasted of rotted apples. I have seen them fight with their bayonets, their knives, with their bare hands. I have seen them climb over their own dead to rip the enemy's throat out with their teeth.

If your species cannot match such devotion to survival, to victory, to defeating the enemy, to combat, then you have no hope of standing up against the humans. - L'Zek, Treana'ad Warrior, Post-Humflet War, PG 5381, Smokey Cone Press.

On the phasic display the missiles, mortars, and artillery were pounding the Inheritor unit, more and more getting through as the point defense became more and more ragged. Some missiles were sending back telemetry data that the Young One threw up on other phasic displays.

**Now we watch to see if your strategy is superior** several Ancient Ones stated, folding their arms into the sleeves of their robes and drifting forward slightly. **We shall see how it plays out**

"NO!" the Young One shouted. It opened a can the thickness and length of an Atrekna forearm. There was the sharp crack and fizz of carbonated liquid. 'You'll regret this' the can stated right before the Young One upended it over its mouth, gulping down the 'axle grease and your dad's old running shoes' flavored liquid. It sputtered, then lifted its arms up. "OH YEAH, BABY! GIVE IT TO ME!" before shuddering and turning its attention back to the displays.

The Atrekna all glanced at one another. The ones near the Young One backed away slightly, giving up their view of the phasic displays. Some slipped out of the room, fear of infection filling them.

"That's your problem," the Young One said, throwing the can to the side where it bounced off the wall. "You just make the plans, give the orders for them to be executed, then watch," it sneered. It pulled out another can and cracked it open. 'Bingo bingo bingo COLA RAD XTREME TO THE MAX!' the can squeaked.

It turned back to the phasic displays.

**Then what shall you do** an Ancient One asked.

"Coordinate this battle," the Young One snapped. It tapped a unit icon, opening up a phasic channel and ordering the artillery unit to mix in nanite suppression rounds at a 6 fuel-air to 1 suppression. The Young One then ordered the tanks forward, mixed with the infantry, ordering the infantry to watch for man-portable anti-armor rocket armed troops.

**If your plans were superior it would require no oversight or correction** an Ancient One stated, coldly arrogant.

"Which is why your plans have almost lost us this planet?" the Young One asked. It took a deep drink of can. "THIS is why the Inheritors defeat us."

**excuses already** another Ancient One asked. **admit it we are superior**

The Young One turned around, the sleeve falling from its hand and arm. There was a complex brace on its arm and the Young One twisted its wrist. With a snap a knife sprang out of the forearm brace, the blade eight inches long and gleaming.

"I admit no such thing," the Young One stated, pulling out another can.

The Ancient Ones backed up slightly again.

The Young One cracked the can, ignoring the jingle, then punctured the bottom of the can before upending it over its mouth. It gulped down the contents of the can and threw the can at the wall.

"Recycle, it's great for the environment and okay for you," the can squeaked as the Young One twisted its wrist and the knife snapped back into the sheath.

**You are mad** several Ancient Ones stated as the Young One gave the orders for the artillery unit to cease firing and immediately move to Rally Point Theta. It ordered two other units to open fire that were barely in range of the Inheritor lines.

"I have accepted the wisdom of this malevolent universe," the Young One grated out.

It stared at the phasic displays.

The Inheritor base was on fire in several places, according to telemetry. There were corpses scattered around, burning vehicles, and Inheritors running about, apparently at random.

The Young One pulled out another can from the tiny demiplane in its pocket, lifting up the can and slamming it against the side of its head as it stared.

The pattern made sense.

The Inheritors weren't running around at random. They were concentrating fire fighting efforts on three locations.

The Young One stopping striking the side of its own head with the cold can and ordered the two units to load the silhouette profiles of those three points into the targeting and to fire 'dumb' weapons. It ordered incendiary, screeched when the artillery commander refused, then nodded to itself when the Atrekna in charge of those two units acquiesced to the Young One's commands.

"I may not be able to pull victory across the entire planet from out of my anal cavity but I shall leave the Inheritors notice that this war is not theirs alone to wrest victory from, and I will write that message in their blood," the Young One stated.

It cracked open the can.

The Ancient Ones felt a slight tremble of fear at the deviant in their midst.

They quietly, on private close range thought patterns, began planning how to offset the deviant.

And, if possible, claim its victories as their own.

-----

In the small mess hall 471 waved his bladearms, one a cybernetic replacement, as he described the fight to protect the Digital Omnimessiah in nothing but pure mathematics. From the shape of the clearing, to the armor of the enemies, to the weapons used, the air was full of mathematical symbols to the listening green mantid engineers.

He had just reached the part where he was describing the kinetic impact of Armored Matthias, admitting that he was unconscious, trapped in a damaged engineer protective housing as his Telkan prepared to fight a suit of Novastar II power armor with little more than a magac sidearm and his cutting bar. All of the off duty engineers were enthralled, listening to the tale, some eating quickly, excitedly, others listening and watching, their food forgotten.

The two missiles got direct hits on the building. One executed a top-down attack directly onto the building at the same split second as the EFP from the other missile drove through the side of the reinforced ferrocrete wall.

471 went airborne and instinct, training, and experience kicked in while he was still in midair. He pulled his legs close, covered his chest with his bladearms, and his head with his arms. He hit the wall, bounced, and slid back across the floor.

He wasn't quite conscious but his brain was still working. Training kicked in.

--under the tables now now now-- he snapped to the others. He grabbed a stunned engineer and slung him under the nearest table. --get to cover-- He grabbed another and slid them across the floor.

One of the younger engineers, who was on his first tour, got up shakily, one antenna missing, his bladearm broken halfway down, and staggered toward the table, limping.

471 felt it.

He whirled in place and used his back legs to kick the younger engineer hard enough to send him sliding across the floor and under the table.

Another top down attack hit.

"GET OUT OF BED IF YOU WANT TO SURVIVE!" Vuxten shouted over the command link.

The ceiling caved in, driven by a shockwave of 1.2 psi overpressure.

The floor collapsed under 471 and he scrabbled for a second, trying to keep from falling.

"UP! UP! GET UP!" Vuxten's voice over the comlink.

The tile broke in 471's hands and he fell, bouncing off of at least two struts, before he hit hard. Other mantids hit next to him.

The roof caved in with a crackling rumbling roar, plunging everything into darkness.

471 blinked a few times. He could feel his cybernetic antenna had broken off and his vision was blurred.

"Sound off," 471 said in greenie speak, that was more equations regarding sound waves traveling through air at speed.

Five other mantids down in the darkness with him answered.

One was dying. His abdomen crushed beneath a piece of rubble.

--make him comfortable-- 471 ordered. He reached into his implated nanoforge and pulled out a grain of sand that glowed with a soft white light. --we need light--

The others pulled out grains of sand, sticking them to the shattered walls.

The space was obviously in the below ground level, a larger room that was full off rubble.

A dead Telkan was half out of the rubble, next to a pair of Treana'ad legs that were still twitching.

Cold made 471 look down.

Water was pouring in.

Fast.

471 looked around.

No exits. At least twenty feet of rubble above him. The blast shelter had failed and 471 estimated by damage that a top-down attack had breached it with a fuel-air driven explosively forged penetrator.

Mortars were still hitting, throwing up clouds of dirt as Vuxten ran for the vehicle refit point. Three other troops veered over from what they were doing and followed.

"Emergency hard armor systems aren't working," one of them said.

"Nanite suppression," Vuxten said.

He staggered as a mortar round went off but didn't feel the wire-thin pain of shrapnel kisses.

"Will the forges still work?" the Sergeant asked.

"Big ones, but not well and not for too big," Vuxten said. He skirted where the fuel point was burning and dove over the berm, slamming down on his belly.

"Get to the forges. Hard plates, anti-armor weapons, crew served weapons, small arms, that order," the Sergeant snapped.

"Roger!" the three said, taking off running.

"Dammit, where's the Colonel?" Vuxten asked, checking the deck's LCD screen. "I need orders. He needs to give orders to the men so we can fight."

The Sergeant grabbed Vuxten's arm and yanked at him. When Vuxten looked at the Telkan NCO the other male's face was lit by fire and the bright flashes of the airbursts.

"You're what we've got, sir," the Sergeant said. "We don't need another gun. We've got privates for that," the NCO lifted up and looked over the berm and dropped down. "We need leadership. The Colonels gone, you're the Battalion XO, the ranking officer, that means you're it, sir."

Vuxten nodded, feeling a slight burn of anger at the Colonel for dying or being knocked out and dropping all this in his lap.

There was a slight pause in the bombardment and privates started running up, hucking weapons beside the troops bellied down at the berm, running to foxholes and dropping weapons and ammo into the foxholes, and running about.

The command deck beeped and he checked it.

The Atrekna tanks were only four minutes out.

Icons were burning at the edge of the LCD display and he scrolled over.

29th Hesslta Armor Regiment was heading straight for Vuxten's position.

He hit the command channel key.

"Make sure your transponders are up, the bunny battle wagons are coming up," he checked the time. "They'll reach us at the same time as the Slorpy armor," he thought for a second. "Try to stay out of the way, don't get in front of or between two tanks."

The only missiles hitting were airbursts that were dropping bomblets that had everyone checking their cover or just hanging onto the ground and biting off curses.

His deck was winking icons showing who had responded.

His implant kicked up a meme.

"WORKER VUXTEN, YOU ARE FINED ONE DAYS PAY FOR INDECENT EXPOSURE" was the caption on the picture taken from someone's helmet cam of Vuxten running for the foxhole wearing nothing but boots, a helmet, and his gear harness.

The Sergeant snickered.

Vuxten triggered the command channel.

"Get ready, men, here they come."

He saw it on his retinal link and he threw himself on the ground before his brain had even processed the words.

ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC

Vuxten put his hands over his neck, lacing his fingers together, the command deck under him.

He felt at least two other people slam on top of him, driving his breath out of him as he opened his mouth and closed his eyes.

He heard the Sergeant's voice utter a single word.

"Shit."

-----

The water was mid-thorax high but had stopped rising. The three H2O to O2 converters were stuck to the walls and buzzing happily as they sucked up water and converted it to breathable gasses.

The little water jet drone popped up to the surface and beeped.

471 tapped it, using his telemechanics to read it.

No passage large enough for the mantid to get through.

He thought for a second, looking around him.

His implant flashed a warning.

ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC

--BRACE YOURSELVES INERTIA IS WITH YOU--

-----

**it will disrupt our control of the slavespawn** an Ancient One argued as the missile was moved from the bunker to the missile launcher.

"That's why I'm not using any, you idiot," the Young One said. It finished off the can of fizzypop and threw the can at the wall.

**the blast will kill the infantry and damage the tanks** another Ancient One stated.

"That's why the infantry is behind the tanks, you idiot," the Young One snapped, opening another drink. "The tanks can handle the blast, it will shield the infantry."

**but** another Ancient One began to protest.

"Shut. Up," the Young One grated, turning and throwing the mostly full can at the Ancient Ones that were grouped up together next to the door. The can hit the wall and foamed fizzypop sprayed over the Ancient Ones. "You had your chance. You lost your war. You were losing this war, this planet."

The Young One turned back to the phasic systems.

"Fire when ready," it ordered.

The Young One could feel the Ancient Ones' and the other Young Ones' shocked disbelief as he ordered the missile fired.

The launcher fired the single missile as part of a full seventy-two missile launch, the rest of the missiles decoys, jammers, and shriekers.

The ragged point defense began wiping away the decoys and the shriekers, even as their accuracy was degraded by the jammers and the failing computer net of the Inheritors.

It got through the point defense, climbing for altitude.

"Here comes the giant fist," the Young One whispered to itself at the missile arced upwards with a dozen decoys.

More decoys were wiped out.

The missile reached the predetermined point of 2,500 meters above ground.

And detonated.

"BOOYA!" the Young One yelled.

-----

The world went white for Vuxten and he felt a giant fist slam him into the ground.