Chapter 791: The Inheritor's War

Chapter 791: The Inheritor's War

You'll be the hero of the neighborhood.

Nobody knows that you're gone for good. - In the Army Now, Hellcrest - Speed Metal Band, 2285 PG

General Twargark was in charge of XXXIV Corps AKA Dirty Thirty-Four AKA Rule 34. The last week or so the lines had gotten bogged down in exactly the kind of thing every officer hated. A slog slugging match of emplaced positions and trenches.

She'd been woken up in the middle of the night with a simple phrase.

"The Slorpies might have something new going on," her aide had said.

By the time she'd reached the command center, it wasn't a possibility any more. Someone on the Slorpie side had finally had pattern recognition kick in.

They were hammering a single section of the line with artillery, moving tanks and infantry forward, and close air support craft were hanging back but obvious. There was no sign of the bioweapon Dwellerspawn, just metal and servitors.

"Communications is still in the ultra-high frequency radio band, laser, audio, or visual. No other communication system is functional," someone said. Their voice was smooth, even, unruffled, as if everyone present wasn't watching the Atrekna throw something new at the lines.

"9th Hesstlan Armor is moving up to support," an aide said. "They're going to be outnumbered nearly thirty to one."Th.ê most uptodate novels are published on n(0)velbj)n(.)co/m

General Twargark nodded, staring at the holotank. She didn't like the Hesstlan armor going into those kind of odds, but if the Atrekna busted through the lines they'd be able to wreak havoc and it would put them in lunging distance of two major metropolis that still had millions of civilian occupants.

"73rd Air Cavalry - Strikers is on the move, moving to close air support," another aide stated, her voice even and calm.

"69th Air Cav - Power Armor is getting airborne to provide reinforcements. ETA is eleven minutes," a third aide stated.

General Twargark just watched the holotank.

There was nothing she could do. By the time her orders were relayed long minutes would have gone by.

"Atrekna forces are engaging in multiple other areas. None are within support range of each other. Commanders are opting to hold position when possible," the second aide stated.

It's all up to you, General Twargark thought.

-----

Infrek had spent the First Hesstlan War in a shelter, terrified of everything going on above his adolescent head. Then had been the tiny sliver of peace where he had graduated secondary schooling.

Then had came YOU BELONG TO US again and he'd practically sprinted to the recruiting office.

During Second Hesstla Infrek had spent the entire time in the military. At first as a reserve force member, then as an active member, and finally, taking part in General P'Kank's offensive to push the Atrekna off the planet.

The entire time, he'd been inside of the 1,000 tonne Woundwort's Fist. Starting as an assistant driver and spotter, moving to driver, then loader, then gunner, and finally commander. He'd risen from lowly Private to Staff Sergeant in the years of warfare and now was in charge of the same tank he'd initially been assigned to all those years ago.

Now, he found himself in the commander's seat, looking over the status boards.

"You see those brain suckers, you fire, you hear me?" Infrek snapped over the headset.

"Understood," Ornef said, pushing his face against the padding for the gun sight.

"Lots of chaff and masking," Eprewtuk said, looking through his own sight. "Not Confederate, slorpy," the male Hesstlan made a thinking noise. "That's new. The slorpies don't usually toss masking agents."

"Keep your ears on a swivel," Infrek ordered. "We're point," he looked down at Avprek. "Got a lock on the Telkan jar heads?"

The commo tech shook his head. "Too much jamming. I've got... maybe... a dozen armor transponders but they aren't moving."

"All right, keep..." Infrek started to say.

"ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC!" Eprewtuk suddenly called out, a split second before it streaming up on Infrek said.

"ENEMY SPOTTED! TEN MILES! SHOT OUT!" Ornef called out, stomping the firing lever. The gun bellowed, the recoil system taking the shock of the massive 210mm gun.

The round, a sabot loaded with trackers, whipped through the darkness, right over the Telkan Marines' heads. One Telkan troop, running with his arms full of ammunition belts, was knocked ass over teakettle, but still rolled and came back up running, the belts dragging behind him.

The round hit square, slamming into the cupola of the Atrekna tank. The reactive systems had failed to see the fast moving sabot, the reactive armor failed, and the armor beneath couldn't match the big sabot that punched straight through.

The explosion from the Atrekna tank brewing up was lost in the white flash of the atomic warhead going off in the sky.

Infrek felt Woundwort's Fist rock back as the overpressure wave hit, then rock again as the air rushed back into the low pressure area behind the overpressure wave. Radiation alarms were howling and the interior of the tank had gone red.

"TARGET! SHOT OUT!" Ornef called out, stomping the bar.

"We just lost a fifth, at least, of the Marine's transponders and datalinks," Eprewtuk said.

"No shit. They got atom smashed," Infrek said. "Try not to run any of them over, but we've gotta stop the Slorpy armor."

His crew just nodded.

-----

471 and the other mantids ducked under the water at the warning, all of them pulling the breathing masks over their faces. It wouldn't be much air, but it would be better than drowning.

The rumble hit and the water swirled. 471 felt himself bump into another mantid, got turned upside down, and managed to right himself. He broke the surface, gasping through the mask.

The water danced slightly then calmed down right before the other mantids broke the surface.

--run off O2 permeable stickies, wrap legs and abdomen-- 471 ordered. --same thing I used when the Forge ignited--

The other mantids all signified that they were working on it as 471 looked around. The water was rising fast, the welds and epoxy lines fractured and the rising water able to push the air out through multiple cracks.

He looked over it steadily. The roof had been pushed down nearly six inches, meaning that only their heads and shoulders were above water now and the water was already rising. He examined each strut, each piece of debris.

There.

A chance.

471 swam over, pulling a cutting torch out and starting work on the sheet metal. He cut open the side, letting the hot metal drop into the water.

--hold still-- 822 said.

The NCO shook his head. "Pretty bad, sir. Almost everyone was outside of armor. Most weren't even in hardshell. Less than a third were in a foxhole with overhead," he pointed up at the dusty air outside of the foxhole. "The only good thing is the fires are out."

Vuxten snorted. "Yeah, I'll bet," he said. He coughed, then groaned. "All right. Make sure everyone keeps their heads down and that our transponders are working. We don't want the power armor boys or the tanks to nail us instead of the Slorpies," he gasped.

The Sergeant didn't say anything, just nodded, knowing the Major was just going over the basic stuff, more to center himself through the wound shock and the pain, than any kind of critique on what had happened so far.

"GOT IT!" one of the privates said as sparks shot out of the panel he had halfway pulled apart.

There was a klunk and the overhead cover deployed.

"Good job, private," Vuxten gasped. He slowly got to his feet, looking out of one of the firing slits.

A Slorpy tank rolled by less than ten meters away, then suddenly stopped in a flash of light and a loud crash. The treads whipsawed and snapped and part of the skirt flew away. Two servitors tried to climb out, pulling themselves free of the tank.

Someone raked them with small arms and they fell.

Vuxten sat back down, gasping, and turned his palm up. His holoemitter came on and he summoned up the keyboard.

"Gonna try to get everyone together, get us all on the same page," Vuxten gasped. He put his hand on his side just below the chunk of metal. "Get accountability, get everyone to cover."

"Good plan, sir," the NCO said, looking out the firing slit. He glanced at the private, who just shrugged.

At least the Major was doing something.

It wasn't like they could help much with the battle raging outside the foxhole.

-----

471 finished cutting away the metal side of the vent ducting he was crouched down inside of, letting the hot metal fall to the ground.

The air was sweet even though it was choked with dust.

He did a sweep then groaned internally when he realized that the Morgue was nothing but atomic smashed rubble.

--you run for commo get it up-- 471 ordered, pointing at the damaged sat dishes and antennas and then at 335. --you run for armory help there-- he ordered, pointing at flattened building and then at 629. --you with me armor recovery-- he said, pointing at what was left of the Morgue and 822.

His datalink pinged it had been queried and he felt some relief. At least someone was trying to get a handle on who was ambulatory and doing what. He uploaded icons for the orders.

He looked around again.

--try not to get run over by a tank-- he added. --GO--

The greenies took off running as fast as their little legs could carry them.

-----

The Young One stared at the phasic display.

The Inheritor tanks were racking up the kill counts. Able to engage before the Atrekna servitor crewed tanks could even see them, thicker armor to withstand what shots did hit home, and obviously crewed by experienced and skilled troops.

Icons were appearing and disappearing as highly mobile power armor swooped into the fight. The armor could operate on the ground and in the air with equal force projection. What few images tank telemetry provided showed sleek but brutal lines on the armor, with skull masks, the armor using missiles and kinetic weapons that were tenatively identified as rail guns.

Inheritor strikers were now providing close air support on the forces attacking the overrun Inheritor unit.

**you are winning** one of the Ancient Ones stated.

The Young One sneered. "The battle is nearly over. I will sound retreat, pull what's left of our forces back before they are completely wiped out."

**why** an Ancient One asked. **simply temporally replicate the units. use them until destruction**

"That's why you have no experienced troops. You keep replicating defeated units over and over," the Young One said. It heaved a sigh and expressed pleasure. "I got what I wanted from this battle."

**put these four units into the breach our forces have created** an Ancient One insisted, highlighting a tanker unit, a mechanized infantry unit, and two light infantry units.

"The Inheritors are already preparing to push our units back. The battle is a stalemate except for my over-arching goal," the Young One stated. It reached toward the phasic communication device. "I will order the units to pull back to defensive positions before the insect infantry arrives or we lose too many tanks. The Inheritors are moving troops into position to perform a pincher movement and slam the door shut behind any troops that breach their lines."

Before he could give the orders two Ancient Ones grabbed his arms.

Another Ancient One glided forward.

**You are about to penetrate the Inheritor's lines so that their rear areas can be crushed** the Ancient One stated. **You are on the edge of victory but retreat** it sneered.

It turned to the communication device and ordered the surrounding units to commit to pushing through the gap that had been opened up.

"And now you have lost this battle and possibly the battle for the entire planet," the Young One stated. It looked left and right. "Well, if you two want to come along, I guess you can."

**what insanity are you spouting now** the Ancient One on the right inquired.

"WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP!" the Young One shouted.

It was suddenly made up of thin vibrating strands of string that spread to the two Atrekna holding onto its arms. The two Atrekna had time to give a weird squelch filled screech.

All three vanished.

**it is of no matter** one of the Ancient Ones stated, moving forward. **We shall push through the gap the insane one created and destroy the Inheritor's ability to fight.**

-----

General Twargark's eyes opened wide as she stared at the holotank.

Despite the fact that the nearest rear units were less than an hour from the possible blow-through by enemy forces and that the enemy armor was taking significant casualties, it looked like, according to the drones, that the Atrekna were about to commit their entire reserves.

There was still sporadic fighting in other sectors, but what had been light probing actions followed by retreat suddenly reversed, with the Atrekna committing reserves and trying to punch through in the other areas.

"OK, what changed?" General Twargark asked herself, leaning forward. "Why suddenly go back to your old tactics?"

The holotank didn't answer.