Chapter 912: Edge of Twilight

Chapter 912: Edge of Twilight

Now live with it. - The Malevolent Universe

"Tank 4-4-83 is taking heavy fire from crew served weapons emplacements," Communications Specialist Twelve Spre'ekmo'o said, one hand pressed against the side of his helmet. "Heavy rockets, look home-made, no seekers, just fire and forget."

"Tell them to hold on, we're on the way," Ge'ermo'o snapped, looking through the periscope.

His tank was surrounded by smoke that occluded the surroundings. The turbofans were howling, pushing the hovertank deeper into the city that the rebel Corporate Security Forces were making their last stand in.

"Tank 5-2-68 has hit an IED. Crew is bailing out, under heavy fire from small arms. Lasers taken from the Executor Corps armory," Spre'ekmo'o added.

"TARGET!" De'dmo'o called out, his face pressed against the gunner's sight.

"Verify target," Ge'ermo'o said, feeling his guts clench.

"Improvised light armored vehicle," De'dmo'o said.Follow the latest novels at novelhall.comission granted to fire," Ge'ermo'o checked the periscope. He could see the vehicle, a heavy cargo hauler now burdened by battlesteel plating and what looked like a heavy plasma cannon attached down the spine of the vehicle. The vehicle was turning, trying to line up 1-1-7, Ge'ermo'o's tank.

"FIRING!" De'dmo'o said. "NEGATIVE HIT!"

"Get on it!" Ge'ermo'o said.

"WE'RE BEING PINGED!" Ha'artmo'o yelled from the sensor's station. "Many many..."

"FIRING! NEGATIVE HIT!"

The improvised tank was lined up with 1-1-7, the barrel glowing.

"FIRING!"

The improvised tank exploded in flame.

Rockets fired from both sides hit 1-1-7, collapsing the fully charged battlescreen with the first two rockets. A dozen more hit the heavy tank from both sides, almost all of them wasting themselves and only putting pockmarks in the armor.

Almost.

One got through, hitting right where the designers had ensured everyone that it could not be hit.

The explosively forged penetrator, part of the HEAP round, came in high, fired from the 35th story of the smouldering skyraker. It hit just forward of the tank commander's hatch.

The inside of the 1-1-7 filled with white fire.

Ge'ermo'o heard two of his men scream, sounds of utter agony that cut off almost instantly.

The fire faded even as the TC's hatch popped open. The automatic system tossed Ge'ermo'o out of the tank, lifting him to the top even as fire consumed the crew compartment of the tank.

But not before he had seen what was left of the men he had served with for fifty years.

He stood underneath a cloudy sky, ash and cinders raining down around him, mixed with the black sludge of ash-laden rain. He had his rifle in his hand, his body armor on, and his helmet on tight. He was gagging, choking on the carbonized ash that had been his men.

Small arms tapped at the tank's armor around him. He jumped, clumsily, and landed in the decorative bushes that were still somehow green, getting tangled up.

Fire started walking toward him, blowing divots out of the ferrocrete roadway.

He managed to get to his feet, still gagging, still choking on the thick greasy cloying ash that had been his men.

Two rounds hit his rear flank, slamming him back into the bush again. It wrapped around his arms, his legs, his throat, choking him, squeezing him. He fought, struggling, even as rounds fired by the rebel Corporate Security troops snapped at the brush and cratered the wall next to him.

It's fans howling like a wounded god, 1-1-12 fired at the skyraker, the plasma cannon gutting the lower floors. 1-1-42 fired at the upper level.

The gunner's nest exploded in flame.

Ge'ermo'o threw his head back and screamed at the sky.

He woke up suddenly, thrashing, trying to get loose, trying to draw his weapon, trying to do something, anything, to change what had happened.

It took him a moment to realize he was tangled in his sleeping sling.

He sagged in place, breathing heavy, his flanks and torso covered in sweat that dripped from him and onto the floor.

A grainy hologram of a Lanaktallan appeared.

"You are under severe emotional and mental distress," the eVI said.

"Nightmare," Ge'ermo'o gagged out.

"Your bloodwork and physiological response affirms your statement. Would you like a sedative?" the eVI asked.

"No thanks," Ge'ermo'o said, carefully disengaging himself from the tangled sleeping sling.

A glance in the mirror at the Lanaktallan next to him and Ge'ermo'o recognized him.

"Ha'almo'or," Ge'ermo'o said, nodding slightly.

"Ge'ermo'o," the other said.

There were no ranks in the gym.

"Surprised you aren't out saving another city," Ge'ermo'o said. He winced when he heard the tone. Flat. Dead. A slight bite to it.

Ha'almo'or shook his head. "No. Just making it through the night."

"My apologies. My statement came out snide when I meant it to be jocular," Ge'ermo'o said. He rubbed his forward eyes. "My night was, sadly, one familiar to us both."

"No offense was taken, Ge'ermo'o," Ha'almo'or said. He shook his head.

The two exercised on the treadmill silently. Not pushing themselves, despite the bone deep desire to push their bodies to exhaustion.

"Hand ball?" Ge'ermo'o asked.

Ha'almo'or nodded. "I would enjoy such physical activity."

The handball game, another Terran sport, was fast, exhilerating, and exhausting. After three 21 point games the two separated.

"Be well, Ge'ermo'o," Ha'almo'or said.

"You too, Ha'almo'or," Ge'ermo'o answered.

Ge'ermo'o trotted away, into the night, keeping it nice and slow. He opened the bag of pretzels and began snacking on them, relishing the painful burn of the all natural pretzels, washing it down when it got too much with a drink from his fizzypop.

When he reached his General Officer's Quarters suite he went inside, undressing and showering again.

He stared at his hands for a long moment in the shower.

They were clean.

Ge'ermo'o got out of the shower, dried off, and didn't bother with any modesty clothing as he went over to the sleeping sling and thumbed the pad to have it retract into the ceiling. He stepped onto the colored plate and activated it.

He felt himself go weightless, his hooves lifting off the plate. He opened his grainy holographic menu and went through the selections.

There was a live-stream of a Hamaroosan female cleaning the kitchen. An autonomous sensory meridian response video streamer that had nearly twenty million beings watching her clean her kitchen as she sang very softly to herself. The chat window had plenty of snooze icons and most of the names had "Zzzzz" tags on them to signify that the watcher was asleep.

He turned it on, set the hologram to move to be seen by any of his eyes he opened up, and relaxed.

He floated over the countergrav plate as the Hamaroosan female cleaned her kitchen, almost unaware of when he went from wakefulness to asleep.

-----

The day was cloudy, blustery, with the wind snatching at the breath in gusts.

Nearly fifty tanks were on the firing line, all of the massive vehicles trembling with restrained force.

Ge'ermo'o sat in the chair in the Range Control Booth, looking over the data. He looked out at the range and nodded when he saw there was nothing but blasted terrain.

"RANGE CLEAR!" sounded out.

Ge'ermo'o checked his instruments and nodded.

"LOAD PRACTICE MUNITIONS!" sounded out over the speakers even as it was transmitted to the crews of the tanks.

Ge'ermo'o nodded as the icons for the tanks showed that the proper rounds were loaded. None jammed, none got hung up, and all of them were practice rounds.

The Atomic Hooves no longer used plasma. Its tankers were training for standard Confederate Armed Services medium bore projectile cannon.

"MOVE SELECTOR FROM SAFE TO FIRE!" sounded out.

Ge'ermo'o watched the tanks all go live.

"RANGE IS LIVE! PREPARE TO ENGAGE!"

Ge'ermo'o leaned forward slightly.

He was confident in his men.

"ENGAGE AT WILL!" sounded out right before a loud, annoying buzzer that Ge'ermo'o knew would be transmitted to the crews.

He sat and watched as his men engaged the practice targets.

You will learn. I will teach you, the Lanaktallan General thought to himself. Hold to your training and you will survive. I will not waste your lives.