Chapter 969: The Shadows of Twilight

Chapter 969: The Shadows of Twilight

In the depths of an organization that doesn't exist, rumbles begin that one of the Don's named men arrived in the theater, some big guy from the time-fuck who could skate like a chief, fight like a ranger, drink like a fish, and who's record had more long black bars in it than Joe's mama. - Warning found written between two pictures of dicks in the motorpool latrine.

The Day Room smelled of tired and hot enlisted. The windows were open, bringing in a slight breeze, but the computer still insisted it was the end of winter, so the heat was on despite what anyone tried to convince the VI of.

Bit.nek sat listening to Staff Sergeant R'Kalkrik, the Kilo Company Training NCOIC, as the Staff Sergeant went from the threats of the other military (Bit.nek forgot what they were called aside from Old Dressians or something like that) could put out to the next part.

"We'll be defending a Terran Tomb world in the Biological Artificial Sentience Systems," the SSG said.

Bit.nek yawned and got up, moving to the side of the room to stand at parade rest, joining a handful of others who were having trouble staying awake. There was no repercussions for doing so, it was considered the acceptable way to avoid falling asleep.

"Aside from any remaining BASS population, there are two main threats that we need to be aware of," the SSG said. He flicked the baton and a low-rez picture of a dead Terran appeared, its eyes amber, its mouth open and drooling black fluid, its skin bluish color.

"Shamblers. Reanimated Terran corpses. They are highly aggressive and come in several types. These were initially present after the Lanaktallan biocracking attack at the opening of the Confederacy/Council Conflict," the SSG said. "Shade Night seemed to revitalize a lot of them. A data point to consider is that while this world wasn't biocracked by the Lanaktallan, it still had shamblers prior to the Shade Attack. Nobody is sure why."

Bit.nek nodded.

"Massive tissue loss can work, but unless the brain is damaged or destroyed, it's still an effective combatant," the SSG said.

"Yeah, but we'll be in armor," one of the Privates said.

"Even if we aren't in power armor, we'll be in standard hard plate. What's it going to do, chew on our armor?" another added.

"Even barring that, we've got the sweat-plate," another said, referring to the nanite emergency armor.

"Won't help you," Bit.nek interjected.

Everyone turned and looked at him. Bit.nek flushed slightly, his ears going rigid with embarrassment.

"Nevermind," he said, ducking his head.

Someone snorted as they all turned back to the lesson.

"The majority are uncoordinated, slow, and clumsy," SSG R'Kalkrik said. "A small percentage are highly aggressive, run, and quickly enter some kind of frenzy. The last can show limited problem solving and limited tool use."

"They're all the same type," Bit.nek put in.

Again, everyone turned to look at him.

"It depends on the circumstances, but a shambler can turn into a sprinter can turn into a lurker real quick, as well as back and forth. There's no real way to tell any difference until they start to move," Bit.nek said. He looked at everyone. "Uh..."

"No, go on," SSG R'Kalkrik said. He motioned. "Come on up here, private. You can by my assistant. What did you mean that our armor wouldn't help?"

Bit.nek, still flushing, moved to the front. "These things can bite through battlesteel armor, tear off battlesteel armor from a limo. They can twist and bite through warsteel like its taffy," he said. He tapped next to the jaws. "I've seen these things bite through the armored forearm of a suit of Rigellian heavy assault power armor, getting all the way down to the kinetic shock sleeve in a single bite, while their fingers punctured the armor and their grip deformed it."

"Pfft, no way, that's gotta be wrong," Sergeant Hal'krikit scoffed.

"You get four or five of these on you, they can rip your arms and legs off," Bit.nek insisted. "Detainee's shaved muffin, I've seen guys torn in half by these things."

There was some murmurs of disbelief.

"If you end up doing CQC with them, don't bother with your pistol. When you stick your arm out to fire, one will lunge forward, grab your arm, bite clean through your armor," Bit.nek said. He closed his eyes and took a breath. "Cutting bar and CQC manuevers. Keep them off of you, they will pull you down," he said when he opened his eyes. "The smell gets through your armor, even if you're running on canned air."

He tapped the image with the wand, highlighting the hands and mouth. "If you look with a phasic filter, the jaws and hands of one engaged in fighting or that's seen a target go immediately to whitish-purple, more phasic energy than an Atrekna attack or a Mantid Warrior caste or Speaker caste bladearm."

There was dead silence.

He sighed. "From a single shade on a dataslate to millions and a dead world happens in days, weeks at the most. There's always survivors though. Life is tough and it finds a way."

He turned and looked at the grassy field, tapping it with the pointer. "The Warfa... uh, the Colonel would always check for survivors and link up. They'll have data relevant to that theater," he tapped his sleeve and his adaptive camouflage went red. "This should be your standard. However," he tapped it again and to most of the troops it looked the same. To a few others, including the dogboi in the back, it looked slightly different. "Three hue points. Standard armor red would allow their fingertips through and then you're hurting."

He turned back to the image. "The MI guys and the eggheads, they say that the shades rip out your phasic energy, others mumble about bio-electricity, but we all know what we saw."

He turned and looked at the class. "What they rip out? It's screaming while they eat it. It's your soul they're pulling out, and it hurts while they're eating you."

He heaved a sigh. "So, crimson, iron oxide, iron, sodium chloride, rage," he said. "The eggheads and the docs and the goldies and MI all mumble about why it works, but I've been on the ground, I know why it works."

He looked over the class. "Anyone wanna guess why?"

Nobody said anything.

Bit.nek nodded. "Blood. Terran blood. It's red, it's full of salt, and it's full of iron. It's full of wrath and rage."

He handed the pointer back and moved over against the wall, going to parade rest.

"Good talk," he said.

The Training NCO shook his head, concealing a smile.

"Any questions?"

-----

Lieutenant Colonel Ssalressk turned off the survelliance video and looked at Major Tut'el.

"Anything you'd like to add, Major?" the Colonel asked.

"No, sir," Tut'el said. "Bit.nek's Bit.nek, but he knows his stuff."

The Colonel nodded. "You two served together?"

Tut'el nodded. "Yes, sir. Eighteen Shade Drops. Man's a war fighter. In garrison, well, he's Bit.nek, but war fighters don't do good in garrison."

The Colonel looked at the Sergeant Major. "Have the other Training NCO's look over that lecture. Have them go over Tut'el's notes," he looked at Tut'el. "We'll use your training plan with the PFC's addendums."

He looked at the phone. "I'll tell Brigade and Division we need to chuck the TRADOC training and use that."

The Colonel looked at Major Tut'el.

"I'll take metal meets the meat experience over TRADOC any day," he said. He sighed. "We'll be loading up for deployment in two days."

"Cryo or live transport?" Tut'el asked.

"Cryo," the Colonel said. "They changed it yesterday."

"Safest bet. Red light in the hallways, on the hull, whole red yard," Tut'el said.

"Space Force said they'll be running with red rather than white hulls," the Colonel said. He looked at Tut'el. "I want you right next to me the whole time. If I'm screwing up, or about to get my men killed, you countermand me right there," he said. "That's the Job of the XO."

The Colonel leaned forward slightly. "You worry about our men's lives, not my feelings, understand, Major?"

Tut'el just nodded.