Nova Wars

"Champions aren’t made in the training sims. Champions are made from something they have deep inside them-a desire, a dream, a vision.” - Moo'aa med Ali, 14th Lanaktallan Combined Arms, TXE era

"When you hit failure, your training has just begun" - SSgt Ronald "Macdonald" Coleman, Hamburger Kingdom, Age of Paranoia

"Give me your shittiest take. No, not that one, that's too shitty," - Hanslefranze Molterman, Age of Paranoia

Lieutenant General of Iron Amanda Arnold Breastasteel sat at the conference table, looking over the training metrics for 7th Telkan Marine Division. Her staff was spread out around the table, working silently.

General "Iron Pants" Breastasteel was, to use ancient parlance, an old war horse. She had joined the Terran Armed Services at the young age of twenty-one years of age, barely an adult. She had fought the Hulmeka, the Mar-gite, the Dark Elves, and the Screamers of Clownface. She had fought the PAWM and the Lanky both. For almost three hundred years she had carried a weapon and viewed herself as the will of TerraSol made manifest. She held a commission in Space Force at the rank of Star Colonel, had even done thirty years as a TerraSol Marine, specializing in Orbital Drop Assault. She had climbed the ranks over and over, always with a grin and a willingness to do whatever was needed for victory. She had served under General No'Drak in the defense of Telkan, had rotated back to TerraSol to oversee First Telkan Marine Expeditionary Force's integration to the Confederate Armed Services.

She had fought against the Lanky on Hateful Mars as a ground troop, shoulder to shoulder with everyone else and screaming defiance.

Now she was in charge of a relief effort to the Ornislarp from the Dominion.

She did not demand respect from her subordinates.

They gave her respect they felt she was due because of her actions, her attentiveness, and her dedication to leadership.

Which is why she was burning the midnight oil looking over the training reports.

She could see the problems already.

Unlike 1TMEF, unlike the rest of the Dominion and the Confederate Military, 7th TMD was Telkan only from the lowest private to the highest ranking officer. There were no greenies in the ranks, no black Mantid special forces, no Treana'ad Mobile Infantry, no Tukna'rn Powered Armor Assault, no Leebawian Commando.

She had looked over its record.

Brushfire wars. A civil war. Two minor wars against an inferior enemy. Peacekeeping.

She could see the problem already.

They'd never been pushed. Never been actually tested.

The other problem she could see was the leadership. It wasn't that they were incompetent, General Breastasteel could see quite a few officers that held promise.

No, the problem was the leadership was not tested outside of minor asymmetrical conflicts and 'gimme' exercises.

The Dominion had no idea what kind of enemy awaited in Ornislarp territory. Imagery and telemetry proved that it was ancient Terran weapons being used, but without the same doctrine and methods as the Terrans had used. The ships were hulled by something other than warsteel, but were able to handle nCv round impacts, as well as the battlescreens being very effective.

Breastasteel looked up. "Chances that this is the Dovians returning?" she asked.

"Negative," Commodore Strevens said without looking up. "Unless their shield technology has degraded. The Dovians were running from the Mar-gite, they wouldn't be back picking a fight, they'd use the Ornislarp Noocracy to act as a buffer zone."

Breastasteel nodded. "Possibility of Atrekna?"

"No evidence of biomechanical ships or high chronotron levels."

"Possibility of Precursor Autonomous War Machines?"

"The ships are too small."

"Chance of it being three podlings in a pod racer?"

"Nav-Int puts that at approximately 56%," Commodore Strevens said with a perfectly straight face.

"Well, it's not the first time we've walked into it not knowing exactly what we face," Breastasteel said. "The Admiral plans on hitting a contested system, taking the fight to the enemy starcraft, while landing ground troops on the contested planets to get a measure of the enemy's ground capabilities."

Everyone at the table nodded.

She leaned back in her chair, bringing up the metrics for 7th TMD.

"Unless the Telkan can get their shit together, I'm going to break up the Division, scatter elements through the Corps as fire support and backup," she said. "We'll give them a week to rest up then another exercise where they're the defenders rather than the aggressors."

She shook her head.

"We'll see how they fare at that."

0-0-0-0-0

General Breastasteel had found that the Open Door Policy was critical to leadership. There eventually came a time where there would be an immensely toxic officer or senior non-commissioned officer who was firmly entrenched and understood the entire system too well to have their misdeeds become common knowledge to those who could punish or replace them.

For some troops, the only hope of redress of their grievances was the Open Door Policy.

True, more than a few times her direct subordinates had used the policy to directly confront her on her own policies off the record.

She treasured those officers who had the intestinal fortitude to walk into her office, look her straight in the eye, and tell her that she was wrong.

The knock on the door had came after her secretary informing her that Field Sergeant Impton of the First Telkan Marine Expeditionary Force was here to use her Open Door.

She'd looked the Telkan up quickly. A veteran of the first two battles for Telkan, adopted into the Vodkatrog Cyber-Cossak Tribes for his valor during the Lanaktallan Invasion of the Sol System, he had an impressive record for someone with less than a century in uniform.

"Enter," she said.

The Telkani matched his service picture, right down to the missing eye.

"What can I do for you, Field Sergeant?" General Breastasteel asked, leaning back slightly.

"Is my people," the Field Sergeant said, his voice heavily accented by a thick Vodkatrog accent.

"I see."

"They have forgotten the Warfather. Have forgotten what it means to be Telkan," Impton said. "Have forgotten themselves."

General Breastasteel just nodded.

"Their officers have not looked at the mirror to see where the fault is but instead have laid fault upon those who followed their commands," Impton said. "But the officers are but unmolded clay, never exposed to the sculpture's knife or the fires of the kiln and furnace."

Breastasteel steepled her fingertips, staring at the one-eyed Telkan.

"We do not take a child behind the snow drift and strangle them when they cannot walk," Impton said. "No, teach them. We teach them to crawl, to walk, to run, to fight."

"I see," Breastasteel said.

"My people deserve to be taught. We are a small people, caught up in great things, and sometimes we trip and fall," Impton said. "But we are worthy of being allowed to stand back up and try again."

"I concur," Breastasteel said. "Tell 7th Division that they have seven days to rest before the next exercise," she tapped her desk with one finger. "You of 1st TMEF shall be reinforcing them."

She stared at Impton with cold eyes.

"You are adults," she said. "You shall teach the children."

She leaned back in the chair.

"Show them the price you were willing to pay against the Lanaktallan, against everything," she said.

The room grew dim.

"Show them..." she paused.

"The Chernobog."

0-0-0-0-0

Captain Kemtrelap and First Sergeant Gerplek stood in front of Kilo Company as they waited for their armor to finish with the pre-operation checks. The First Sergeant stood behind the CO as the Captain was talking.

"This training exercise will be different. Rather than operating on our own, we'll be reinforcing First Telkan Marine Expeditionary Force. The rest of the Division will be scattered through all of III Corps to reinforce them," the Captain made a slight face. "Unfortunately, at this time, I have little information beyond the fact that we will be running full enhanced virtual reality. We'll be inserting via fast attack and transport strikers."

He looked around. "The entire division will be divided up, we'll be relying on our host unit for resupply, although 'reinforcements' will be coming from our casualties, just like last exercise."

He looked around then turned to the First Sergeant. "Take charge."

The First Sergeant nodded.

"We'll be getting our orders once we're hooked into eVR and are on the 'deployment field' to board the strikers," he shook his head. "As of right now, it looks like we'll be broken down into platoon sized elements as well as some squad or section elements. I have no data on who we're supporting, the terrain, or any opposing forces. I expect all elements to operate at the highest level."

He drew himself up. "Company!"

Everyone went to attention.

"Fall out," the First Sergeant said.

Gunny Brektop turned around as Lieutenant Gretilk hustled up to the front of the formation.

"All right, you all heard the man. Get in your armor and hustle to the null-grav plates," he smiled. "We'll do better this time, you'll see."

Vak.tel just had that feeling again.

He wasn't so sure about it.

0-0-0-0-0

A few (read: nearly ten) hours later Vak.tel found himself on a striker, flying low and fast over hard terrain. The striker had the doors closed, the weapon pods withdrawn, and was keeping Nap of Earth flight profile as it swept over rocks, sand, and more rocks.

Vak.tel stared out the window.

Oh, look. Dirt. What's that over there? More dirt. Oh look, we're coming up on even more dirt! Why, this is obviously a highly important strategic location! he thought to himself.

He had to admit one thing. Terran eVR was incredible. It didn't have the 'too slick' feel of hyper-realism, but it didn't have any apparent gaps in the simulation. He could feel the vibration of the striker in his guts, feel it vibrating his foot and palm pads, feel it jostle his teeth.

The striker suddenly banked and dropped into a dry river bed, picking up speed. It banked back and forth, following the twisting terrain, until it suddenly popped up from the river bed, behind a mesa, and dropped again, barely off the ground.

It settled down in an open area where there were tents and other things covered by camouflage nets. Vak.tel could see vehicles, radar systems, communications systems, point defense arrays, counter-battery mortars, missile interception systems, and dug in positions.

The door rolled open and his armor blinked that the external temperature was 138F along with warnings that he would need to be careful of his suit heat.

He was first out the door, landing easily.

The ochre dust puffed up at his feet.

There was a Telkan in power armor waving at him. Oddly enough, his IFF was turned off, so Vak.tel had no idea who he was. The power armor was painted in a camouflaged pattern of light brown and ochre.

"Hurry the fuck up!" the power armored Telkan yelled over the suit's speaker.

Vak.tel ran over as the rest of the platoon jumped out of the strikers, which were idling almost two meters off the ground. As soon as the last troop had dismounted the strikers dropped the carry containers underneath, closed the doors, and turned to slide to the side and into the river bed.

"Get crates. Into cover," the un-marked Telkan snarled. He waved at one of the mounds of dirt with sandbags on the front, hidden by three layers of camo net, one of which Vak.tel noted was the anti-shrapnel type.

The LT assigned people, moving over to the unmarked Telkan.

"Lieutenant Gretilk, Kilo Company, Third Pla..." he started to say.

"Save it. Follow," the other Telkan said.

"What, you don't salute an officer?" the LT asked.

"Not here. Might be sniper drone or gunbot. Salute, put a bullet in both of us," he shook his head. "Enemy dug in, had time to prepare."

Vak.tel helped haul the heavy crate with the M318s and the gunnery harnesses over to one of the netting areas. The sandbags had a narrow channel that led to a door cut into the side of a cargo container. Inside was a makeshift armory created by pushing four containers together and cutting away the sides.

His armor reported that the interior temperature was only 87F.

The armorer was a Telkan in standard adaptive camouflage and hardplate wearing a power-assist exoskeleton, who just told them to drop it on the floor. When Gunny Brektop mentioned that he had to be present and sign off on the weapons behind secured, the Telkan got up, grabbed the edge of the nearest container, as slid it across the floor so it banged against the wall. He did it to each of the containers and sat back down.

"There, secure," he said.

The Gunny drew himself up to argue but the Lieutenant's voice came across the command channel.

"Third Platoon, outside. We're getting sleeping arrangements," the LT said.

Gunny led the way and Vak.tel followed, his suit temp spiking as soon as he got outside. Vak.tel wondered if the Gunny had a nav-bead or a nav-line to follow as he followed the Senior NCO.

There were several of the Telkan in the camouflaged armor standing next to the Lieutenant, who stood in his own dark green armor.

"You'll be divided up by squad," the LT said. "We're hear to provide base security as well as reinforce patrols."

"What's the overall mission, sir?" the Gunny asked.

"Facilitate the base operation, repel the enemy, search and destroy missions," the LT said.

"Enemy?" Gunny asked.

"Terran irregulars. Armed with scavenged gear, most of it obsolete," the LT said. "They have limited resupply as most known industrial sectors were destroyed."

"What about the nanoforges?" Vak.tel asked and immediately wished he could kick himself.

"Only what they have taken from the dead and destroyed," the LT said. "Right now, that's about all I know."

"No objectives?" the Gunny asked.

The LT jerked at thumb at the mesa. "On the other side of that is the ruins of a city about fifty klicks out. The objective is to take the city," he shook his head. "Just like it has been for the last two years."

Vak.tel felt like groaning. Two years and they still hadn't taken a city? He wondered what kind of nightmare bullshit scenario had been cooked up.

"Third squad, you're in barracks echo," the LT said, getting Vak.tel's attention.

The LT went to say more when a curious thing drifted out from one of the large camo net arrangements.

It was a small warsteel bowl, with a macroplas bubble on the top. It had graspers and pinchers on articulated arms underneath. It also had about a dozen viewscreen of various sizes at the end of articulated arms, most of them showing closeups of various colored Telkan and Terran eyes. The viewscreens all swept around to face the LT even as five came together under the eyes. The eyes on those vanished and the five screens, three on top, two on the bottom, showed a mouth spread across all five screens.

The thing rushed up on grav lifters, stopping next to the Lieutenant. Vak.tel noted that inside the macroplas bubble was a brain attached to wire and electronics, the whole interior filled with some kind of bubbling liquid.

"Why is your armor broadcasting IFF, telemetry, and transponder signals?" the thing asked.

Vak.tel noted that its voice seemed to be made up of a dozen or so different voices, different syllables and different words using different voices.

"Uh..." the LT started.

"Stupid! Stupid stupid!" the thing squealed.

A Telkan was lurching after the creature and Vak.tel recognized him as Impton even with the fact the other Telkan was in adaptive camouflage and hard plate.

"Yuri!" the Field Sergeant yelled.

The creature turned around. "What, Ivan?"

"Leave them alone. Go check your chassis, mechanics say is almost ready," Impton said.

"Stupid boots," the creature said, spinning to face the LT. On two monitors pictures of new unpolished combat boots appeared. "Boots stupid."

It suddenly spun and hovered away, heading for another one of the large camo net concealed areas.

"Apologies, Lieutenant. Yuri is... well... is Yuri," Impton said. He looked around. "Shut off all telemetry soon. Only have one more hour before we are no longer protected by pre-staging status," He pointed at the desert. "Human out there."

The LT shook his head, trying to dispel his irritation at the weird creature. "What was that?"

Impton suddenly grinned.

"Was Yuri," he said.

"And what is Yuri?" the LT asked, finding another small iota of patience.

"Chernobog. Yuri is a Chernobog."

"What's a Chernobog?"

Impton's smile got wider.

"You will see," he said. He turned and began limping after the now-vanished thing. He glanced back. "You will see."

Vak.tel had a bad feeling.