Nova Wars

The realization of one simple fact destroyed me so much I hid in a cave in a ravine by a river in the deserts of Longhorn Nation for years, existing off of fish and plants. The communal mind, the hive mind, no longer could reach me. My epiphany was so profound, so earth shaking, it altered my very brain. A simple fact that was unthinkable before I realized it standing knee deep in the blood, the mud, and the guts.

The Queens were wrong.

There was no victory, no glory, no grand accomplishments here.

There was only death. - Klak.nark, Mantid Warrior, 15 Post Glassing, Longhorn Historical Society

In the end, it wasn't about winning or losing.

It was about taking one more with us. - SSG Vollman, 5th Infantry Division, Mantid-Terran War

I was hatched with eight million other warriors. In six years of grueling, unrelenting warfare, I lost three of my legs, an eye, an antenna, both my bladearms, and was left for dead on the battlefield twice. Each time I healed through battlefield medicine, terrified I would be determined to be too damaged to heal.

I fought on Mantid Prime, I fought on three other Mantid worlds. I fought on TerraSol. I fought on Hateful Mars. By the dead eggs, that name is apt. I fought on many planets. I had as many defeats as victories.

Any other species, I would have been a hero.

I had to recover or I would have been tossed, alive, into the larvae pits.

The war is over. Well, the shooting is over.

I found out recently I am the only one left of my hatching. Eight million of us.

And I'm the only one left.

The enemy, the Terrans, are the only ones in the universe I feel understand me, understand something inside of me that nobody else seems to understand.

My enemy and I understood each other on the battlefield.

So it is not strange that they understand something within me that I do not.

Why does it hurt so bad that I live and the others died? Why do I feel as if I failed them somehow?

And why do I feel so guilty? - Aklikekniktok, Mantid Warrior, 12 PG.

Vak.tel followed others from the platoon back into the armory. There, a rack was set up with nozzles on it and cables connecting the rack to a portable computer.

He was surprised to see a half-dozen green mantids around the rack, with one at the portable computer. That one had its bladearms shoved into the expansion port and had images flickering between its antenna too fast for Vak.tel to see.

"All right. Line up. Any order, I don't care," the armorer said. "One at a time, you will step through the arch. When you hear 'finished' you will come over here," he pointed at a box marked on the floor with yellow paint stick. "You'll dismount your armor," he pointed at a table where two other green mantids were standing on either side of a nanoforge. "You'll go over there and get your hardshell armor. You'll turn off all electronics, including your datalink, then go over there," he pointed at a white box. "Once you are checked over, you'll either go there," he pointed at a red box. "Or outside." he pointed at the door.

Vak.tel could tell by the Lieutenant's body language they were confused as he hustled up to be first in line.

"When you're done, go to your assigned sleeping area and get your living area squared away," the Lieutenant called out as Vak.tel stepped up to the frame, looking at the green mantids with curiosity.

"Next!" the voice was synthesized and the green mantid on top of the frame waved at him.

He stepped forward, stopping when his armor beeped.

The nozzles hissed and a square extended out from the top of the frame, moving up and down.

"Finished. Move out," the voice was heavily synthesized.

Vak.tel moved over to the yellow box. A heavy crate was moved in front of him and opened, showing foam inserts for his armor. He closed his eyes and flexed the right muscles.

His armor chirped twice and opened. He stepped back as the armorer's assistant, a scruffy looking Telkan who looked like they were a half case into a six pack, moved the crate forward to wrap around the armor.

His armor was painted in desert camouflage.

"Uni-directional thermal pass paint," the armorer said. "Lets the armor shed heat as well as bounces incoming heat," he said.

Vak.tel nodded as he moved over to the table table with the nanoforge. One of the mantids ran a laser grid over him, the other worked the holographic keyboard attached to the nanoforge. Vak.tel noted how scratched and battered the nanoforge appeared as it produced uniforms, boots, undergarments, two different types of hats, then hardshell armor and a helmet.

The whole time the mantid with the wand was working. He heard his datalink clink then give out the three-toned warning that it was shutting down.

"Get over here, get dressed, put your current uniform, boots, undergarments, and gear in the bag," the armorer said.

Vak.tel hurried over then changed in front of everyone, feeling slightly self-conscious.

The uniform was the old adaptive camouflage, the hardshell was warsteel plating with plastic overlay, the modular load carrying equipment was different, felt older and clumsier to Vak.tel.

As soon as he was dressed, he over over to the white box.

The Armorer checked him.

"You're clear. Get out," he said, jerking a thumb toward the door.

Vak.tel noted that the armorer was missing the vestigal claws on the ends of his fingers.

"Yut," Vak.tel grunted, half-jogging out the door.

The heat hit him immediately, even standing in the shade of the camo net.

He saw the cardboard sign that said "Living Area Echo" that had appeared while he was in the armory and walked up to it. There was a buried metal cargo container with sandbags around it, and a sloping entryway with sandbag sides and overhead cover halfway down. He sighed and went down, going through the 'door' cut into the cargo container.

Inside was practically chilly even though his retinal link said it only went from 139F to 95F.

The room was dimly lit, chemical lights hanging from the ceiling. There were two sets of ten bunks, one to each side, with footlockers at the end of the bunks. The first eight bunks all had bare mattresses with linen and blankets folded and set in a stack in the middle of the bunks. At the end there were four Telkan gathered around a table made up of four stacked ration boxes.

"Ten for two," one said.

"Blind six," another said.

As Vak.tel moved up they started throwing cards down. His boots kept crunching sand and grit on the floor, which was made up of plas-panels on top of pallets that were set on the metal floor of the container.

"Where do I bunk down?" he asked.

"Pick one. Nobody cares," one grunted. He dropped a card and scooped the other three up.

Vak.tel just chose one at random. The mattress was covered with dust and grit, same with the blanket and sheets. He undid them, shaking them out, raising dust off the mattresses and floor.

"Do that shit outside, boot," one of the guys snarled, one hand holding down the cards in front of him.

"Jerkass," another snarled, picking up a bottle and spitting into it.

Vak.tel took his blankets outside and shook them out, nodding to members of the platoon as they went by. When they were shook out, he went inside and made his bed, stepping back to admire it. The corners were perfect, the top blanket taut enough to bounce a credit chit off of.

One of the card players moved up and looked at the bunk. Vak.tel saw his ears go rigid right before he reached down, grabbed the end of the blanket, and pulled it off the bunk.

"Fucking boot!" he snarled, turning around, holding the blanket by one corner and shaking it at Vak.tel. "Never make your bunk like that!"

"What?" Vak.tel asked.

"Never, and I mean never put the TCAS and TMEF logos facing up, you retarded boot," he snapped. "Logos face down. No markings showing."

"What? Why?" Vak.tel asked. He'd always made his bunk that way.

"We only do that for dead men," the one spitting into a bottle said from where he was still sitting. "Don't do it."

"Fine," Vak.tel said.

The one with his blanket threw it at him and stalked back to the card game.

Vak.tel made his bunk and hurried out.

The Lieutenant was standing with the Gunny and looking at Field Sergeant Impton.

"What's this place for?" the Lieutenant was asking.

"Forward Observation and Support Base," Impton said, shrugging. "Keep Chernobog working, defend against Terrans from city, provide fire support and point defense. Patrol around," he looked up at the camo net. "Mostly, do nothing."

A little globe on six articulated legs, no bigger than an orange, ran through the dirt and stopped by Impton's foot, making beeping and chirping noises. It was ochre colored and looked weirdly wet but dry, with eight eyes arranged in a circle around it.

"Look at you," Impton crooned, kneeling down. "Have all your legs and all your eyes."

The globe beeped happily, then raced away, leaving behind a plume of dust. It ran to the sandbagged berm then ran back, leaving behind two plumes of dust. It stopped in front of Impton and hopped up and down.

"And fast too. Aren't you clever little spider mine," Impton crooned. He petted the dusty looking metal orb and the little robot shivered. "OK, go find hiding place outside wire."

The little globe beeped happily and raced away.

"Apologies, sir. Just printed. Like attention," Impton said, shrugging. "Control and Fabrication Units been in place two years. Has buffer overruns. Overruns mean personality," he shrugged again. "Is OK."

The LT pulled his attention from staring at where the little spider mine had ran through a gap in the sandbags that had a sign saying "Spider Highway" above a pipe.

"Sergeant, my orders say I'm supposed to defend this firebase as well as help take the city," the LT said.

Impton barked a laugh. "City. Yes. Always 'take city', like never thought of that."

"What's so funny?" the LT asked.

"Two years. Take city. Take city. Take city. Like we not think of that," Impton chuckled. "Like no Terrans in city. Like 'oh, take objective. Why no take objective? Take objective? Why Terran keep us from taking objective? Take objective' without accounting that Terran objective is keep city."

The LT frowned, reaching up to pull off his floppy hat, slick back his sweat slicked fur, and put it back on.

"What makes the city so important?" the Gunny asked.

"Terrans have it, want to keep it. So we want it," Impton shrugged.

"Why do they want to keep it?" the LT asked.

"Because we want to take it," Impton smiled, the warsteel teeth flashing.

"Why do we want to take it?" the Gunny asked.

"Because they want to keep it," Impton said.

"But why do they want to keep it?" the LT asked.

"Because we want to take it," Impton's smile got wider.

"Wait. We want to take it because they want to keep it. They want to keep it because we want to take it?" The LT asked.

"Yes," Impton smiled.

"We want it because they want to keep it because we want to take it because they want to keep it?" the Gunny asked.

"Yes."

"Why?" the LT asked in the tones of a man who had just found out there was a horse in the back seat of his car.

Impton shrugged. "Is war."

"But... but... does it have strategic value?" the LT asked.

Impton shrugged. "In middle of desert valley."

"Does it have industry?" the Gunny asked.

"Not after orbital hits. Is ruins."

"Is it a major population center?" the LT asked.

"Is ruins. No civilians. All dead or run or pick up gun. Orbital strikes," Impton flicked his ears in amusement.

"What is it's significance?" the LT asked.

"Terrans have it," Impton said.

The LT threw up his hands. "This is fucking stupid!"

"Is war," Impton grinned.

Before anything else could be said a siren kicked on, three short tones, then a long sustained.

Impton had already taken off running for a foxhole, diving in. Troops came running out of the living areas, carrying their rifles and helmets, some only dressed in their boots.

Vak.tel followed Impton, diving into the hole and looking around.

There was a pair M318 set up to fire out of the foxhole, but Impton was sitting on an ammo box, cracking open a fizzystim and puffing on a cigarette.

"Missiles," was all he said.

There was a bellowing roar.

Sergeant Kringik scrambled into the foxhole, his eyes wide. "What was that?"

"Was Chernobog. Help point defense, fire counter-battery," Impton said. "Took atomic to knee, can't run or walk far, but can provide defense."

Vak.tel could hear the tearing sound of hypervelocity point defense systems. They were basically railguns that fired glass beads that had an iron core. Highly effective, cost effective, and easy to print out of a nanoforge with access to sand.

It went on for a couple of minutes, with a few distant explosions.

Impton reached over and patted the figure 8 drawn sideways on the dirt wall of the foxhole.

"Welcome to Damnation Alley," Impton said at one point where the detonation of a high impulse thermobaric was close enough to cause thin lines of sand to pour down through cracks in the overhead cover.

Vak.tel felt reeeeeal welcome.

The siren cut out and Vak.tel climbed out of the foxhole.

There was a massive robotic form in the middle of the camp, holding the camo nets in either hand. It bristled with weapons, including a sixteen inch gun that was currently rotating so the barrel pointed straight up. It then dropped down with a loud clank.

The robots was festooned with chains, the armor plating covered in barbed spikes. It was black with red trim, the tips of the barbed spears on the ends of some of the chains painted crimson. It has skulls adorning the armor and up between the shoulders was a massive Telkan skull, the nose down.

"What... what is that?" Nrexla asked, moving up next to Impton and Vak.tel.

"Is Chernobog. Is Yuri," Impton said. He waved. "Yuri! Yuri!"

The robot looked down, the burning red eyes of the massive Telkan skull focusing on Impton.

"What, Ivan?" the massive cyborg asked.

"Say hi to boots," Impton said.

"Hello, stupid boots," the cyborg said. It slowly sat down, one leg sticking out, in the pit it had been standing in. It started draping the camouflage over itself.

"Yuri say hi," Impton laughed. He turned and began walking away.

The LT came bustling out of a buried container that had the sign "TOC" outside the short sandbag lined passage.

"Field Sergeant Impton," the LT called out.

Impton stopped, his ever present grin coming back. "Yes?"

The LT looked around. "I haven't seen any officers around."

"No," Impton said. He made a vague wave. "Fire base undermanned."

"How many of us are here?" the LT asked.

"How many are you?" Impton asked.

"I brought a rifle platoon. Four squads, thirteen man squads, two section sergeants, the platoon sergeant, and myself," the LT said.

"How many?" Impton asked again. He lit a cigarette while staring at the LT.

"Fifty-six," the LT said.

"Hm. Fifty six. Yuri count?" Impton asked, pointing at where Yuri was drifting by, back in his small bowl with viewscreens and graspers.

He was humming to himself.

"No. Wait, yes," the LT said.

"Hm. Fifty six, plus Yuri, plus me. Greenies count?" Impton asked.

"Yes," the LT said.

"OK, fifty six. Plus Yuri. Plus me. Plus Greenies. Carry two. Divide by seven. Add half. Hand three to Sergeant Major. Give two to Corps. Hmm," Impton took a drag. "With greenies, one-hundred two."

The LT frowned. "Without the greenies?"

"With me? With Yuri. Hmm, carry two," Impton said. He exhaled smoke. "Fifty-six of you, add Yuri. Add me," he smiled. "Seventy-five!"

The LT stared. "There's only nineteen of you?"

Impton nodded. "Yes."

The LT looked around. "Where's the CO?"

Impton's smile got wider.

"Right here," Impton said.

The LT looked around again and sighed. "Is he invisible?"

"No, sir," Impton's smile got even wider.

The LT stared at him.

Vak.tel had a sinking feeling in his guts.

"Is you."