First Contact

Chapter 538: Resurgence - Legends

General of the Copper (1-Star) P'Kank stared at the hologram of the planet he was in charge of defending, of pushing the Atrekna off of. He could see the faint lines of the Task Force in orbit, see the picture of an old friend, Admiral (Upper Decks) of the Iron Levine Thrush, next to a battleship that was still the only operational ship with a temporal resonance cannon. On the ground were large colored areas, denoting who was in charge of which section.

Red for the enemy. Amber for contested. Blue for his forces. Green for friendly, which was only in a few places that the Hesstla Armed Forces had managed to secure, and red/white stripes for temporal flux areas, green and gold hatch marks for what was held by the Elvish Queen and her forces, which was mainly the forests and other reconstituted wilderness areas.

Enemy estimations put it at nearly 1,200 Atrekna 'leadership caste' and billions of Dwellerspawn.

He had two hundred and thirty thousand troops on the ground, three BOLO supertanks, a division of tanks, and a division of armored cavalry that mainly centered around grav-strikers.

He was forced to protect sixty-two major urban centers, of which sixteen were major industrial centers, six thousand two hundred eleven civilian shelters, and nine hundred eighty one refugee centers.

P'Kank hated being on the defensive.

What made it even more aggravating was that he had been on the defensive for almost four years. Of course, Admiral Thrush and Task Force Grim Dawn had been fighting the orbital battle for nearly thirty years.

According to CONFEDINTEL briefings, less than a year had by outside the system.

He had no reinforcements. With Terran Descent Humanity making up 62% of the Terran Confederate Armed Services, when they had died off, it had left a massive gap in manpower, not to mention manufacturing and logistics.

The Tukna'rn infantry units were performing above and beyond the initial estimations. There had been concern in some quarters that the stoic beings would not make very good soldiers, would be unable to react to extremely fluid battlefield circumstances that might fall outside of established doctrine.

So far, that had not been a problem. They had adapted doctrine to the situation with ease, almost as if it had been planned out that way.

Of course, it did help that Confederate Armed Services doctrine had been a constantly evolving thing for the last eight thousand years, so it had flexibility built into it from the baseline.

General P'Kank knew that a loss of endurance led to more wars being lost than almost anything. A loss of morale and confidence could destroy even the strongest army.

But he had been artificially stretching out the war, and the knowledge galled him worse that stale cigarettes and poor quality ice cream.

Yes, the data was vastly important. Teams of green mantids in stealth gliders would follow the Atrekna, using passive scanners to gather data, with a 'hit team' of black mantid special operations soldiers always nearby in a separate glider. The surveillance and reconnaissance teams had identified three distinct 'castes' within the Atrekna, had separated out the purple skinned nightmares from the 'leadership units' of the Dwellerspawn.

P'Kank had to remind himself that the battle on the planet was just one battle in a larger war. The Confederacy had stopped being the sledgehammer pounding apart the Lanaktallan Unified Council system and instead had turned into the scalpel to lance away the infection of the Atrekna from the Lanaktallan and neo-sapient systems.

Still, he disliked the fact that he felt he could have ended the war two years ago, should have ignored orders and pressed the Atrekna after Operation Texas Toast had exposed the Atrekna TZ's (Temporal Zones) and the Time After Time had been able to bring the heavy temporal resonance cannon to bear on the planet.

Now, it felt like every few weeks CONFEDINTEL wanted the creation engines and nanoforges loaded up with a new template to use against the Dwellerspawn and the Atrekna, always with warnings not to smash the Atrekna ruling caste into purple paste and liberate the planet.

At the same time, what had been a cluster of disparate units thrown together by the surprise attack had welded together into one coherent whole. Lanaktallan tankers driving Terran designed tanks had uncased First and Second Armor Division (Old Blood)'s colors and taken to the field against the war machines of the Atrekna. Telkan and Hesstlan grav-striker pilots had lifted up the guidon of First Cavalry Division from the death grip of dead Terrans and raised them over their bases. The Treana'ad Infantry Hordes had released enough members to help fill the gaps in 1st and 4th Infantry Divisions. That almost every species in the Confederate military, including the new Hesstlan recruits, had taken part in breathing life back into 5th Mechanized Infantry Division (Old Blood).

III Corps (Old Blood) was back.

General P'Kank wasn't sure what to think about the fact that he was only a General of the Copper, AKA a Brigadier General, with a single star on his uniform, and put in charge of an entire Corps, which was normally a General of the Iron or a Lieutenant General with three stars.

But there was no one else to shoulder the burden, to lead the Hamburger Kingdom's Hammer, to lead Phantom Corps, and General P'Kank knew that the fact there was nobody else, only him, made it so there was no sense crying over spilled ice cream.

So he stared at the map of the globe.

The fighting had devolved into the Atrekna opening a temporal zone, bringing in hordes of Dwellerspawn, then running away before any hypersonic missiles could home in on them and blow them from the skies. In other places they'd open up a dozen or so TZ's, bring forces through one, then run away.

Running away seemed to be a big strategy of the Atrekna. They disliked exposing themselves to combat, preferring to hide behind their autonomous war machines and bioweapons. In several places, heavily shielded mountain valleys and passes, they'd constructed fortresses of crystal that they hid inside of.

With no idea that the entire time they'd been under P'Kank's watchful eyes and the watching eyes of the Elven Queen.

For many of the Hesstla, life had returned to somewhat normal. Air raid drills over the last three years had made it so that the people of Hesstla just filed into their shelters. Instead of less than two-thirds of them reaching shelters in the first twelve hours, the population was practiced enough that by an hour mark over 90% of them were in shelters, the rest enroute or signalling 'shelter in place'.

At the insistence of the Hesstla people, military training centers had opened. Not just for infantry.

P'Kank was proud of himself for that.

The Hesstlan news services always ran at least one segment a night about how the Hesstla people were taking part in their own defense. That four years had resulted in a populace who had slowly poked their heads up out of their burrows and realized that maybe it was better to learn to shoot a gun yourself than rely on others.

P'Kank stared at the holotank, slowly bringing out his pack of cigarettes. Not the one from his sash pocket. The one from his uniform blouse pocket. A pack of genuine Terran cigarettes from Bloody Kansas in the Hamburger Kingdom.

He slowly unwrapped it, feeling the room around him hush.

They all recognized the pattern on the cigarette container.

He dropped the cellophane and tinfoil coated papers into the reclaimer, slowly withdrew a cigarette, turned it over, and slid it back in. He then pulled out a single cigarette before closing the pack and putting it in his sash.

He checked his plans. Checked the operational orders. He tapped the "All Units Acknowledge" icon as he put the cigarette in his mouth.

The green icons streamed up rapidly.

100% ready.

He took out a butane gas lighter, clicking it, and lit the cigarette.

The icon, a red shield with the line and dot of a warning rune in the middle, appeared in front of him.

He inhaled deeply as he slid the lighter back into his sash pocket.

The staff around him inhaled with him.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke from his mandibles, legs, and abdomen as he reached out and touched a button he had been afraid he'd never get to use, that he had sworn not to open the pack of cigarettes from Bloody Kansas until he was able to use it.

"EXECUTE OPERATIONAL INSTRUCTIONS" raced out.

Around the planet fire selector levers were moved from safe. Bunker shutters crashed open. Grav-strikers took to the air. Artillery system chambers were loaded. Tanks roared to life. Aerospace fighters swept down often hidden runways. Glider troops tightened their circles, waiting for their prey.

OPERATION BLACK CHERRY BUSTER launched.

If General P'Kank had been a memeing man, he might have realized that while he had named the operation after his favorite ice cream, it had a whole different meaning.

But, then, again, he might have found it amusing.

-------------

Melinvae ran for the grav-striker, her combat medic bag bouncing against her hip. Her friends from school would have never recognized the young woman that jumped onto the grav-striker with an easy practiced motion, grabbing the 'oh shit bar' with one hand even as she patted her aid bag with the other. She wore a Terran Confederate Army uniform, adaptive camouflage with warsteel plating, heavy boots, and a helmet. Covering her face was a standard gas mask, the hose running around to the back on her back. She carried one of the brutal, ugly magac submachine guns on one hip.

On her shoulders was the rank of a Specialist Grade-Four and the patch representing 1st Medical Brigade.

The grav-striker howled as it lifted off and Melinvae kept her knees flexed to absorb the vibration as it clawed for the skies. The gunners on either side of her, door gunners manning heavy six barrel minigun, hit the preload systems and the guns clacked as they went through auto-check functions and loaded ammunition into the chamber.

Off in the distance she saw the flat white flash of an atomic going off, followed immediately by a set of staccato actinic flashes.

ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC appeared in her retinal link.

She swallowed thickly.

Dozens, then scores of grav-strikers lifted off, joining the one Melinvae was on.

This is all of First Cav, she thought to herself as more grav-strikers joined. She could see the horse's head over the diagonal stripe on a yellow field stenciled onto the side of the grav-strikers.

Is this it? Is this the final push? she asked herself, hoping beyond hope that this time, finally, the Atrekna would be pushed from her world.

She hoped it was, but she wasn't counting on it.

The young female Hesstla took a deep breath and centered herself.

All to soon there would be casualties. Beings of a dozen species screaming for her from the battlefield.

Saint Doss preserve them, she thought as the entire flotilla of grav-strikers banked even as they rose up into the clouds. Saint Walker preserve me and the rest of Treatment Platoon.

In the distance more atomic weapons went off, boiling clouds reaching for the sky.

--------------

The little Hesstlan girl was six, her fur was gray with white dappled spots mixed in, her ears were straight and long, her green eyes were hidden by a blindfold. She held her lower lip between her flat bottom teeth and her longer upper teeth as she trembled with excitement. She was being led out of the bedroom and into the kitchen slash dining room, her little feet, in shined black shoes with little rhinestones on it, shuffled as she let herself be led.

The blindfold was pulled away and she gasped in happiness.

On the table was a round cake, covered in frosting, with six candles on it.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PUNEE!" everyone gathered up cried out. Even her little brothers and sisters, who were all between four and five, cheered and hopped up and down, clapping their hands.

The BobCo Nutriforge, its paint chipped and worn, pinged out a happy tune that ended with "Happy Birthday, Valued BobCo Customer!"

Punee rushed up to the table as soon as the song ended, putting her hands on the wood and leaning forward. She closed her eyes, made a wish, then blew out the candles in one long sputtering breath, feeling pleased with herself that she had blown out all the candles.

Punee, her days of feralness behind her, looked up at her family. Her aunt and uncle, her cousins, her older brother and sisters, all smiled back.

Even Dambree, who Nee loved most, gave a smile.

The cake was cut and Punee went and sat on the worn and patched couch with her little brothers and sisters, eating cake and ice cream. Afterwards came presents. Not many, just one from each person, most of them BobCo products.

There was even one from Mister Bob 'Caveman' Johnson that the nutriforge had printed out just for her, with a card that said "Happy Sixth Birthday, Valued BobCo Customer, from Bob Johnson" on it that played a little tune when she opened it to find a slip of paper that would let the nutriforge print out cookies just for her.

Mister Mewmew didn't have a gift, but instead let Punee hold him and pet him, a smiley face on his black macroplas triangle embedded in his forehead.

Finally, after all of the party, she went to bed with her new dolly, squirming in between her two younger sisters.

----------------

Tru looked up as Dambree came into the kitchen from the outside. Her older sister was in 'full dress' as Aunt Fenn called it. Grav-ski mask with a hood pulled over her head, coveralls, heavy thick belt, heavy boots, a brush clearing blade and a heavy magac pistol on the belt, thick leather work gloves.

"Going to check the outside line. Thought I saw someone poking around out there yesterday," Dambree said. Her voice was rough, gravelly, like she had spent the day chewing broken glass and gravel.

"I'll keep watch," Tru promised.

Dambree nodded. "Good."

"Be safe," Uncle Inkree said, standing up. He hugged Dambree, only coming up to mid-chest on the no-longer teenage girl who now stood over a foot taller than he did.

"We'll see," Dambree said. She opened the door and slipped out into the night.

------------

Arverr was a Red-Tip and had been for over a year. He had started at a refugee center that had gotten overrun, then another refugee center that he had been ejected from for stealing and refusing to be part of the work crews, and then wandered around joining this gang or the other until he'd ran into the Red-Tip Clan.

Lately, he'd been frustrated by one of the rules.

Nobody goes in the forest to the north.

Arverr had heard all the stories about some masked killer that haunted the forest around the lake, protecting an empty campground and killing any who entered the forest, but Arverr knew it was all bullshit. There was no "Masked Killer of Sparkling Lake", it was just bullshit because the others were afraid of the forest.

Arverr wasn't. Before the screaming times he'd been a park ranger.

He knew there wasn't anything out there.

He'd gotten almost a dozen like-minded Hesstlan and gone into the woods to prove it. They'd loot one of the cabins and come back, showing everyone there wasn't any masked killer our there.

That had been two hours ago.

Now, he and Briltee were stumbling through the rain and the dark. Briltee was sobbing, holding onto her arm where a bandage covered a nasty gouge.

They were all that was left.

They'd found the cabin, that was easy enough. It had been full of loot. Blankets, food, drinks, clothing, batteries. Enough to barter and be comfortable with.

They'd been gathering it all up when a scream had interrupted their laughing and joking.

That had been the first victim.

Arverr knew if he could just reach the Red-Tip Clan camp, he'd be free and clear. No way the Masked Killer of Sparkling Lake would brave over a hundred guns and over two hundred knives.

"Where is he?" Briltee whined, looking around.

They were crouched down next to a burnt out car, surrounded by ferns and trees.

"I don't know," Arverr said.

"How much further?" Briltee asked. She cried out and grabbed her arm again, the bandage still wet with blood that kept seeping from the wound.

"A mile. Maybe two," Arverr said.

"We're not going to make it," Briltee said.

"Shut up. We just need to keep running," Arverr said. He put his hand on the rusted hood of the ground car wreck and opened his mouth to tell Briltee to get ready to run.

The heavy brush clearing blade cut his hand off partway up the forearm.

He screamed, raising the stump, as Briltee joined him in screaming.

The Masked Killer of Sparkling Lake stood there, the heavy brush clearing blade in one hand, the dull white of the grav-mask surrounding the black empty eyes.

Briltee broke. Screaming, she launched herself against the massive form of the masked killer, screaming and fighting.

Arverr fell to his knees, holding his forearm and screaming.

Briltee got her fingers on the edge of the mask and pulled.

The mask fell down to hang from the main strap, resting on the masked figure's chest.

Briltee and Arverr were looking right at the unmasked killer when white light swept away the dark night.

The face was scarred. Horrible, twisting, upraised scars. There was only a few small patches of white and tan fur here and there. The eyes burned with a dull red light deep within them. The protruding front teeth were wide and sharp looking. Briltee's sharpened nails, which she kept broken off edges of razor blade glued beneath, had left three small cuts on the figure's cheek that ran with dark, almost black blood.

There was another quick two flashes of light as the figure put the mask back in place.

Briltee was still screaming, staring at the masked killer's face, horror filling her already broken mind from the sight of the killer's exposed face.

The killer thrust the thick heavy brush clearing blade deep into Briltee's stomach.

The female Hesstlan stopped screaming, instead coughed, her hands locking around the killer's forearm. She tried to hold tight, but the killer slowly pulled the heavy blade from her stomach and she fell back against the burnt out groundcar, pressing her forearm to her stomach.

Arverr managed to wrap his belt around his forearm and pull on it, struggling to cut off the blood flow.

Another flash revealed the masked killer staring off into the distance, toward where the flashes had come from.

A low rumble shook the earth as the trees creaked and waved back and forth.

The masked figure suddenly turned and walked into the forest, vanishing into the shadows.

After a few moments Briltee and Arverr managed to get to their feet and stumble away, heading back to the Red-Tip Clan camp.

The story of how the Masked Killer of Sparkling Lake, who stood taller than a grown man, looked underneath the mask spread rapidly.

By dawn, Arverr and Briltee found themselves tied to trees on the edge of his territory, their feet cut off and the stumps sealed with tar.

Around each of their necks hung a simple sign.

UR LAYK

----------

Dambree sat down, the towel wrapped around her.

"They're telling everyone to get into basements and shelters," Tru said, tapping the top of the emergency radio.

"They're firing atomics off pretty close," Elu said.

"I know," Dambree nodded. She held out her forearm for Mister Mewmew to bite.

Mister Mewmew showed a blue trefoil and Tru sighed with relief.

"You can't go out in that," Aunt Fenn said quietly. She had been woken by the rumbling of the earth and stood next to Dambree, one arm protectively around her swollen belly. "There will be black rain by morning."

"I know," Dambree sighed. "If I have to, I will, black rain or no," Dambree said. She opened the can of Liquid Hate, smiling at the warning squeak.

"I hope it doesn't last long," Elu said.

"I know," Dambree said. She took a drink and set down the can. "So do I."