First Contact

Chapter 793: The Inheritor's War

After the last shot, after the last stab, comes the long part and the hard part.

Seeing if there is any blame to lay, boards to convene, punishments to hand out, reports to write, or lessons to be learned.

The hardest battle is still to be fought.

The battle between truth and reality versus ego and self-aggrandizement. -- General P'Kank, lecture to Smokey Cone Confederate Officer's Candidate School, 8729 PG

"STAND UP AND FIGHT!" - Anonymous NCO, every war, every species, ever.

The mud will hold you prisoner,

and the plains will bake you dry.

The snow will blind you,

but only the people will make you cry.

-- Reflections on War, Major u/Bergusia, Hesstlan Medical Corps.

Private Piftun was leaned against the back of the burnt out tank, mouth open, snoring because his sinuses were clogged with dust. Private Geptek had been leaning against the tank but had fallen over, laying on Piftun's legs, still holding his rifle, curled up slightly and snoring. Piftun still had one hand on the dented and scuffed man portable rocket system. Leaning against Piftun from the other side was Lieutenant Zermak, who's head was still bandaged, his eye covered, both ears missing, and most of the fur on the visible skin was gone. His hands and forearms were completely hairless.

All three Marines had IV bags mag-tapped to the tank.

Vuxten was slightly off to the side, sitting on an ammo box that held 20mm cannon shells only a few hours before. He had a headset on, his face and eye still bandaged, and was looking at where the augmented reality lens showed the commander of 19th Brigade. Vuxten's arm was in a sling and 471 was sleeping on Vuxten's temp-cast inside the sling, a thorax cast around his chest.

"...finished headcount. We've got eighty-five of your men left, of that number, all of them are ambulatory wounded," Captain Sheshlessteshesh (Who went by Chuck) said, shaking his head and making the spines on the back of his head and down his neck rattle. "We'll be transporting them out for chelation and rad poisoning."

"The battalion numbered three hundred seventeen at last accountability check," Vuxten said. He coughed, groaned, and spit off to the side.

"Double Eighty-Six Evac has sixty-two of your men in recovery right now, if that's any consolation," Captain 'Chuck' said, shrugging. "You've got, what nine men with you?"

Vuxten nodded then winced. The back of his neck hurt from running the heavy nifty-fifty.

"So, that's nine, seventy-one, one-fifty-six out of three hundred seventeen after taking a surprise atom smasher, sustained artillery and missile bombardment, and a tank assault," Chuck said. "You and your men saved, through training, personal initiative, and valor, almost fifty percent of a unit that could have been wiped out to a man. How many are unwounded?"

Vuxten shook his head. "I have one man unwounded," he stated. He glanced over to where PFC Bit.nek was helping the medics carry a stretcher, the short Cemtrary hustling along.

Vuxten snorted at the sight of "BORN TO DIE" on the backplate of PFC Bit.nek's adaptive camouflage hard plate.

"Let me guess, one of 'that guy' that we all have," Chuck said.

Vuxten nodded. "He is now."

A medic came up, Hesstlan female with the SMG in one fist and a cigarette in her mouth. She was wearing a medic's loading frame that hissed angrily as she looked down at Vuxten. Three more medics ran up. Lieutenant Zermak made sleepy, weak protests as they hefted him up and laid him on a stretcher, but they ignored it as a Hesstlan and PFC Bit.nek lifted the stretcher and hustled off.

"Just you four left," she said, exhaling smoke. "Let's get you in the medic wagon."

"Gotta go," Vuxten said.

"Luck," Chuck said.

The eyepiece cleared.

"Get them first," Vuxten said, waving at the two Privates.

"My job, my order, you're next," the Hesstlan said. She crouched down. "Right now, Major, I'm willing to allow you to be conscious when you go by your men, when you arrive at the aid station with the rest of your men, but if you think for one second that you won't do what I say, I'll either O2 therapy you or zap you in the face with a sleepytime gun."

She patted what looked like a jury-rigged anesthetic emitter with a pistol grip and a battery pack on the side that hung from a cord from her equipment harness, took a drag of her smoke then exhaled to the side, staring at Vuxten with one eye.

"Your choice, Major. Awake and waving at your men, or on your side drooling into a puddle?" the Hesstlan asked.

"Awake," Vuxten said.

"Good choice," the Hesstlan said. She waved over the stretcher and stood there and supervised as Vuxten was laid on the grav-stretcher.

"He can stay awake," she said to the medic who went to give the IV bag a squirt of anesthetic nanites.

Vuxten half expected argument but instead the medic just nodded.

"Be seeing you, Major," the Hesstlan said, turning to where PFC Bit.nek and the other medic had hustled up with a new stretcher. "Wake them up, they both go on stretchers, they're jacked up on stimgum and ball sweat," she said.

Vuxten watched her, curiously, as the two medics hustled him over to the armored medic grav-striker. She waved over two privates and started doing a sweep of the wreckage with a sniffer, checking foxholes and vehicles closely with the particulate detector.

When he got loaded in he waited patiently, staring at the ceiling. When the grav-striker smoothly lifted off with a howl of grav-engines he heard someone whisper his name.

"Psst, Major Vuxten. Psst," he heard.

He looked over to see Private Geptek had lifted his head to look at him, under the O2 mask he had a big grin on his face even though his whiskers were burnt off and some of his fur had already sloughed off.

"Yes?" Vuxten asked.

Geptek lifted up a fist with his thumb stuck straight up. "Good night, huh, Major?" he grinned.

Vuxten chuckled and groaned at the burning pain in his chest, copying Geptek's gesture.

"Best night, kid."

-----

Vuxten woke up slowly, hearing the low buzz of conversation around him. His cybereye took a minute to boot-up and run through the self-tests. His ear gave three tones and then went through self-tests and startups.

He noticed that the firmware version number was different than the last time he'd woken up on both his ear and his eye.

He turned his head and looked around him.

He was in a large room with roughly two dozen other Telkan, all with bandages of laser and blade surgery, the puffiness of nanite-surgery, and the pink skin missing fur of regeneration and quikheal therapies.

"You awake, Major?" someone asked.

Vuxten blinked a few times till the cybereye finally clicked the dust casing and it went from large blocky pixelation to ultra-definition, bringing into focus the face of Private Piftun, whose face was puffy from nanite surgery and had bandages on his bare chest.

"Yeah, think so," Vuxten said.

Piftun made a motion. "They just brought in LT Zermak, they said he's going to make it. That medic got to him before his brain bleed turned his brain to jello."

Vuxten tried to nod, realized he was in a neck brace and just blinked.

"Sergeant Nalret didn't make it. Kay-Eye-Aye," Piftun said. He leaned back against the pillow. "Servitor tank shot him with the main gun, they had DNA test the carbon streak."

Vuxten closed his eye. "Damn."

"He hadn't pulled attention from the guys from third platoon running for the big nano-forge, the tanks would have knocked out the forge and we'd've been fucked," Piftun said. He sighed. "Poor brave bastard."

Vuxten just nodded.

There was the sound of doors opening and Vuxten heard someone say "Sir, you can't go in there."

"Out of my way, Lieutenant," Vuxten heard Colonel Brett T'Klakak say. "With Lieutenant Colonels N'Prekak and Dartrum, the General has made these my men temporarily."

"But, sir, they're all..." the voice started.

Vuxten turned his head as best he could and saw the big Treana'ad warrior just walk by the Puntimat nurse, using his sheer mass to push her side. The Colonel had his adaptive camouflage uniform on with that hard plates of personal protective equipment that were scarred, scraped, and scuffed. The Colonel had a quikheal cast on one arm as he looked around, folding his bladearms behind his back.

He lit a cigarette as he moved forward, stopping at Corporal Haktrum's bed. He picked up the chart and flipped through it with one bladearm, holding it with his uncast hand.

"Hm, leg severed by enemy high velocity rounds. Four cauterized puncture wounds from white phosphorus shrapnel, missing ear," the big Colonel said. He shook his head and hung up the chart, staring at the Telkan Marine whose cybernetic leg was immobilized. "I expect you at stand-to tonight, Marine."

"Yes, sir," Corporal Haktrum said.

The Colonel moved up to Specialist-Five Relman, the sole surviving medic of HHC. He picked up the chart and looked at the still unconscious Telkan. "Huh. Skull fracture, embedded shrapnel. No cognitive disruptions predicted. Four broken ribs, two cracked vertebrae, no spinal defects," the Treana'ad said. He hung it up, shaking his head. "This man is cleared for duty as far as I'm concerned."

Vuxten just stared as the big Treana'ad rounded on the nurse, who now had two doctors.

"Must you coddle these Marines?" the Treana'ad asked. He moved over to Vuxten's bed, lifting up the chart and shaking it. "Cracked muzzle? He can eat through a straw. Missing ear? Assign a private to hear for him. Missing right eye? Make the enemy stand on his left," the Colonel said, sounding outraged. He looked at Vuxten. "I expect you to be on your feet as soon as possible. Why, these are barely scratches. When I was a Major, we were expected to fight without our head."

The nurses and doctors were gaping at him as he picked up Private Piftun's chart. He paged through it then hung it back up, looking at the Telkan Marine Private.

"You're barely injured, Marine," the Treana'ad said. He made a scoffing sound. "Planetary Director Brentili'ik expects you to do your duty, Marine, not lay about in the MASH pinching nurse's fannies, drinking Bingo Cola, and getting up to trouble that would make the Lady Lord of Hell blush."

"Ye, yes, sir," Piftun stammered.

"Good man," the Treana'ad said. He moved over to the door. "I expect every one of you be on your feet and not lay around taking up bed space needed for more injured patients. In this man's military we are all expected to do our duty," his eyes moved over the wounded. "Trifling wounds, Marines," he looked at the nurse and lifted his quikheal cast. "I want this removed, nurse."

She blinked, lifted up her palm, and consulted the hologram before looking up. "Colonel, it has to remain for a week at least and you've been wearing it for only twenty-nine minutes."

"A week? For a mere cracked arm carapace, ichor veins and artery replacement, and severed nerve cord?" the Colonel scoffed. He shook his head. "Pfft, it was a through and through from an h-vee round. Back when I joined as a soft shelled grub I got hurt worse fighting over a coingirl dancer with a drunken Grodd. Why, when I was a corporal, thirty minutes was plenty of time to heal from a severed leg. There's a war to be fought and we need to fight it."

He looked at the Marines, who stared back at them. "Heal up, men. I won't stand for any lollygagging in this man's military," he said. He thumped the cast against the door frame. "A whole week. Why, I have work to do. Can't have 7th Regiment laying around on their tanks sunbathing and drinking fizzybrew, why they might think..."

Whatever they might think Vuxten didn't hear as the doors closed.

The nurse and the doctor were mumbling to each other, outraged, as they moved down the line and checked everyone's lines and monitors, adjusting nanites and fluids.

When the nurse looked down at Vuxten she frowned.

"You shouldn't be awake, Major," she said. She adjusted the anesthetic. "See ya on the other side, champ."

Darkness pulled him down before he could reply.

-----

Vuxten had gone in for a blade and laser fix on his chest.

It was the startling thing to find out, that for all the magic of regen, quikheal, and nanites, blade and laser sometimes was still the best option. Especially when the nanites were mostly dedicated to finding any cells that had been damaged by the neutron radiation cascade of the atomic.

He came out of it slowly, the anesthetic microbots slowly releasing his brain. He blinked both cybereyes, looking around, and watched as his cybereyes and both cyberearms booted up.

"...little sisters are as cute a buttons," he heard Colonel Brett T'Klakak saying. "Podlings do love to dance, do they not, Relman?"

"They do, sir," the medic said, his voice cheerful.

Vuxten's vision cleared up in time to see the big Treana'ad warrior move up to Corporal Haktrum. The Treana'ad stopped and handed the Marine a holocube. "Letter from home, Corporal. Wounded troops get priority on the hypercom."

"Uh, thank you, sir," Haktrum said.

"Well, Marine, let's see it," the Colonel said.

"Yeah," PFC Miketa said, waving from the bed across, his chest gleaming with the anti-sloughing medication gel that was supposed to keep his skin from peeling off due to radiation exposure.

"Uh, it's from my intended," the Corporal said, ducking his head slightly.

"Ah, well, it should be private then," the Colonel said. He flashed a winking emoji and pointed a bladearm at Vuxten. "Don't let the Major know I gave you this," he handed the Corporal a headset that had "MWR" stenciled on the side. "I lifted it from the Officer's Morale box."

"Thank you, sir," Corporal Haktrum said.

"Ah, Major, there you are," the Colonel said, clacking over by Vuxten's bed.

Vuxten noticed that the quikheal cast had been replaced by a cybernetic arm that was in a sling.

"Colonel," Vuxten said, still feeling slightly offended at being chewed out.

"Feel up to a drive?" the Colonel asked, waving at a wheelchair.

"Uh," Vuxten said.

"Excellent," the Colonel said.

Everyone was paying attention to their mail as the Colonel helped Vuxten get into the chair and pushed him outside. The day was chilly, heavy clouds, with a slight wind that ruffled Vuxten's gown.

"Smoke, Major?" the Colonel asked, holding out the pack. Vuxten noticed it had a dancing cartoon cow on it.

"No, sir," Vuxten said.

The Colonel nodded, lighting his own and putting the pack and lighter away.

"Your men are doing well," the Colonel said before Vuxten could speak. He gave a heavy sigh, a fast exhalation of stress. "Gentle Menhit knows when I saw the casualty lists that your unit had been wiped out with only a single unwounded man I thought it was going to be much worse."

Vuxten closed his mouth before saying anything.

The Colonel looked up. "As soon as the battle was over, the General had me show up, take accountability of your men," he said. He took a long drag, held it, then slowly exhaled. "You Telkan are tough little bastards, but what I saw had me worried."

The Colonel waited a second then continued.

"I went in there, remembering the advice of Lieutenant Colonel George Samantha Vinlandikstien, Detainee imprison her soul, when she took me to see my men after my artillery company had been ripped up during the Battle of Leemix Crossing during Clownface," he mused. "She came down hard on my men, asking if they were too soft shelled to survive in this man's military, mentioning that as a Terran she went through basic training without feet."

The big Treana'ad glanced at Vuxten. "Not true. She said stuff like that all the time. She'd been in the military her whole life, four hundred years by the time I met her. She used to tell the troops that back when she joined they made you run over and retrieve your ammunition from the enemy's body because you only had what you were issued for the whole war."

Vuxten snorted.

"I was appalled. My men had suffered serious casualties when the Red Face Berserker Infantry hit us and she was telling them that their injuries were paltry. That they were scratches. She told a warrior whose wings and legs had been ripped off by howling Terrans that it was just a flesh wound and she'd go get a pallet jack and assign a Kobold to wheel him into battle," the Colonel's voice was far away sounding and Vuxten shivered slightly.

"When I'd arrived, the doctor's warned me that less than half of the warriors in the recovery ward would recover from their injuries, and there was Lieutenant Colonel George Samantha Vinlandikstien telling them that they were barely hurt," he said. "I was enraged."

"When I confronted her, she locked me up. Put me at attention, told me to get a grip on myself, ordered me back to what was left of my artillery company," the Colonel said. He shook his head. "Two days later, she took me back to the hospital to see my men. I had been afraid to read the status reports from the hospital, so I didn't know what I was about to find."

He exhaled smoke slowly.

"Can you guess what I found?" he asked.

Vuxten shook his head.

"Every. Single. One had survived. Lieutenant Colonel George Samantha Vinlandikstien led me through, handing out the mail she'd used her personal authority to yank through the hypercom, leaning against the end of the beds and having the troops show their holocubes," the Colonel said.

He turned and looked down at Vuxten.

"Every one of your men that made it to Battalion Aid is alive. Every. One," he said. He looked back up at the gray clouds. "They were angry at me. Outraged. They fought the pain, fought the agony, their anger, their rage, keeping them from giving up, from surrendering to bliss or whatever Telkan suffer when they start to die. Now, they've forgotten, they just know I brought them their mail and ten gallons of cherry vanilla swirl ice cream to go with dinner."

The Treana'ad officer looked down at Vuxten.

"Do you understand, Major?"

Vuxten nodded.

"Good talk," the Colonel said. He put out the cigarette on the black warsteel cyberarm and tucked the butt in a pocket. "I think that's about enough fresh air for today," he said, grabbing the wheelchair.

Vuxten thought about everything as the big Treana'ad wheeled him back to recovery ward, parking him next to Private Nopurt and handing the Private a holocube.

"Well, show the Major the cube, Marine," the Colonel said, leaning against the end of the bed frame.

The Telkan lit up, hitting play on the cube.

Three little podlings appeared.

"HI, NOPPY!" they all said at once.

"My brothers and sister," Nopurt said.

"Hold it up, make sure the others can see," the Colonel said. He flashed a smiling emoji. "Podlings are so cute."