The tank was massive. Over a thousand tons of armor, weapons, engines, defenses. Its tracks were two feet wide and there were six of them, three per side, that rattled and clattered as the tank roared down the damaged and bombed out freeway. It crashed over wrecked cars, crushing the vehicle bodies into fragments and thin layers of pressure welded plasteel. Its battlescreens came on, blowing apart larger wrecked vehicles that had been destroyed by an Atrekna autonomous war machine strafing run in the opening hours of the war. The turret kept rotating in circles, first one way, then the other, with the massive main gun bellowing out flame with a roar as it fired practice phantom 'munitions' at targets that didn't exist. It had a flag attached to one of the radio antenna, a black flag with a pair of lightning bolts bracketing a mantid skull, all in white.

White smoke was pouring from the port side of the back deck, indicating a fire somewhere inside of the engine compartment. Two of the point defense system infinite repeaters kept pointing at each other and shooting phantom practice munitions at each other. The 4.2 inch mortar tube kept banging against the 60mm mortar tube, which screeched and kept trying to fire blanks into the body of the 4.2 inch mortar tube. One of the heavy Madame Three-Eighteen guns was spinning in a circle, firing blanks wildly. Two antenna were broken off and one of the external maintenance hatches was jammed open, the corpse of the equivalent of a hawk stuck between the hatch and the body of the tank.

It hit a set of massive craters in the freeway, went nose first into the crater, then tried to back out. One track caught the body of a crushed cargo hauler and pulled it up into the skirting of the running gear. There was a loud crack from underneath even as the cannon fired again.

With the scream of overstressed warsteel the turret jumped the ring and slid six inches off the track. The linked metal plates of the treads suddenly screeched and bunched up, binding together. A running wheel blew off, ricocheting around the crater and hitting one of the external gun mounts, knocking the gun clean off the mount as the endosteel bolt failed, leaving the gun and the mount intact but separated. The gun started firing, dancing around as it ran through the belt of blanks.

Smoke started oozing from the interior as the hatches popped open. Smoke billowed out of the hatches and hazy shapes could be seen moving in the smoke, but despite the disturbance no details could be made out. The heavily armored external maintenance hatches popped open and blurs scrambled out even as smoke poured out.

The smoke started streaming straight up, undisturbed, as fire started burning in the layer between the spalling liner and the internal armor.

A drone appeared in mid-air, obviously in mid-toss. It swooped down and spraypainted on the tarmac "IT WAS LIKE THAT WHEN WE GOT HERE!" and the sound of laughter could be heard as footsteps receded.

Vuxten frowned and turned off the recording, shaking his head.

"When was that?" Vuxten asked.

"Two hours ago," the non-descript Telkan in adaptive camouflage said.

"Is there any clue who did it?" Vuxten asked, feeling irritation well up.

General NoDra'ak had assigned First Telkan with guarding the motorpool where all the tanks of Third Armor, Eighth Infantry, First Recon, and First Lanaktallan Armor were all sitting there waiting for crew assignments.

General A'armo'o had personally requested that Vuxten himself try to find out who was damaging the brand new tanks in such embarrassing ways.

"No. Not one. We even swept for footprints but couldn't find any. The laughter is electronically voice masked, so no clue even to the species," the Telkan, a member of Criminal Investigations Division, said. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. "The graffiti was done by a standard stencil drone you can find in any store or motorpool."

Vuxten nodded. "All right. We're going to do this the hard way then."

The CID officer nodded as he listened to Vuxten's plan.

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

The tank was pristine, almost smug. It represented the best technology and innovation the Terran Confederate Military Procurement Board could assemble. Its guns were the strongest tank guns out there, able to go toe to toe with a Navy frigate or even a Space Force destroyer. Its battlescreens belonged on a light cruiser.

Individually, each part was a vast improvement on the previous tank systems.

It oozed smugness where it sat.

The blackout drive lights suddenly flashed, then stayed on. The back deck lowered down silently. The antenna bent, apparently of its own free will, and a black flag with white markings was attached. Three of the maintenance hatches opened and closed. The back deck whined quietly as it raised by into positions.

Nobody had approached. It had all happened without any obvious intervention.

The Telkan Force Recon Marine staring at the tank through the scope of his weapon tapped his com.

"Did you all see that?" he asked.

"Roger that. Looks like someone's using stealth systems," came the answer.

The Force Recon troop watched as the tank clattered quietly several times. The fuel injector whined, the fusion reactor snarled, and the turbine suddenly roared to life as the closed system steam driven powerplant roared to full power. The heat of the fusion reactor was used to turn heavy water into steam, which drove the pistons. The turbo-charger used 'impossible gears' to increase the torque and speed of the drivelines.

The tank lunged out of the parking spot, swiveled in an opposing tracks turn, and roared toward the gate of the motorpool.

The Force Recon Marine watched it all through his scope.

Right before the tank reached the gate it suddenly opened, allowed the tank through, then closed. The tank slowed down, the electronic warfare specialist's hatch opening. After a moment the tank suddenly roared and lunged to full speed. The hatch closed and the tank flashed its running lights a few times before returning to blackout drive.

"You see anyone?" the voice asked.

"Negative. Has to be full stealth. Definitely not civilians or Lanky insurgents," the Force Recon sniper said.

"Go ahead and pack up, we're shifting to drone survelliance," the voice said.

"Roger," the sniper said. He looked at his spotter. "Well, this was worth six hours laying in the dirt."

"Not ours to ask why, just ours to bitch and whine," the spotter grinned.

The tank roared down the dirt road, heading toward the artillery practice ranges. A huge plume of dust followed it as it flew down the road at over a hundred twenty miles an hour, the tracks clattering, the turbo-charged steam turbine howling, and the roar of the drive systems echoing off the ruined buildings on all side.

The drone followed, high up, passive night vision only. The drone operator knew if they tried to use any other system the tank's sensor would pick it up immediately. Frankly the operator was surprised that an unmasked passive stealth drone hadn't been picked up yet.

The tank suddenly turned, slamming down into a creek, throwing up a rooster-tail of mud and water as it pivoted by having the starboard tracks go forward and the port tracks backwards even as the transmission screamed in metallic agony.

Smoke started oozing up out of the vents on the rear deck. White smoke that stunk of scorched hydraulic or transmission fluid.

"Burning cherry juice," the Treana'ad mechanic next to Vuxten said, leaning forward. "They blew at least one of the inline trannies."

Vuxten shook his head. "Well, there's fifty thousand credits of the Confederacy's tax payer's money."

"Shouldn't have blown out. I've seen 3rd Armor anime-drift a tank with every track somehow going a different direction and the most it did was score the friction plate," the Treana'ad said, watching as the tank plunged into deeper water, the water swirling almost halfway up the skirts. It slewed side to side slightly as the engine's roar got louder.

"They're trying to maintain speed," A Rigellian female said, translating for the green mantid next to her. "They're really stressing the running gear."

The air sparkled as the tank fired off masking munitions. Prism, EM smoke, high concentrate thermal masking white smoke, flares, even strobers and magic mirrors. The battlescreens came on for moment, the water in front of the lower projectors suddenly converting into steam.

The water around the tank exploded, the tank vanishing in the cloud of steam.

"Look at that thermal signature," the Rigellian said, shaking her head. "Any heat seeker would fire itself even if it was in the box at a signature like that."

A rezzed and badly pixelated face poked in, then a little bipedal figure made out of static jumped into the frame. It jumped up and down excitedly, pointing at the tank and screeching.

"Shoo," Vuxten said, waving at the little creature. "Go back to bed."

The warboi sulked as it slid out of the holotank.

"Wow, that's a thermal signature there," the Treana'ad said.

There was another explosion, causing a fountain of water, as one of the prow battlescreen projectors gave out as the stress from trying to generate a battlescreen underwater overloaded it.

The tank's engines howled as it lunged out of the deeper section and began roaring up the side at an angle.

"Oooh, don't do that. Armored vehicles don't like to go uphill at that angle," the Rigellian said.

--angle too sharp break off break off-- 471 said.

The side of the culvert the creek was in suddenly crumbled and the tank slid to the side.

"There goes a track," the Rigellian said.

Vuxten watched as the tread on the port side jumped off, ripped off half the skirting, and was left behind as the tank straightened out, still at an almost 45 degree angle, and roared forward, charging a damaged bridge that had cloth engineer warning tape draped on it to signify it wasn't usable.

"Oh no," the Rigellian said.

--go go go-- 471 cheered.

--yea yea yea-- 292 urged from where he was sitting next to the Rigellian female.

The prow hit the ferrocrete bridge at nearly ninety miles and hour. The impact was strong enough to ripple the air as the sound of the impact echoed from the bombed out buildings of the artillery practice range. Ferrocrete and warsteel mk5 showered up. The tank roared and surged up, onto the bridge.

The battlescreen projectors came back on and the remainder of the bridge exploded. The tank slammed belly down, shattering the rubble, and ground its way out. It picked up speed as it turned again and climbed the side of the creek bed.

"There goes another track," the Rigellian said.

--ooh sparky sparky-- 471 said.

--chew the ground-- 292 cheered.

Sparks were showering out where the running gear was tearing into the ground as the tank roared and picked up speed. The flag on the antenna was snapping and waving as the tank flashed its running lights twice before going to blackout drive.

"Who the hell is driving that thing?" the Treana'd asked. "They're a lunatic."

The tank gave a sudden loud cough and white steam billowed out from under the skirts on the starboard side. It slewed to starboard, overcorrected, slid sideways for nearly a dozen meters. The gun turret rotated and fired into the turn and the tank jerked the other way, oversteered, then corrected and roared down the road again, white smoke and steam streaming behind it.

It fired its gun twice behind it, the fire lighting up the night and the ripple of air around it appearing as a cone.

"Damn, that gun's something else. They aren't firing rounds are they?" Vuxten asked.

"Phantom rounds," the Rigellian mused.

"They're in the artillery impact range. They better stay on the road," the Treana'ad said.

The tank suddenly veered and sped into the damaged tarmac, heading toward the bombed out buildings. The battlescreens came back on, flickered for a moment, then spun up to full power right before the tank hit a ferrocrete divider. Ferrocrete exploded outward, some chunks burning as the lime caught on fire, and something exploded on the back deck toward the back.

Something exploded under the treads but the tank kept roaring forward.

"Sir," one of the military intelligence specialist said.

Vuxten turned away from the tank as it roared down the abandoned and damaged streets of the suburb that had been turned into an artillery impact range after its abandonment following the Atrekna slaughter.

"One of Space Force's satellites shifted to cover a slight gap. Someone's watching," the tech said.

"Any idea who?" Vuxten asked.

"Someone with enough juice to move a recon sat," the tech said.

"See if you can determine who it is," Vuxten said, turning back to the holotank.

The tank fired at an Atrekna autonomous war machine and this time the impact was the harsh whitish blue actnic flash of live rounds. The gun was roared, firing rapidly.

--round every three seconds-- 471 said

--not autoloader-- 292 added.

"The autoloader only loads one round every eleven seconds," the Treana'ad said. He shook his head. "Damn, their loader must be built like a tank."

The tank, streaming smoke, the skirts mostly ripped away, crashed through the wreckage of one of the larger machines, went up on its side, threw another track, then crashed down.

Four of the maintenance access hatches were open, smoke billowing out.

"Black smoke," the Rigellian said. She pointed at one of the maintenance hatches. "Tanks done for."

The tank seemed to hear her, jerking to the side.

"Team Two, get ready," Vuxten said, activating his comlink.

"Team Two, ready," Vuxten heard Warrant Officer One Mukstet answered.

Mukstet looked down, using the passive camera only, at the tank below him. The armored war machine was brightly lit up, not a single passive defense system working. He shook his head, he could see the smoke pouring out of it even in the dark. He feathered the juice and dropped slowly down.

He could tell the tank had almost had it.

"Sergeant Kuplo, get ready, they've about had it," Mukstet said.

"Oohrah, sir," the Sergeant replied. Mukstet knew he'd get the dismount team, all with "MP" stenciled on their armor, ready to go.

Vuxten narrowed his eyes as the tank swerved onto the road, overcorrected, almost got high centered on the wreckage of a car, and then roared forward.

"Crew compartment has to be full of smoke," the Rigellian said.

As if the crew had heard her the hatches popped open. A blurry figure grabbed the TC's gun, opening fire with the M318 autocannon. In less then five seconds the gun jumped off the mount and went sideways, the blurred figure let it go and fell off the side, was pulled under the tracks, and then bounced away behind it. The track unspooled from the running gear, laying blameless on the ground as the tank kept going.

Vuxten noted with some amusement that the Madame Three-Eighteen was fine.

"OK, there goes the track replacement system," the Rigellian said. "Should operate just..."

Something gave a wuff of greasy reddish flame and suddenly the tank's waist was surrounded by a corona of greasy red and yellow flame that had black smoke pouring off it.

"Well, that didn't work worth a shit," the Treana'ad said.

"They need to hit the fire..." the Rigellian said.

--no dont-- 471 said.

--oh no-- 292 added.

Both green mantid were flashing ROFLMAO emojis between their antenna.

The automatic fire suppression kicked on, the fine white CO2 power puffing out.

And instantly exploding in flame.

--anything flammable fine enough-- 471 laughed

The tank swerved, crashing through a wall. The thick dust billowed up and for a moment the tank was lost sight of. It roared out of the dust cloud, streaming smoke, but no longer on fire.

"Driver's got nerves of Omnimessiah tempered steel," the Rigellian said.

"Gonna be a shame to court martial him," the Treana'ad said.

The tank's back port side suddenly exploded outward as the CASE system went off, throwing practice submunitions all over the road. Something exploded inside and more smoke poured out. The long barrel of the main gun shifted, then the baseplate blew off.

"Jesus, look at that. Cascading failures," the Rigellian said.

--fire fire fire-- 471 laughed.

--best tank in history-- 292 laughed.

Both flashed emojis of amusement so fast that Vuxten couldn't keep up.

"It's had it," the Rigellian said.

The tank slowly clattered to a stop.

"Team Two, engage," Vuxten ordered.

The back deck exploded outward as the superpressure steam system ruptured. The fusion reactor failed, and the steam was converted to a pillar of fire a hundred meters high.

"Holy shit!" the Treana'ad said, jerking back. "Enraged Phillip's ballsack! That's... that's..."

--bad-- 471 said.

"Yeah," the Treana'ad said.

The hatches started to open and figures could be seen moving around, although their shapes were distorted.

Searchlights from the air suddenly kicked on.

"MILITARY POLICE! WE HAVE YOU ON SENSORS! MOVE TO THE SIDE OF THE ROAD!" Warrant Officer Mukstet's voice roared.

Two other strikers slammed down, the doors open, the troops inside jumping out. The "MP" stencilled on their armor glowed neon red.

"Gottem," the Treana'ad said, rubbing his bladearms together in excitement.

The MP's gathered the crew up, moving them away from the merrily burning tank.

Vuxten frowned.

The leader was obviously a Lanaktallan, but the rest of the crew was made up of 'neo-sapients' to use the Council description. There was even a half dozen greenies, all with their IFF turned off.

After a minute the voice of Sergeant Kuplo came across.

"Got ID on the Lanaktallan. One Ha'almo'or," the Telkan Marine said. "Gunner Second Class."

"What about the others?" Vuxten asked.

"We're still waiting for..." Kuplo said.

The command override tone sounded.

"Striker Ground Team, disengage and mount vehicles," the voice was heavily synthesized, speaking Confederate standard.

The rank of Two Star General was next to the authorization code.

Vuxten turned and tapped a single icon, sending the alert that the real force behind the stolen tanks had revealed itself.

"These men were caught in the act of..." Kuplo started.

Authorization for everything suddenly appeared, signed off by General A'armo'o himself.

A heavy combat dropship came out of stealth and slowly settled down nearby. The running lights showed the ship was from the Fleet flagship. As Vuxten watched the crew door opened, turning into a white square of light.

"You are interfering in an authorized test of military equipment. Disengage and delete all data," the voice said.

"Oh, this is bullshit," the Treana'ad said.

"We got what we needed," Vuxten said, both to Kuplo and the Treana'ad. "Let them go."

Vuxten watched as the Lanaktallan Ha'almo'or and his crew boarded the dropship.

He reached out and touched the icon again.

"Did you get all that, sir?" he asked.

"I did indeed. Good job, Marine," General A'armo'o said.

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

A'armo'o stood next to the two Shore Patrol officers, Marines next to him. In front of them the Staff Officers Washroom door flashed the 'Out of Service" icon.

The ship's security officer had tracked the signal from a secondary backup maintenance computer to this washroom.

"Three... two... one..." the Shore Patrol said.

The Marine threw his shoulder against the door, sending out jumping out of the tracks.

Standing in front of the mirror, combing his hair, stood Second Most High Ge'ermo'o.

Everyone stopped and stared.

Ge'ermo'o turned and expressed pleasure at seeing A'armo'o.

"You thought it was the lemurs," Ge'ermo'o smiled.

A'armo'o nodded.

"BUT IT WAS I! YOUR SECOND! GE'ERMO'O!" the Lanaktallan laughed.

A'armo'o shook his head. "Well, now that I've caught you red handed, care to come to my office and explain it all?" A'armo'o asked.

Ge'ermo'o nodded. "Of course, Most High."

A'armo'o turned to the Shore Patrol and the Marines. "You're dismissed. Let General NoDra'ak know we've discovered the culprit and have General Trucker report to my office."

The security beings all nodded, moving away quickly.

Ge'ermo'o trotted out of the washroom and walked side by side with A'armo'o toward the Most High's office.

"May I ask why? I mean, beyond the obvious," A'armo'o asked.

"You mean, beyond what happened to my men?" Ge'ermo'o asked, his tone suddenly bitter and angry. "Beyond what happened to my first command? What happened to all of our men in the days before the Mad Lemurs of Terra arrived?"

"Beyond that, loyal one," A'armo'o asked, putting his hand on Ge'ermo'o's shoulder. "That one is obvious even to me."

"Because for nearly two days I thought the Mad Lemurs of Terra drew a dick on my hat," Ge'emo'o said. He suddenly chuckled, giving A'armo'o a smile. "But it was you, my superior."

A'armo'o suddenly remembered.

Their laughter echoed through the hallway, making enlistedbeing's shake their heads and glance at each other.

Officer's are fucking weird was the unspoken statement.