Mukstet got out of the striker slowly, his spine feeling bruised, and stretched. A small team of maintenance greenies were rushing forward in their armor, toolkits on their backs, as 973 climbed out of the cockpit engineering space. 973 held out a bladearm and the maintenance team slapped theirs against his as they rushed by.

--still in kinda one piece-- 973 said.

"Don't forget to tell them to double-check the psychic array's log, find out how it got through the passives," Mukstet said.

Icons flashed rapidly between 973's antenna then stopped. --told them--

"Get some rest," Mukstet said unnecessarily. 973 threw up a sleeping smiley face and scuttled away.

There were tents up already, bulldozers roaring as dirt was pushed into place to make a berm. In a way it was funny, all the technological advances like battle-screens and Terran military doctrine still said "Dirt. A pile of dirt. A big honking pile of dirt! That's what you need! I guess you can add an integrity field if you're a wuss or something..." over and over. Still, a pile of dirt, an integrity field, and a set of battlescreens could even take a couple of hits from a hellbore in the same spot and still protect the troops behind it.

From what Mukstet had read in class, the Terrans had even used dirt emplacements as protection during atomic weapon exchanges.

He couldn't image that. Knowing that an atomic in the tens of megatons was coming and just hiding behind a pile of dirt thinking "this will totally protect me long enough to charge across the atomic glass and chainsword that dude over there" like he'd read about.

Mukstet stopped and leaned against a section of striker armor that had been pulled off of one of the damaged strikers.

He'd read both Lanaktallan military theory and Terran military theory as part of the pilot course. Lanaktallan theory assumed everything would work perfectly under the conditions described by the manufacturer and the design lab. Terran stuff was "Well, it might work, if it doesn't have you tried kicking it?" As far as military maneuvers, the Lanaktallan seemed to stop at basic movements and limited combined arms, where Terran military doctrine seemed more along the lines of "BRING ALL OF IT!" when it came to the battle.

He tabbed up a piece of gum and flipped open his faceplate, breathing deep. The air was cool and felt good on his face.

Terran military theory was up to nineteenth generation. Lanaktallan just had "Unified Military Theory" according to what he'd been able to read. The UMT had not changed in apparently millions of years and was apparently what Terrans referred to "a lead with your face skirmish line" that was good for little more than a desperate infantry charge.

Still, leaning there, chewing his gum and staring at the work going on in the darkness, Mukstet was glad he was on the Terran side.

He looked right over right as the flash went off. His faceshield slapped down before he could even twitch, going fully opaque.

ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC - MEGATON RANGE

Flashed across the inside of his faceshield.

He immediately dropped down, following the arrow, going prone with his hands interlaced over his neck. He could hear others hitting the ground.

The rumble as the blast wave wasn't as bad as he thought.

--22.241 megaton 125.17 mile range OHSHIT-- 973 said.

ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC - MEGATON RANGE

There was another rumble.

--21.452 megaton 122.53 mile range ground burst with WTFWTFWTF--

ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC - MEGATON RANGE

Mukstet got up slowly. It was too far away to do much more than light everything up. He looked around and saw that the trees weren't even moving.

--23.234 megaton 128.22 mile range ground burst with enhanced thermal pulse and radiation sleet salted round not wetprint salted-- 973 said.

"WING ONE, WING TWO, WING THREE! MOUNT UP!" Mukstet yelled, running for the striker. "DISMOUNT TEAMS ALPHA, CHARLIE, DELTA, MOUNT UP!"

The Terrans were already on their feet, none of them staring at the rising mushroom clouds. Instead they were dropping the cases they were carrying or were on their backs to the ground, opening them.

Mukstet got Foxtrot-Niner-Two into the air, only half of the strikers up, when it flashed across his suddenly polarized armor screens. He'd seen the beginning of the flash.

ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC - MEGATON RANGE

"What the hell are they doing?" Mukstet swore.

"Running patterns now, boss," Kanput said. "Wait, EM spectrum is clear. Getting a ton of transponders, landing beacons, radio chatter."

"Could it have been purposeful?" Musktet asked, feeling the striker not even shiver.

"Maybe? I don't know," Kanput said.

"All flights, on me. Wing Two, take port, Wing Three, take starboard. Clamshell up," Mukstet said. He slowly increased speed. "Kanput, keep squawking ID, these guys aren't playing."

Mukstet wracked his brain, trying to figure out who'd be putting out atomics that large and why. That was BOLO fight or planet smashing, not modern battlefield. Huxmet had been left behind, Plekket taking his place, so the striker team didn't have any problems when Mukstet gave the order to kick the afterburners and go supersonic.

"All striker pilots, put your psychic screens to maximum. These Precursors are using psychic shutdown fields. Crank it till you can feel it tingle your gums," Mukstet ordered, following his own advice.

--got 552 watching the psychic-- 973 reported.

"Good. Don't wanna go dead stick again," Mukstet said.

"Boss, I got someone on the horn," Kanput said. "Patching through now."

Mukstet tried to remember when Kanput started calling him 'boss' but couldn't remember.

"Mukstet, Second Telkan Marine Combat Aviation," he said.

"Speak up, I'm half deaf," came the reply. Mukstet repeated himself but louder.

"Staff Sergeant Nimbly, Support Platoon, Alpha Company, 15th Sustainment Battalion," came back the shouted reply. "If you come, come in on our south side, we've got enough Precursor metal to build a deathstar left."

"We spotted your atomics, over," Mukstet said, then had to repeat himself.

"Land mines. Made the clankers pull back," the Terran yelled. "Look, Holds, just spray the blue goop on my skull and cover it with spray-plas. I gotta get back in the fight. Anyway, Mukstet, I hope you've got passenger space."

"Roger that, why?" Mukstet asked.

"Because I've got an entire children's hospital complex hunkered down with me. We can hold out, but we're making a mess here and these kids are sick already," there was a bitter laugh. "Some of them won't need their chemo, that's for goddamn sure."

You're using atomics with kids? What the hell are you thinking?

"GET ON THAT ONE! GOBLIN KING HIM RIGHT IN THE GODDAMN FACE!" the Terran yelled. "Mucky, you still there?"

ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC flashed again. The spark lit off and the mushroom cloud clawed its way up. His database matched the signature to the weapon: Jim Bowie class shoulder fired nuclear rocket in the 50kt - 1.25mt mission configurable range. The one the Terran had just fired was a 125kt.

"HOW YA LIKE THEM APPLES, CLANKER?" the Terran yelled. "Mucky, you still there, over?"

"Still here," Mukstet said, shaking his head.

"OK, my commo guy says it's clear enough to send you the datapack of what I'm protecting," the Terran snapped. "I've got a lot of sick kids, we're talking terminally ill without Terran tech. The hospital head administrator told me that 61st Medevac was going to provide these kids with modern med-tech. Got a lot of cancer, shit like that," the was harsh barking laughter from the Terran. "They're all gonna need chelation anyway, so what the fuck anyway. I SAID I'M FINE, HOLDS, GET OFF ME!"

"All right, we're five minutes out," Mukstet said.

--atom smasher-- 973 chided.

"No close air support. Get in here on our south side and start getting these kids out of here. We can hold them off," the Terran laughed again. "I got enough firepower to crack this fucking planet in half. These hodunk podunk well then there now motherfuckers ain't getting these here kids no how no ways know what I mean?" the last sentence was all ran together into basically one word and Mukstet was glad that Kanput had the captioning working.

"We've got dismount. Twelve Telkan Marines in light scout powered armor," Mukstet said.

"THAT ONE WITH THE DRONE CLOUD SPIKE HIM SPIKE HIM!" the Terran yelled. "FIGHT AND FIGHT AS HARD AS YOU CAN! YOU CAN'T KILL ME, I'M THE ORDNANCE MAN!"

He saw the slight flash before his striker's defenses kicked in, opaquing the shields. This time he was close enough the overpressure wave made his craft shudder.

"Look, I've got a guy with me I'm sending back. Your techs can't save him, but he's holding on. You want what he's got on his wetware, we're talking priority intel," the Terran said. Personally Mukstet wasn't surprised that this Staff Sergeant Nimbly was half deaf if he was firing off atomic weaponry point blank into the Precursor's faces.

"I've got a surgical team from 27th," Mukstet started.

"Clankers tore him in half, broke his neck, and ripped off one of his arms. He's holding on till you can get someone to download his wetware, his SUDS is red-dotted. You lose him, his wetware auto-destructs so keep him alive," Nimbly shouted. "THAT ONE! SPIKE THAT ONE! MJOLNIR HIM RIGHT IN THE FUCKING FACE! FINE! SHOOT BOTH OF THEM! I DON'T CARE, MELT THE FUCKING BARREL WE'LL FABIO UP A NEW ONE!"

At least that was just a heavy railgun firing neutronium jacketed anti-matter slugs and not another atomic detonation. Still, Mukstet was close enough that he could hear the detonation of the rounds even through his striker's armor.

Why the HELL does this guy have this kind of firepower? Mukstet asked himself.

"All right, dismount, you'll unass the strikers and help load up the cargo. One striker remain just in case, the rest of you will stay back and help protect the LZ," Mukstet ordered.

"Roger that," one of the Dismount teams snapped back.

"Thirty seconds, Army," Mukstet warned.

"CLEAR THE AIR!" Mukstet heard the human bellow. "SPARKING YOU A FLARE, FLYBOY!"

The high impulse thermobaric fuel air plasma munition detonated only about 1,200 meters above the dug in position. There were drones everywhere, point defense weapons barely holding them back from making an attack. The HITFAB went off, filling the air with plasma enhanced fire, turning the drones to molten metal and ash that rained from the sky.

"AHAHAHAHAH! HOW YA LIKE THEM APPLES, YA BIG METAL DICKSTAIN!" yelled the Terran.

Mukstet realized the Terran had to be suffering from open mic.

"Kanput, put him on his own channel, I don't think he can hear me anyway," Mukstet said.

"I think he might be crazy," Kanput said back, shunting the Terran onto his own channel.

He could see the battlefield now as he roared in, cutting in the inertial dampener and slamming on the retros even as he killed the afterburners.

There were Terrans in loading frames, packing heavy weapons as they clumsily moved around a bunch of Precursor wreckage that was arranged in a rough circle. There was a dozen firing points putting out solid bars of light from heavy autocannons in the 120mm range, thudding out over a hundred rounds a minute, each of the weapons being handled by Terrans in loading frames.

In the middle of the circle were battlescreens in dome configuration, hundreds of them sparkling.

Beyond the circle was nothing but atomic craters and twisted Precursor junk. The remains of the hospital buildings were scattered around, most of them reduced to little more than twisted wreckage on top of foundations. There were patches of dried mud in depressions that Mukstet knew had been ponds or lakes before being scoured away by nuclear fire.

Mukstet dropped down, hitting the landing gear and landing with a thump. Immediately adult Hesstlin turned off the battlescreen projectors and started leading and carrying their charges toward the strikers. The dismount teams jumped off, running over to help with the kids. Mukstet noted that all the Hesstlin had on Space Force Army helmets on, the psychic shielding cranked up to the point that Mukstet could see electrical arcs snapping on the surface of the warsteel.

"Let me know when we're full up and I'll shut the sides," Mukstet said.

There was a thump on the pilot side of the striker cockpit and Mukstet turned to look.

And just stared.

The Terran was in the loading frame, his unpowered body armor was cratered and pitted, and he was missing his face shield for his helmet.

And half his helmet.

Instead of the smooth black of the standard Terran helmet there was gray plasteel covering half of the Terrans head. He had dried blood all over his face and his cybereyes were glowing bright red. The whole side of his face was purple and swollen and he had autostitches around the side of his mouth and nose that looked like his face had been put back together out of random chunks of skin.

"Hey, Mucky, we're trying to thump their point and air defense, but you're not going to be able to pull any CAS until we thin out their air superiority clankers," the Terran said.

Mukstet nodded even though he was pretty sure the Terran couldn't see him. "Roger that."

"We'll pack those kids like Rigellian sauce crabs, but you'll still have to do a couple runs. The whole time the clankers are going to be coming in at us," the Terran said. "We'll buy you all the time we can. Who knows, maybe we'll hold out well enough some of us will get out of here."

"Roger," Mukstet said.

"Loaded," Kanput said. "Uh, there's like half a Terran back here."

Mukstet closed the side doors. "Get clear, Sergeant," he said.

"You've got ten miles then we're going atomic again," the Terran warned.

Mukstet just feathered the gravitonics and got some air, turning and heading back to the striker base. The Terran was good to his word, the strike squadron had barely hit the 12 mile mark when another atomic went off in the 300kt range.

--hes gone atom smasher-- 973 threw out with a macro of a human laughing and smashing plants, animals, and insects with the caption "Don't touch anything? I'll touch whatever I want!" underneath.

"He looked pretty bad," Mukstet said.

"He's raving on the open channel," Kanput said. "His men aren't much better. I've got only eight other transmitters and they're all laughing and screaming."

"Sir, this Terran is fucked up. I don't think I've ever seen someone alive torn apart this bad," Motlunt, one of the dismount crew and the only one who hadn't stayed behind, said from the bad. "He's mumbling and, I kid you not, sir, it looks like something ripped off the top of his head."

"Contact base as soon as we're in range. Tell the doctors that we've got a guy who needs his wetware downloaded and who's red-dotted," Mukstet said, his mouth going dry. What the hell could rip a Terran up that bad? Motlunt was an APC gunner during Second Telkan. He opened the link again. "What's he mumbling."

"Here, sir, listen," Motlunt said.

"...tree fife eight blue niner niner x-ray lima sex tree niner red red seven repeat niner niner green oscar zulu tree fife eight blue niner niner x-ray lima sex tree niner red red seven," the Terran was mumbling. It took the commo deck a minute to translate the colors, the Terran was speaking in something called 'Bantu' that was apparently one of the hundred or so Terran languages. The human just kept repeating the same thing over and over.

"Record that," Mukstet ordered. "You said the top of his head is gone?"

"Looks like a plastic bag or something over his brain, but I can see his brain and the cyberware, yeah," Motlunt said.

Mukstet cursed, wishing he could take the striker up past seven hundred knots, but he knew if he did that crack from breaking the sound barrier might hurt the children or kill the Terran.

Finally he could see the virtual 'lights' show up on his HUD telling him he was getting close. Five more time atomics lit up the sky. He landed and four Terrans that he hadn't seen before rushed forward with a stretcher, pulling the ravaged Terran onto it and hustling away.

Mukstet noted that the human was wearing Terran Scout Armor, not the unpowered armor the others had been wearing.

It took six more trips before the last of the kids were dropped and Mukstet ordered the strikers back. The whole time the Clankers were getting closer and closer. They clankers were close enough that they were engaging the squadron, trying to find a weakness in their battlescreens.

Each time the Terrans beat them back with atomics.

More seemed to keep piling in.

"What's your max-load on this thing, Mucky?" the Terran asked the last time. He had a russet colored mantid cradled in one arm.

"Six hundred tons sling load," Mukstet said.

"We need to sling load out the fabs," the Terran said. "My men will hook you up, I've gotta wire the place to blow."

"Hurry," Mukstet said.

"Run run as fast as you can, you can't kill me, I'm the Ordnance man," the Terran answered. The russet jumped down and hot-footed it toward the bay. The Terran turned away. "I'm going to leave these jumped up wind up toys something to remember me by, the kid killing bastards."

--atom smasher madness-- 973 said again.

The hand signals were easy to follow and Mukstet could feel the weight shift when the massive iron ring attached to the net was hooked up to the bottom. As soon as the last striker was hooked up the Terrans started climbing on board, three or four mantids holding onto to each of them. One had to be physically dragged from his loading frame, his legs limp and boneless as his comrades pulled him in.

The Terran with the plasteel wadded to the side of his helmet sat down in the pilot seat, buckling in.

"We're all loaded up! We need to get out of here, we got ten minutes," the Terran said. He held up a detonator in his hand. "Or fifteen miles, whichever is first."

--atom smasher-- 973 transmitted, adding a shivering icon.

The striker was sluggish, the load slowing the hovercraft down as Mukstet clawed for air, getting the striker up. The ground fire was intense, sending his battle-screens snarling and popping. He could see at least eight of the Precursors were the size of skyscrapers on their sides, all of them with huge craters blown in them from near-hits with the atomic weaponry.

Still, none of his strikers were knocked out of the air, although Foxtrot-Nine-Nine had its starboard battlescreen fail and took multiple hits on the armor.

Mukstet watched the instruments until he hit fifteen miles. "Point Alpha, Sergeant," he said.

"GAMBLER SENDS ITS BEST AND SAYS TO EAT ALL THE DICK, YOU KID KILLING FUCKS!" the Terran yelled. He snapped the lever on the side of the detonator three times.

Even though Mukstet knew it was coming, seeing the atomic warning flash on his screen still made his blood run cold.

The blast behind them went on and on, starting to lose fury when it was suddenly stoked up again. For almost ninety seconds continual atomic detonations rocked the strikers, but the pilots compensated and raced across the forest, their loads almost scraping the treetops.

The Ordnance soldier let his arms drop. "That'll teach 'em," he said, his voice quiet and calm.

"Uh, yeah," Mukstet said softly, concentrating on flying.

It wasn't until he set down and reached over to get the Terran's attention that he realized it.

The Terran had died. Right next to him. The seat was full of blood, dripping onto the floor plates of the striker's cockpit.

He got out, stumbling, and moved over to lean against a stacked pallet of crates.

"You all right, sir?" Sergeant Kuplo asked, moving up next to him. The Sergeant had his helmet off and a soft cloth had on his head.

"I forget they can die," Mukstet said softly, staring at the ground. "He'll be back, though, so there's that."

"Sir, Doc Screams needs to see you right now, she says its urgent," Kuplo said.

Mukstet frowned, straightening up. That Terran sergeant would be back, probably laughing and drinking with his friends in an hour or two. He followed Kuplo into a small secured box-shelter.

There were three russet mantids, each about two feet tall, clustered up on the table, looking at a holographic model of a brain with electronics embedded in it. There were greenies clustered around, the space between their antenna blurring with equations.

"You wanted to see me, ma'am?" Mukstet asked.

One of the mantids turned. "There's two things that you urgently need to know, Marine," the russet mantid said. She pointed at the hologram of the brain. "The first is something entirely new, that we've never seen before."

"What?" Mukstet asked, staring at the hologram.

"Don't bother trying to figure it out. You aren't trained to recognize it, just trust what I have to tell you," the mantid said.

"OK, what's that?" Mukstet asked.

"All the human SUDS on planet, every single one, are red-dotted," she said. "Before you say that it's impossible, something planetside is interfering with the quantum entanglement."

Mukstet's mouth went dry as he realized the Ordnance soldier that had died next to him must have been red-dotted.

"Shipboard wasn't having that problem, and in the rapid respawning of the drop waves, they must not have noticed that the humans had gaps in their memories, but down here on the ground, they're on local backup only," the mantid said. She waved a bladearm that was made entirely out of chromed warsteel. "Don't say it's impossible. 3.25 verified it and he's a cyberneticist."

"I wasn't doubting you, ma'am," Mukstet said.

"Good, because the next part is worse," the mantid said. She looked at him and for some reason it felt like her compound eyes were boring into him.

"Do not let these Precursors take you or your men alive, Marine," she said slowly. "Under no circumstances can you be taken alive."

Kuplo stepped forward. "Sergeant Kuplo, Telkan Marines, may I ask why, sir?"

The mantid stared a long moment.

"Because they want your brain."