"Attaching a single Treana'ad Warrior Company to each infantry brigade will increase flexibility and mission completion analytics."

"Is that the whole reason? Do you really think they'll be that effective?"

"Think of the psychological impact upon the enemy."

"Do you think they'll matter that much?"

"Well... just look at them!" - Post Human-Mantid War 6th Generation Warfare discussion

N'Thrap stabbed to the left and right with his bladearms even as he took a step forward, chopping at the servitor with his chainsword that he held with both hands. The two servitors running up to join the melee went down, one holding onto his throat that was spewing green blood, the other sporting a ruined eye socket and a ruptured brain.

The larger servitor, a large insectiod who obviously held the mistaken belief he could go toe to toe with a Treana'ad Warrior, backed away, fluttering its vestigal wings in anxiety and N'Thrap executed a standard attack chop sequence, the cutting bar howling and throwing sparks.

The servitor gaped as the cutting bar ripped through its armor and out the back, gore and chitin fanning out from the blade. The servitor went limp and N'Thrap kicked it off the blade, turning and parrying another chop from a phasic enhanced blade wielded by a charging servitor. He set his footpads, cranking up the grav spikes in his boots out of training hammered in reflex. The clattering rotating edge of density enhanced warsteel showered sparks as it began chewing through the phasic blade.

N'Thrap stabbed with his bladearms. Right thrust, left thrust, right downward slash, left crossbody slash, HAH! GOTCHA SUCKER!

Hours of close quarters bladearm training had overridden his instincts for scrabbling and downward slashes, imparting modified Terran 'bayonet drills' to the Treana'ad people.

N'Thrap whipped his cutting bar around, slashing hard, stopping the two screaming servitors in their tracks as the chattering blades ripped through their armor and flesh.

His helmet beeped and he saw his miniguns were reloaded and his heat had dropped.

"STRAWBERRY SURPRISE TIME!" N'Thrap roared out as he turned back to the original direction of his advance. Lasers were snapping against his armor but the superconductor layer wicked away the heat across the entire surface before it could do much more than touch.

Both of his miniguns opened up, connecting the front of the berm to the miniguns with a solid shaft of light as the guns roared out the song of N'Thrap's people.

"GET SOME! GET SOME!" N'Thrap yelled as the rounds exploded against the berm.

Someone fired a flare, not up into the air, but at a bunker that was hosing hate at a squad of infantry, keeping them ducked down as the 30mm autocannons hammered out Atrekna hate at the Treana'ad. The flare was packed with em-shriekers that woke up and started screaming "LOOK AT ME! GIMME ATTENTION! WHO LOVES ME?" as the smoke poured out and the bright red light flared.

A Telkan striker banked hard, lining up, and N'Thrap shifted, putting 10mm minigun rounds from the two Vindicator autocannons on his back into the point defense and anti-air of the bunker even as it cooked off rockets.

The Telkan striker took all six rockets to the forward battlescreen, the striker exiting the greasy flames and returning fire with the rocket pods hanging under the short stubby rings. The ripple fired circular SRM pack cut loose with 38 2.75 inch rockets from each rocket pod that launched with a snarl at the 30mm cannon over an argument only a Terran would understand.

The point defense on the bunker couldn't decide to shoot at the rockets of the screaming flare that had started yelling the electronic warfare equivalent of "I'M A HOT SINGLE 3.35 MEGATON WARHEAD AND I'M SO LONELY AND CAN'T WAIT TO MEET HOT SINGLES IN MY AREA!" or to start shooting at N'Thrap, who was still concentrating fire on the side of the bunker with his miniguns even as he raked the berm in front of him with his trusty Ma-Deuce battle rifle.

A third of the 2.75 inch rockets exploded in midair.

The rest hit the bunker, the anti-armor missiles slamming through the armor and through the open spaces to hit the floor and explode, filling the interior spaces with shrapnel, fire, and the sharp snap of chronotrons.

N'Thrap turned his attention back the enemy line, setting himself. He blew the whistle and heard answering whistles as he kept firing at the enemy berm.

Two, then three, then four more of his men ran up next to him. Lesser Sergeant Y'Kyllr ran up, breathing heavily, his foot missing from a land mine.

N'Thrap glanced at him, glanced at his foot.

"FIT TO FIGHT, SERGEANT!" the eager young Warrior shouted.

More had gathered up. Someone had a guidon and raised it up and pumped it several times. More whistles burred.

"LET'S GO!" N'Thrap shouted, turning and racing for the berm.

His men ran with him in a wedge, firing as they force the blade of the wedge deeper into the cement wall of the Atrekna defensive site.

Captain Cyba'armo'o saw the Treana'ad charge the far berm and triggered his beacon. He had been trained on Treana'ad whistle signals, as had his men, so he ran the burring whistle sound over his external speakers even as he raised the gore smeared guidon.

"RALLY TO ME!" Captain Cyba'armo'o bellowed out over his speakers and across the hash filled radio channel.

A servitor charged him and Captain Cyba'armo'o whipped around, kicking out once, twice, three times in less than a second, the hoofshoes on his warsteel hooves glowing blue with graviton energy and the heavy rapid cycle pistons in his legs and hips thumping.

The servitor flew away in several pieces and a spray of ichor and gore.

His men were streaming toward him. His unit had taken heavy casualties, but already the Undying Asclepius had returned all but two to the fighting line in new chassis even though the battle was only three hours old.

When twenty had joined him he whirled in place and pointed the guidon.

"BEER'S ON ME FOR THE FIRST TO BEAT THE WARRIOR TREANA'AD TO THE SLAUGHTER!" he roared out.

His whole company roared as they burst into motion, their cybernetic limbs flashing, their hooves smashing against the ground, graviton sparking and crackling around their hooves.

The Telkan striker dropped a line of popping EM flares and banked hard, close enough to the ground that the grav-lifters ripped dirt from the ground and threw it behind the striker as it ejected chaff.

A group of servitors, the big lumbering ones with the scaled, stood up from the foxhole they'd been hunkered down in, firing weapons and screaming at the oncoming Lanaktallan.

The return fire ripped them apart before Cyba'armo'o cleared the foxhole in a single jump.

They were catching up to the Treana'ad, Cyba'armo'o passing the closest one. He raised the guidon, the flag snapping in the wind, and pumped it twice in the air.

"GEDDUM GEDDUM GEDDUM!" two of the Treana'ad Warriors shouted out to Cyba'armo'o as he passed the middle ranks. The two Treana'ad in the lead were a big, even for a warrior, NCO with a guidon in his hand and a Treana'ad Warrior missing a foot.

Cyba'armo'o fired off his hip rockets in a ripple when the Treana'ad NCO blew the whistle for artillery suppression of the berm they were racing for. He emptied his mortar tubes even as he caught up to the NCO, running next to the huge Treana'ad, both of them waving their unit guidons in the air and blowing whistles.

Rockets and mortar rounds were hammering the Atrekna defenses, the point defense having less and less time to react as the origin point for the missiles got closer and closer, more firing angles were generated as the Treana'ad and Lanaktallan spread out their flying V formation, firing rockets, mortars, and back mounted miniguns.

N'Thrap emptied the rocket and grenade launchers on his shoulders, hearing the beeping of his heat warning start to sound but he flexed a muscle that didn't exist, overrode it, and wet printed another set of rockets.

The servitors were getting panicked as another Telkan striker broke off the attack run on a group of servitors that had already been reduced to salsa, coming in fast and low, the 30mm gun hammering and the rocket pods flushing as fast as the nanoforge could reload them.

Off to the right someone cracked off a 125kt round, the flash of the atomic detonation washing over everything even as the ground rumbled.

The HUDs of the Lanaktallan had been flashing ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC for the last two hours.

Four Telkan strikers, with a Hesstlan heavy combat striker in the lead of the 5-craft wedge, howled down and slowed to move with the infantry line, which was moving at 'only' 120 kilometers an hour, leaving a huge cloud of dust behind them. All five strikers opened up with their noseguns, the heavy Hesstlan design using twin 66mm autocannons instead of the lighter 30mm cannon the Telkan craft used.

N'Thrap could tell the addition of the strikers broke the enemy's will as the crew served weaponry fire suddenly slackened.

"FORWARD FOR THE DIGITAL OMNIMESSIAH AND THE MOO MOOS!" N'Thrap roared out even as he triggered his whistle and pointed his guidon.

"YOU HEARD HIM! FOR MOO MOOS!" the Lanaktallan roared out, triggering the same order that N'Thrap had given with a whistle of his own.

"FOR MOO MOOS!" the line of Lanaktallan and Treana'ad roared out as they charged the berm, which had fleeing servitors behind them.

"I wanna pet a moo moo," some smartass called out.

"MOO MOOS!" everyone else roared.

The servitors started throwing down their guns and running.

------

The four strikers screamed in fast, afterburners roaring, hammering at the Atrekna line up ahead with rockets, missiles, and cannon rounds before peeling off and heading back to circle back around.

The area had looked cleared till the Telkan troops were halfway across the open area. That's when the Atrekna popped the temporal lock and the entire reinforced troop line full of bunkers, trenches, fighting positions, and heavy gun emplacements popped into reality. A burst of chronotrons from missiles did nothing except prevent the Atrekna from replicating it.

"Where in the name of the Detainee's brimstone muffin is our armor support?" Captain Cremstak called out over the radio.

"Ninth Hesstla Armored Division is on its way. Our armor's pinned down by Atrekna warmeks," the Colonel's voice was calm and unruffled. "Five mikes."

Artillery shells screamed down out of the sky, making terminal adjustments, and slammed into the ground, sending up gouts of dirt and showering the hunkered down Telkan with dust and pebbles.

Vuxten was chest down in the dirt, trying to see the line ahead. Maskers and EM distortion kept fuzzing his sensors and he, like the rest of the Brigade, was relying on the old Mark One Eyeball and looking through the cleared visor.

Three high-vee rounds hit the hump on his back a second apart. Tap. Tap. Tap.

--I heard you knocking but you can't come in-- 471 quipped.

"Got my sensors cleared?" Vuxten asked.

--too much interference-- 471 said. --we're all working on it--

"Roger," Vuxten said.

Six strikers came in fast then practically stood on their noses as they braked hard. When they leveled out they released the grav-clamps on their cargo and hit the afterburners to get the hell out of the way.

Six Warbound hit the ground with an earth shaking thud. As one they raised their arms and screamed in rage before deploying their weapons and stomping forward. At the same time a purple flash washed across the battlefield, emanating from the Atrekna line.

The six warbound opened up with their guns and missiles as another purple wave coursed over the battlefield. Sparks and lightning crawled over the warbound armor but they ignored it as they stomped forward.

--chronotron surge-- 471 warned.

CHRONO CHRONO CHRONO flashed on his visor, followed by TEMPORAL TEMPORAL TEMPORAL.

The ground around Vuxten rippled.

The dirt vanished, replaced by ceramacrete and fighting positions.

"UP UP UP!" Vuxten yelled over the command channel.

One of the fighting positions opened up and a trio of servitors, the smaller ones in armor, waded out, leveling ejectors at the Telkan Marines and triggering them. White cored fire arced out of the ejectors, wrapping around the Telkan Marines nearby that were scrabbling to get to their feet.

Vuxten scrambled to his feet, firing his rifle as fast as he could.

Someone wetprinted 40mm fire retardant rounds and fired them almost point blank into the backs of the armored Telkan troopers, covering them in ocher colored powder.

Vuxten charged into the servitors, firing his battle rifle point blank. One took a hit in the tanks and exploded, fire washing over the two others that started screaming. Vuxten drove an elbow into the back of one of the ones on fire, sending it face first into the ground.

The door to the bunker wasn't closed as Vuxten buttstroked a servitor out of the way and reached out, grabbing the edge of the door. The hydraulics in his armor hummed as he snatched the door clear out of the frame, ceramacrete showering him.

The interior of the bunker was full of servitors, most of them manning the heavy guns that they were firing on the prone Telkan troops that had suddenly found themselves without cover and belly down in a killing field.

Vuxten cracked off the two rockets remaining in his shoulder launcher and fired the battle rifle at the troops inside the bunker.

"ON YOUR SIX, MAJOR!" someone yelled, flashing a friendly icon.

"Clear the bunkers!" came the order from the Colonel as Vuxten let his empty rifle drop by the sling and drew his cutting bar and pistol, moving in close to the gunnery crews who were slowly reacting to Vuxten's appearance. The gunners were concentrating on putting hate downrange, but the loader and assistant gunners were grabbing short barrel carbines and turning to face the Telkan busting into the bunkers.

The cutting bar howled as Vuxten cut one in half and shot another in the face with his magac pistol. Another Telkan, in lighter scout armor, waded into the fight next to Vuxten, swinging his cutting bar with both hands.

"Hesstlan armor two minutes out, I want those bunkers cleared, men!" the Colonel yelled.

Vuxten threw a fuel air grenade down the hallway and ducked against the wall, holstering his pistol and letting the cutting bar snap against the belt as his hands moved automatically, pulling up his rifle and pulling a mag out of the self-replenishing magazine pouch. The other Telkan pressed himself against the wall on the other side of the doorway, giving Vuxten a thumbs up. The grenade went off and debris blew out of the doorway as the magazine slotted in and the weapon went live.

Vuxten spun, firing his rifle down the passageway as he hustled down it. The other Telkan slapped his hand on Vuxten's back, battle rifle held up with the other hand as the two Telkan moved further into the bunker.

There were two stunned servitors and Vuxten shot one in the chest while the man behind him shot the other in the face.

"COMING IN!" a Telkan yelled and a six man team burst into the room from another passageway.

"Major," the Colonel's voice snapped across the command channel as Vuxten gave the hand signals for the fire team to split up and move down the two unsecured tunnels.

"Sir?" Vuxten asked, preparing to follow the last man.

"Quit dicking around in those bunkers like an enlistedman with an erection and a gut full of Bingo Cola," the Colonel snapped. "Help me get the company commmanders back in the fight."

"Roger, sir," Vuxten said, hustling out of the bunker, passing by another squad sweeping the bunker.

--snicker-- 471 said.

The whole battlefield was covered in smoke when Vuxten exited and he almost got ran over by a tank that loomed up out of the smoke.

"MOVE, BITCH, GEDDOUDDAWAY!" the tank commander, half out of the hatch, yelled at Vuxten in the time honored warning, shaking his fist as the huge tank rumbled by. On the side was a picture of a Terran rabbit and on the barrel was written "Little Bunny Foo Foo" in white paint.

Vuxten hustled toward the pips of the company commanders, exiting the smoke and seeing everyone crouched down behind a smoking bunker with the top blown off.

"Major," the Colonel said. His face plate was open and he was chewing a piece of stimgum as he looked around. "Take Alpha and Bravo Companies and follow the tanks," the Colonel ordered.

"Yes, sir," Vuxten said. He looked at the two CO's. "Get your men rallied."

Both nodded, chinning their radios and talking rapidly.

Vuxten hurried over to Little Bunny Foo Foo, opening the back panel and slapping his palm against the induction link.

"Fuck you want?" someone asked.

"Major Vuxten here," he said.

"So?"

"My men are going to go with you on the advance," Vuxten said.

"Stay behind us, we've got authorization for pancake rounds," the speaker said.

"Roger," Vuxten said, pulling his hand back and slapping the panel closed. He chinned his radio. "Alpha and Bravo Companies, form up behind the tanks, two meter interval stacks, four per tank."

Acknowledgements flashed on his HUD as he waited, the tank moving slowly forward at a slow walking space.

A heavy gunnery position was hammering fire into the front of the tank, but the tank ignored it, just the engine roaring as the driver drove the tank into the front of the bunker, then up over the rubble, and down the rubble that had been the back side.

The Telkan of Alpha and Bravo company gathered up behind the tanks, keeping the space out.

GRAV GRAV GRAV appeared on Vuxten's HUD and he hunched down slightly even as he followed the tank.

The serrated line of tanks all fired at once and Vuxten felt his stomach flip and swallowed thickly.

Artillery rounds dropped from the sky but the heavy Hesstlan tanks point defense raked them out of the sky even as the infantry braced for incoming shrapnel.

It was slow, but the Telkan Marines were advancing again.

-----

"Telkan Marines are taking heavy fire from an arty unit," Cyba'armo'o heard over his link as he parried a slash from a phasic enhanced sword and thrust with his other cutting bar, lopping the servitors arms off.

"Distance?" Cyba'armo'o asked.

"Six miles. Have to fight your way there. You're closest," the radio, with the Corps HQ logo flashing on his visor, told him.

"Roger. We'll deliver these sorry bastards to the Digital Omnimessiah and push toward the artillery unit," Cyba'armo'o said.

The link clinked and Cyba'armo'o looked around.

The big Treana'ad Warrior that Cyba'armo'o had ran next to was tossing grenades into the crack in the top of the bunker his men were stomping on. The flash of the grav-boots made Cyba'armo'o understand why they were dancing on it. Enhanced gravity foot stomps to break open the bunker like the shell of a shellfish.

Cyba'armo'o triggered his radio.

"Hey, T-Bug, wanna come with us?" Cyba'armo'o asked.

"What's up, centard?" the T-Bug, one Sergeant of the Bladearm N'Thrap asked.

The friendly insult made Cyba'armo'o smile.

"Artillery raining hate on the Telkan Marines. Nobody else in position. Six miles," Cyba'armo'o said.

"Lemme round up the boys and we'll race to it," the Treana'ad said.

"Sounds good," Cyba'armo'o said.

He had no doubt that the Treana'ad Warrior would carry his part of the mission.

After all...

...just look at him.