Mo'owa'alkr backed up, shaking all four hands out, stomping on the pedal to flush the weapon with coolant, before stepping back forward and grabbing the four handles of the rotary barrel plasma cannon. He held down the triggers, the barrels howling, and raked the six barrels worth the firepower across the front of the Precursor machines coming straight at his fighting position.

Half of his men had fled when the Precursors came over the horizon, running off as they threw their rifles to side.

Mo'owa'alkr knew that it wouldn't matter. If he couldn't stop the Precursors here then there would be nowhere to hide, they'd sweep into the city two miles behind him, first killing every living being in the suburbs before moving into the city center.

Many of his fellow Lanaktallans kept claiming they would head for the shelters, shooting their way in if they had to.

Mo'owa'alkr knew that the Precursor machines would just dig their way down to the shelters and kill everyone inside at their leisure.

The weapon was beeping, overheating, warning him he was supposed to only fire ten seconds out of every sixty, but he ignored it, sweeping the barrel across the nap of earth line. The heavy plasma machinegun rounds caused the Precursors to explode in mid-air.

The ground ones were advancing, and he was out of missiles, drones, or fire and forget rockets.

He was even out of grenades.

He was the only one left in the fighting position, everyone else either fled or dead.

THERE IS ONLY ENOUGH FOR ONE

roared into his head and he blinked, knowing his rear left eye, blind as it was, was leaking blood again. His helmet's psychic screens were turned up as far as he could manage, the only reason he was able to withstand point blank assaults on his very mind.

He could see that the fire from the positions to the right and left of him was starting to dwindle, his fellow Unified Military Council soldiers either dying or abandoning their positions.

Or, like Mo'owa'alkr's Position Most High, rocking back and forth, giggling, and eating his own fingers.

Mo'owa'alkr knew he was covered in sweat, his armor's internal environmental systems having given it up after three straight hours of combat.

He kicked out with his rear left hoof, kicking the "I AM IN NEED OF ASSISTANCE!" button, knowing it wouldn't do any good, but training demanding it as his ammo-hopper reported he was down to less than 10% of his ammunition, less than two minutes of fire at the rate he was burning through ammunition.

Without even bothering to check, Mo'owa'alkr knew that he had no rifle. He had been assigned an static emplacement and was a heavy gunner, he had no use for a small arm according to the best military theorists.

He wished he had one.

The only small arms weapon in the fighting position was the Most High's pistol, and it was out of ammunition after the Most High had used all six rounds to shoot three of Mo'owa'alkr's fellow soldiers.

He kicked it again as his ammo fell to below 10% and he saw that the Precursors had sent the big boys. The massive ones rolling on treads or hovering on huge graviton pods.

Mo'owa'alkr looked around, stepping back and shaking his hands as he stomped the coolant pedal again. The lights flickered in his fighting position, the radar screen came on, fuzzed several times, then came back. He saw the empty missile launcher do a function check, same with the targeting system for the empty launcher. The point defense system rebooted, flickered through a function check, then, to Mo'owa'alkr's relief, began firing again.

The Precursor machines were still coming, artillery and rockets fired by the machines slamming near his firing position.

He kicked the pedal to lower the fighting position just as a small cobbled together looking drone zipped into his fighting position, hovered for a second, and tried to dart out, banging against the suddenly slammed closed shutter.

The Precursors were less than a mile out.

"Ow, my head!" The drone squeaked from the floor.

Mo'owa'alkr looked at the little drone. It was painted and colored with Unified Military Council colors, but had a Terran Space Force logo on the fan drive shafts. It was about as wide as his chest and had optical sensors and what looked like more sensitive sensor strips on it. The drone clicked a few times, clattering on the ground, the fans whirring.

It went still.

"Um, little help?" the drone asked. "Crap, I can't see now."

"Identify yourself," Mo'owa'alkr ordered, lifting up a hoof.

"Recon Warboi 66892a," the drone said. "Terran Aerospace Force."

Mo'owa'alkr raised his hoof higher, intending on stomping it, panic filling him. He had heard the terrifying Terran battlecry almost three days ago but nothing since then.

"Wait, wait, we're on your side!" the drone squeaked. "Don't stomp me!"

Mo'owa'alkr lowered his hoof slowly. "What are you doing?"

"Seeing who's alive and who's dead," the drone answered.

"He's an artillery scout," the phased radar array computer said.

"Hey, 98425!" the drone said.

Mo'owa'alkr looked from the screen of the radar array to the drone and back.

"Hey, 66892," the radar system said. "Hey, Lanaktallan dude, flip him over. We need to pass data to 227 Field Artillery."

Mo'owa'alkr frowned. "Is this some kind of trick?"

"No. It's war. If you want to live, flip 66892 over so I can pass him my data and he can pass it to MILINT," the radar set said.

I must be going mad, Mo'owa'alkr thought to himself. But he bent down and flipped the drone over. It whirred and lifted up, the fans spinning so fast they looked transparent.

"Why doesn't he use graviton?" Mo'owa'alkr asked.

"I'm almost invisible to Precursor sensors," the drone said, bobbling. "Oh, man, your EM shielding is on."

Mo'owa'alkr kicked the fighting position lever and it rose up, the shutters grinding up.

"Thanks!" the drone said and buzzed out.

"Damn, this computer's so thin it makes my ass feel fat," the radar said.

Mo'owa'alkr grabbed the handles of the plasma gun and brought it back into aim. The plasma gun suddenly yanked out of his hand.

"I need that for point defense," the radar said.

"Hey! I'm the one fighting here!" Mo'owa'alkr said.

"I'd duck in about ninety seconds," the radar said. The gun swiveled slightly and started firing single spaced shots.

"Why?" Mo'owa'alkr asked, frowning again.

"See those little pillars of blue smoke in front of the Precursors and the red in the Precursor's lines?" the radar asked.

The gun fired four more spaced shots.

"Yes," Mo'owa'alkr said, squinting outside. There were dozens of them, roughly a hundred meters apart from one another.

"Ranging shots," the radar said. "Our little buddy is out there giving live feed to the gunners of 227, who's going to wipe these guys off the map."

"There's too many," Mo'owa'alkr said. "They fire back at the artillery."

"Yeah, well, Terran Army," the radar said. "Ten seconds. Might want to duck."

THERE IS ONLY ENOUGH FOR ONE!

DIE ALONE!

Mo'owa'alkr snorted, staring out at the smoke. There were too many Precursors for any type of artillery aside from an atomic strike to stop the

The world exploded.

The explosions started in the air, for a split second there was just red and yellow bubbles with white and bright blue cores.

Then Mo'owa'alkr felt the air being sucked out of the fighting position. The computer reacted sluggishly, but still reacted, dropping the fighting position down.

The earth rumbled, erasing the vibration of the oncoming Precursor machines. The inside of the fighting position creaked and Mo'owa'alkr's ears popped several times. He hugged himself as it seemed to go on and on.

Finally it stopped right as the fighting position began beeping. It popped up, the shutters rolling back to reveal nothing but smoke and wreckage.

The vibration was still going on.

"What is that?" Mo'owa'alkr asked, wishing he could see behind him.

"18th Treana'ad Infantry Regiment," the radar said. "An entire ice cream carton of big ass bugs armored to march through Hell and carrying enough firepower to kill the Devil."

He saw stubby aircraft come in fast and low, tracers connecting them to the ground as they swept by. It sounded like a dragon breaking wind as the aircraft strafed the ground in a long slow attack run then peeled off.

Then four legged insects ran by, running faster than any groundcar Mo'owa'alkr had ever ridden in, heavy guns on their abdomen's firing, some of them firing mortars or rocket packs instead of heavy guns. They ran in perfect formation, perfect silence, just the roaring of their guns.

Mo'owa'alkr thought he heard music.

"Here comes General Kwargawk's boys!" the radar said. "The Armored Fist of Alpha Centauri!"

The tanks roared by next, huge tracked vehicles, their guns roaring, point defense weapons slicing at the sky, mortars on the back deck firing off a dozen shells at a time in one ripple. The tracks clattered as they went by as close as a meter to the fighting position. The music was loud, pounding, and nothing but raw aggression.

TRACK AND GUN TRACK AND GUN

POUND FOR POUND ITS A LOT MORE FUN

Then there was just the sound of the tanks receding as they drove forward, following the giant insects.

"Looks like you get to live another day," the radar said. "Warborgs from 42nd Infantry Brigade coming up next. There's a truce on, but they'll shoot you in the head if you look at them funny."

"Oh," Mo'owa'alkr said. He sat down then folded his front legs so he was prone-sitting.

"Hey, you did good. You held them for a couple hours, long enough for us to get here. Gave us enough time to help you save the city," the radar said. "Listen, good luck. I'm gonna jump to a new bridge point. Luck."

"Um, good luck?" Mo'owa'alkr said. He looked over at the Position Most High and saw that the other Lanaktallan had bled to death, his fingers all missing.

Mo'owa'alkr sat quietly for a while, listening to the explosions of the fight. Part of him thought about getting up and looking, but instead he just sat, staring at the 0% of the ammo hopper's digital display.

He heard it again.

DIE ALONE!

There was a knocked at the back hatch and Mo'owa'alkr leaned forward and slapped the release for the rear ramp hatch. The hatch opened and one of the big black metal bipeds opened it up. He had a four barrel minigun over one shoulder and a rocket launcher over the other in addition to the heavy rifle he was holding.

"You alive in here?" the Terran asked.

"Yes," Mo'owa'alkr said.

"Hey, we're pushing forward. You can stay here, go back to your own lines, I think they're setting some up a few blocks into the suburb, or you can come with us," the Terran said.

Mo'owa'alkr shuddered, breathing deep. "I think I'll stay here for a little bit."

"Are you wounded?" the Terran asked.

"No," Mo'owa'alkr said. Everything he had done, all of the fighting, seemed like a waste of time. The Terrans had just blown everything up and roared right by.

"I'm going to assign someone to take you back to your lines, all right? You don't sound too good," the Terran said.

Mo'owa'alkr looked at his Position Most High, who was sitting there without a single finger left on all four hands, who had torn off his own ears.

And started laughing.

"MEDIC!" the Terran yelled.

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

TNVARU GESTALT

I don't know, it doesn't seem right, helping them after everything they did.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TELKAN FORGE WORLDS

I don't know what the Terrans are doing. They're over there fighting some kind of weird psychic things, over here fighting the Precursors, over there fighting the Lanaktallans.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

AKLTAK FREE FLIGHT

Did you ask the military liaisons?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TELKAN FORGE WORLDS

If they know what's going on, they aren't saying. They won't even tell me what's going on with First and Second Telkan Marine Divisions.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TNVARU GESTALT

It's weird, I keep expecting Treana'ad's people to make him blurt out something silly.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TELKAN FORGE WORLDS

I know, right?

We just met them and now they're gone.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

ALKTAK FREE FLIGHT

It feels kind of lonely.