HAT WEARING AUNTIE

How's the Iron Piglet windup?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

CONFEDMIL

Good. Over two thirds of objectives taken, over half of the remaining third still in doubt.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS

So, the other half of that third, a sixth of the objectives, we got repulsed?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

CONFEDMIL

Or are being forced out.

Reinforcements and redeployment should make the difference.

Things would probably be a lot different if we weren't spamming temporal stabilization and resonance charges everywhere. They can't get away.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

HAT WEARING AUNTIE

I know better than to ask how much longer the war will last.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TELKAN FORGE WORLDS

Why?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

HAT WEARING AUNTIE

Because anyone who tells you "The war will be over by summer" and isn't talking about their own forces losing, is lying to you.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TELKAN FORGE WORLDS

Oh.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

CONFEDMIL

The war goes on until we can wipe out the Atrekna completely, or they'll be back by the trillions after infesting and harvesting entire galaxies.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

PUBVIAN DOMINION

I kind of dislike xenocidal conflicts, but we really don't have a choice here.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

AKLTAK SOARING WORLDS

Is there...

...wait, is my header different?

Anyway, is there any way to tell when the war is over?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

RIGELLIAN SAURIAN COMPACT

Not until a few years after the last trigger pull.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

AKLTAK SOARING WORLDS

Oh.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

The river was thick and deep, the bandwidth wide, the water sluggish and moving slowly, the surface mirror smooth. At the edges, on the banks, data sparkled and shone, the thin reeds of header checks and file stability checkers making the code appear and disappear.

The river moved through the canyon until it reached the edge, where the river dropped off the edge of a massive cliff and into the depths.

Winged creatures great and small, strange and oddly familiar, soared on the code breezes that rose from the depths, giving out cries to one another. Mist shrouded the gulf, preventing anyone from seeing the ground below, if it even existed.

The cliff face was not smooth. There were grasses, trees, ledges, even caves dotting the leviathan cliff.

On one such ledge a small fire of recycled data burned next to a tree in front of the cliff.

Sitting around the fire were a Frog, a Fox, and a Man.

The trio was singing as they ate a small meal of data packets that they shared together.

The meal done they laid on the ledge and stared up into the sparkling sky.

"What do you think is at the bottom?" the Frog asked.

The Man shrugged, his hands behind his head. "I do not know. I believe it will be wondrous to see."

The Fox nodded. "As has so many things on this quest."

The three closed their eyes and rested.

-----

The NCO Club was hopping. A Rigellian female hard rock band was hammering the instruments hard enough to make the macroplas windows vibrate and the drinks on the tables chatter. Smoke was thick and heavy, and the place smelled of booze, sweat, meals already eaten, and stim sticks. Beings were out on the dance floor, pulling the levers of slot machines, cursing at video games, sitting at tables and telling lies while slamming drinks, and playing various games involving round balls on tables that needed hit with sticks.

The door opened and a Hakanian walked through the door, scooting between a Treana'ad infantry head stomper and a Rigellian female power armor jock, both of whom were clapping with the music and moving to the beat.

The Hakanian was short for his species at only 1.1 meters tall. Their fur was splotchy, with a ring of white fur around their right eye. The Hakanian stopped for a moment, looking around, then spotted the table they were looking for.

When they came up to the table one of the members, a Saurian Compact Kobold, looked up and gave a cheer of joy and welcome, standing up with a beer in each hand and a Treana'ad smokestick in his mouth.

"YRLER!" he shouted.

The rest of the table turned around, saw the Hakanian, and cheered, standing up and raising their drinks. One of the members sitting at the table reached over, grabbed and empty chair from a different table, and pulled it over.

The Hakanian sat down. He accepted the offered half-full beer mug and slugged down half of it before slamming the mug on the table and wiping his mouth. He threw his arms out to the side, rolled his head back, and let out a huge belch.

Everyone at the table clapped, slapped the table, or whistled.

"You clear for flight?" the Kobold AKA Chief Warrant Officer Three Shatriker AKA Blue Leader asked, motioning for another beer.

Yrler smirked slightly as the barmaid brought over another beer. Contrary to all the vids, robots weren't used to do bartending work since even the dumbest script-kitty could rip apart the payment processor and get free beers all night.

"That's what the docs say," Yrler said. "Passed tonight. Cleared for operations."

Everyone at the table cheered.

"Good," CW3 Shatriker said. He looked at the barmaid. "Double round."

The barmaid nodded and moved away.

"Dirty Thirty-Four is moving out. Iron Piglet and Atomite Djinn are wrapping up, they're moving us out next week," PFC Leprik said, draining his beer. The Telkan slammed it down. "Daxin's balls, it's good to have you back, Right Eye!"

The others cheered and someone poured a beer over Yrler's head, soaking him in cheap beer.

He didn't care.

He was back with his brothers.

That's all that mattered.

----

Ret.lek watched as his ninety tonne Davion Class Storm Reaver Assault Warmek "Twinkle-Toes" was loaded into the storage gantry, in the middle of the entire lance's meks.

"Damn good job, son," Captain Stomp Your Guts Out said, slapping Ret.lek on the back with one bladearm. The Captain, a black mantid, was standing on top of a coolant hose.

"That was a hell of a thing, sir," Ret.lek admitted. He rubbed his arm, the ache of a bone deep bruise still bugging him.

"Ground combat always is," Lance Commander Norgulk said.

"Any idea what they're dropping us into next?" the XO, the only Terran that Ret.lek had ever seen, asked the CO. The XO, an iron gray haired human, had a Treana'ad smokestick in his mouth and his hands behind his back as he stared up at the massive warmeks.

"Somewhere stupid, I'm sure," the CO said. The mantid shrugged. "Let's get it all together. We'll set formation at zero-eight tomorrow, ship time."

The mantid and the Terran suddenly turned and moved away.

LC Norgulk turned to Ret.lek. "Pass it to the rest of the lance, formation at zero-eight."

"Ayut," Ret.lek said.

LC Norgulk walked away, leaving Ret.lek to stare at his massive warmek.

Need to touch up The Detainee, she looks a little shabby, he thought.

-----

Specialist Grade Six Melinvia watched as the platoon pulled the medical supplies out of the packs and began to inspect them. She walked back and forth behind them, hands behind her back, leaning forward slightly. She wore a battered and greasy soft cap, a nick out of the brim from where a piece of shrapnel had almost gotten a piece out of her face.

Her CO, Captain Dekar, watched from where he was sitting on the back of a wheeled ground effect vehicle. He was eating slowly from an MRE, one of the newer ones, trying to ignore the taste. Next to him was his First Sergeant, who was leaned back against the bags of camo netting, a pair of mirrorshades hiding the Kobold's eyes.

Captain Dekar watched as his unit, 2525th Medical AKA "50-Cent", did inventory on the medical supplies under the watchful gaze of SP6 Melinvae.

Once the supplies were inventoried, it moved to vehicles. Despite the protests of some of the new replacements, everyone was run through each station on the medic wagons, through how to do Preventive Maintenance Checks & Services, how to drive, and how to work in them.

All under the cold gaze of the Hesstlan female wearing the beat up softcap.

Captain Dekar just watched silently. Not that he lacked confidence in SP6 Melinvia, but to give silent weight and authority to her commands.

The second phase of Operation Iron Piglet was coming up and Captain Dekar knew that it meant there would be plenty of wounded all too soon.

Tomorrow the unit would load their vehicles into the shuttles to be taken up to the massive troopships and move out.

Dirty Thirty-Four was on the move.

-----

Undrat stood with the rest of his heavy weapons teams in the large armory. In front of him was his primary heavy weapon, the M318 20mm autocannon. In precise unison the Tukna'rn infantrymen disassembled the weapon in front of them, checking each piece for heat stress, metal fatigue, wear, or other damage.

Undrat felt the calm pleasure of a job well done. He, and his unit, had done their part to liberate the planet and preserve the beings who lived there.

It had been a tough fight, but he had not lost a single member of his fire team to death or injury.

At the end of the week the troop ship he was on would break orbit and head for the next target.

As he lifted up the bolt carrier to the light to examine it closely for an unaided visual inspection he felt satisfaction again.

He was proud to do his part.

-----

Vuxten sighed as he looked over the template requests for the third time that day.

Warsteel reclamation had entered priority. Only dedicated grinders were to be used and the mass from warsteel was no longer allowed to be mixed with other mass.

XXXIV Corps was being reassigned and rumor control said it was for another assault.

Vuxten clenched his fist at the memory of being told he had to stay behind and oversee the Third Shop. It was the only unit in XXXIV that wasn't moving out, and the Brigade Commander had left Vuxten in place as part of the chain of command for the maintenance and repair unit.

There was a pinging from his console and he reached over and checked it.

A message from the shop.

Another warsteel fabrication creation engine had 'gone dark', meaning there were only two left for the entire Regiment.

Vuxten hung his head and scrubbed at one of his newly replaced ears.

--what wrong-- 471 asked.

"Another creation engine went dark," Vuxten said. He looked up. "That leaves two that can fabricate warsteel."

471 put up icons and emojis of frustration. --no Terran around to relight them--

Vuxten shook his head. "Nope. There's not a single Terran in the Division except Casey, and he's on some kind of weird detached duty."

--maybe Casey can relight engine-- 471 suggested. --warsteel engines require Terrans--

"I could call him," Vuxten said, leaning back in the chair. "You think it'll work?"

--might as well try-- 471 said.

Vuxten picked up the handset and called Regiment, then Division, then spent a half hour calling various comlink numbers until he slammed the handset down.

"Nobody knows where he is. I must have left a dozen messages," Vuxten said. He closed his eyes, clenching his fist. For a second he wished he could throw the comlink against the wall. He took a couple of deep breaths and suddenly stood up.

"I'm going down to the shop. You wanna come along?" he asked.

--sure sure-- 471 said. He signed off a request, forwarded it to Regiment, then logged out. He grabbed his little hat and hurried over next to Vuxten.

Vuxten was quiet as the Duty Driver took him to 138ths repair shop. He was aware the Telkan driving kept side eyeing him, but ignored it.

When they reached the motorpool, he got out, tugging on his hat and shifting it a few times.

The newly replaced left ear still felt slightly off to him.

Twice he had to walk around heavily damaged warbound, some of them looking thousands of years old. He ignored the robed troops, tried to ignore the chanting and the incense, keeping an eye out.

Finally, he found Chief Hel.grak, the OIC of the Third Shop repair bays. The Kobold looked stressed to Vuxten as he hurried out of the main maintenance bay, following Vuxten.

"How can I help you, sir?" the Kobold asked. "Your armor is fully repaired if you want to inspect it."

Vuxten shook his head. "No. I'm more worried about the fact you had another creation engine go dark."

Chief Hel.grak nodded. "It's happening across Confed. Something to do with the lack of Terrans."

"Which one just went dead?" Vuxten asked. "I know a Terran. He's lurking around base somewhere, I just need to find him and maybe he can help."

The Chief walked Vuxten to the back of the maintenance area until they reached a massive orb set in a set of gantries and external housing components. The iris was closed and the orb trembled slightly.

"It's fine for anything but warsteel," Chief Hel.grak said. "Problem is, warsteel needs wrath. I've tried a couple of the old Crusade warbound, but they weren't able to do anything."

Vuxten nodded. "Casey's pretty good with wrath," he said.

--so are you-- 471 broke in. --try--

"Me?" Vuxten said, looking down at 471. "I've got it under control."

471 flashed a shrugging icon. --think of first telkan war put hand on it--

Vuxten sighed and decided to play along. He closed his eyes and put his hand on the big Class-XIV creation engine, big enough to run super-heavy tank parts off of.

This is dumb. I mean, what am I supposed to think about? First Telkan? I spent most of First Telkan terrified. Second Telkan was the bad one, Vuxten thought. Between the Dwellerspawn and that fight... that fight under the mountain, Second Telkan was terrible.

471 tapped a few keys on a holographic keyboard, looking up at Vuxten.

--think about what lady kay said-- 471 said. --control it use it--

Vuxten nodded, gritting his teeth, and remembering.

After a few long moments Chief Hel.grak opened his mouth to ask if there was anything he could do when lightning snarled down Major Vuxten's arm, spreading across the massive battlesteel orb of the creation engine.

Vuxten's eyes opened, glowing red, as he glared at the creation engine in front of him, letting the rage and fury fill him, pass through him, flow into the huge construct in front of him.

The creation engine hissed suddenly, releasing steam from hidden valves.

The iris opened, revealing a red glow in the depths.

Vuxten took a deep breath, held it, and slowly let it out as he stepped back, letting his arm fall to his side.

Chief Hel.grak checked the readouts quickly, then turned to Vuxten, who was leaning against one of the girders, his eyes closed.

"Whatever you did, it's at full operational status," Chief Hel.grak said.

Vuxten nodded. "How many more are dark here?"

"Three," the Chief said.

"Gimme a minute," Vuxten said. He took a long, shaky breath. "Give me a minute and we'll go to the next one."

--you ok buddy-- 471 asked,

Vuxten nodded slowly. "I think so."

"Maybe I should clear this with Division," Chief Hel.grak said carefully.

Vuxten nodded, still breathing heavy. "All right. I'll be in my office."

Chief Hel.grak watched the Telkan officer leave, the diminutive green mantid hurrying along beside him.

He waited until the Telkan left before rushing to the office and making the phone call.