First Contact

Chapter 937: The Setting Sun

Warhawks and "Strategic Experts" will always promise a war that will be over by spring or fall.

The ones they predict will last no time at all devour entire generations over the course of decades, the ones they predict are unwinnable devour entire generations in hours or days.

Of course, they are never anywhere near the fight. - Common Wisdom

Ret.lek saw his secure com-link flash and hit the button.

A Treana'ad worker class looked out at him, made red and silver by the secure system.

"Specialist-Five Hr'Kat here. Is this Private Second Class Ret.lek?" the Treana'ad asked.

"Private First Class, but otherwise: Yup," Ret.lek took another spoonful of butterscotch pudding (Now with REAL Artificial flavor substitute substitute!), took a bite, then waved the spoon. "How can I help ya?"

"Apologies on the confusion with your rank," The Treana'ad cocked its head and the translator noted that it signified satisfaction.

"I am with 2392 Military Intelligence Battalion," the Treana'ad said.

"See ya," Ret.lek reached forward to cut the signal with his edible plastic spoon.

"No! Wait!" the Treana'ad waved his bladearms.

Ret.lek paused, still slightly leaned forward, his spoon stretched out. "Why?"

"I'm supposed to ride side-car with you," the Treana'ad said.

"No gas, grass, or ass, no hitchhikers," Ret.lek said, leaning forward again.

"It's an order from the General," the Treana'ad's antenna were waving around, showing how agitated it was.

"Good for him," Ret.lek said. "Give him my best regards."

"Please," the Treana'ad said.

Ret.lek paused, sighed, and leaned back. "All right," he looked around. "OK, I've got a jump seat, but I don't know if it'll fit a Treana'ad."

The Treana'ad shook his head. "No, no, no. I'll have a direct telemetry feed from you. Not to you, just from you."

Ret.lek ate another spoonful, swallowed, and waved the spoon around. "Sure, I guess. I mean, you guys have all of that, right?"

The Treana'ad shook his head again., "Well, yes and no. You turn it over to the system, the system analyzes the telemetry from you and everyone else, compares it to satellite images and other data, and then runs the predictive analysis chains in order to help you control and anticipate the battlefield."

"While running my warmek on automatic most of the time," Ret.lek said. "No thanks."

The Treana'ad shook his head again and Ret.lek idly wondered if maybe the Treana'ad had a twitch or had just worked around humans for too long.

"That's the problem," the Treana'ad said. "The General doesn't like how the system is performing for anything the Predictive Analysis And Determination Section can't foresee. Like the flashgates being used the way they are."

"So, PADS is startled that the enemy is trying to overcome our advantages while rolling out advantages of their own," Ret.lek snorted. He waved his spoon. "PADS does realize that the Enemy does that, right? That it's kind of their job to win for their side."

The Treana'ad's head bobbed up and down. "Yes, yes. See, PADS had loaded up the predictive models based on the last wars we fought against all the star nations so far shown. They then ran PAD for a combination, but as you saw, what the PADS said would happen and what actually happened were two different things."

Ret.lek frowned for a moment. "If you don't mind me asking, what were you during the Big C3 and the 2PW?"

"If you are referring to the Council/Confederacy Conflict and the Second Precursor War, I was working in the Active Operations Analysis Office," the Treana'ad tapped his antenna and tilted his head in a way that the translator said the Treana'ad was agitated, then he leaned forward slightly. "Between you and me, PADS dropped the ball badly on this one."

Ret.lek nodded. "All right. You can ride side car. Try to take over my mek or start yelling in my ear when I'm fighting, and I'll have my greenies disable you," he said.

"I'm just an observer," the Treana'ad said.

Ret.lek just nodded.

-----

"They're getting better with the flashgates," LC Norgulk said, frowning.

"It's those damn hypergrav trains," Ret.lek said. "The new one of whipping the train out full of aerospace drones that immediately launch is getting on my nerves."

LC Norgulk nodded. "All right, they want us to do cleanup a few kay from here. Give it over to PADS and lets take a nap."

Ret.lek nodded, cutting the channel. He looked over and saw that the Treana'ad analyst that had been riding with him for a week was talking to someone else, the sound muted. After a minute the Treana'ad nodded and turned back to Ret.lek.

"That was exciting looking," the Treana'ad said wistfully. "I am not the warrior type, but I do sometimes imagine the excitement and honor that being a warrior brings."

"And the boredom?" Ret.lek asked.

The Treana'ad shrugged. "It is a warriors place to wait patiently until the dire need of his service rears up and threatens all that is good."

Ret.lek nodded. The Treana'ad had a whole different belief about the entire thing, as he'd learned chatting for the last month.

"After the sweep and clear operation, all of you will be returning to the logistics base," Specialist-Five Hr'Kat said. "There is going to be a full Operational Predictive Analysis recomplining."

"Sounds fun. They serve ice cream?" Ret.lek asked.

The Treana'ad looked mournful. "Sadly, not to one such as I. Our dining facility does not stock ice cream."

"Huh, they should," Ret.lek said. "Tell you what, I'll smuggle you out an ice cream sandwich."

The Treana'ad perked up. "I would like that."

"See you then," Ret.lek said, leaning back in his pilot's chair. He pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes. "Keep an eye out, will you?"

Specialist-Five Hr'Kat nodded.

-----

Ret.lek pulled his hat down, trying to ignore the rain. The black was gone from it. It didn't make his rad-counter howl. It wasn't sticky.

So, he could ignore it safely.

Personally, he found the way so much of the logistics base was wide open to be strange. Buildings in nice neat rows, the wall manned with perfect little towers with perfect little point defense guns at optimum distances from each other, the gates guarded by battlescreens and automated turrets. The roads and paths all nicely laid out.

No worries about the Atrekna suddenly gating in a bunch of those big ass pillbugs or any of their other nasty surprises. Some officers demanding to be saluted. Running PT outside. Turning in weapons at the armories.

It just felt weird.

He saw the XO doing his normal slouch/walk toward the mess hall and hurried to catch up. The XO saw him and nodded, his hands behind his back.

"You have a hitchhiker with you in your mek?" Ret.lek asked.

"Yup. You?" the XO asked.

"T-Bug. Spends more time bitching that nobody respects him because he's worker caste than anything else," Ret.lek said.

The XO snorted. "I've got a Kobold riding herd on me that constantly wants to talk about the lastest episode of Four Finger Family, that kobold crime serial drama that everyone's in love with."

"Isn't that one of those shows where they just blather at each other about what they're going to do and they save all the action for the season and the mid-season finales?" Ret.lek asked.

"Yeah. But the Saurians, they like the slow burn ones," the XO said. "You going to get chow?"

"Yes, sir," Ret.lek said.

The XO looked around. "Me and Stomps have to attend some kind of emergency briefing. Get the men together, we'll meet out back the mek-locker."

Ret.lek nodded and the XO split off, heading a different direction.

-----

Ret.lek still couldn't believe that the whole damn logistics base was lit up at night.

Or course, the majority of the soldiers at the base were walking around in PT uniforms. Some were even in civilian clothing.

Ret.lek wasn't even sure if he owned any civilian clothing any more.

Still, the company was all clustered up behind the warmek maintenance bay, smoking cigarettes, drinking narcobrew or fizzystims, and all waiting.

Finally the XO came around the corner, Captain Stomps with him.

Ret.lek could tell that the Captain was pissed off.

Everyone, even the greenies, gathered up, the greenies all clustered up on top of the POL barrels.

The XO made a motion to Ret.lek who pulled the little device out his pocket and set it down.

When it went from green to red Ret.lek nodded.

"All right, I'm not going to repeat this, but you need to know," Stomps said. His translator had the slight buzz of an angry mantid. "Command says that the rank and file, that's you, don't need to know the whole story of what's going on the theater."

Everyone stayed silent, although the thick tension was now frosted with simmering anger.

"Eight days ago the Noocracy attacked more worlds. Heavy space fleet presences, flash gates, everything. It caught Theater Command totally unprepared," Stomps said. "Before you get mad about that, remember, there's nearly two thousand Terran Tomb Worlds on the border between the Confederacy and the Noocracy."

Stomps gave a sigh. "Looks like we mistook their targeting criteria."

"Or we saw what they wanted us to see," the XO grumbled.

"I hate smart enemies," Stomps said. "Anyway, it looks like they aren't killing officers who fail to take objectives, unlike the last few times the Confederacy has tangled with them. They've also worked very hard to recover their troops when they can, even if it means destroying or leaving behind equipment. In the last engagements, they just let cut off troops fend from themselves."

"So now they're learning," someone bitched. "Just fucking great."

"It gets better," the XO said.

"Wonderful," someone else said.

"The Enemy has been pushing hard with their flashgates. We aren't sure how they're doing their target selection, but they're getting better all the time," Stomps told everyone. "We've all seen how their line of battle will rush out the flashgate and engage us, how they're now keeping their rocket and artillery back on the other side of the flashgate and just fire through it."

Everyone nodded.

"Well, military intelligence and predictive analysis are all finally pulling their heads out of their asses and realizing that the enemy thinks up new things to do too," Stomps looked around.

The CO was silent for a moment.

"Initial estimates by Defense Intelligence was that the military operation to push back the nation states trying to grab up old Terran territories would take a few weeks at the most," Stomps said.

"Yeah, bet the Slorpies thought that too," someone said.

"At ease that shit," the XO snapped.

"They're estimating now that this will be an ongoing operation and the Confederate Armed Services will have to maintain a permanent presence to prevent deep strikes and things like what is happening right now," Stomps told everyone.

"So... they've figured out that it's war?" Someone asked.

Stomps snorted. "Basically."

"Do they need us, or are we just going to be biological backups for the backups in case the PADS goes sideways again," Ret.lek asked.

"Backups," Stomps said.

"Figures," someone bitched.

"Well, there's a new general in charge of the analysis and combat operations center. You'll have more leeway when it drops into it," Stomps told everyone. "The Noocracy learns fast, and we've all been lazy after fighting people with the pattern recognition skills of a house plant," he gave a grin. "Trust me, boys, it'll get interesting."

"Mark my words, six months, we'll be wishing we could go back to taking naps in our meks."

-----

Ret.lek looked at his mek and smiled.

The Regimental CO had changed his mind about artwork and had decided to permit it again.

The Detainee was back where she belonged.

In all her naked glory.

LC Norgulk clapped Ret.lek on the back.

"Ready, Wrecker?" he asked.

"Born ready," Ret.lek grinned back.

"Let's get it on," the LC said, then hustled toward his own mek.

Climbing inside the cockpit, Ret.lek smiled as he buckled himself in.

No, it wasn't like the Big C3 or 2PW.

It was a war all it's own.

Personally, Ret.lek liked calling it the "Terran Tomb Tango, or the Triple-T."

The XO just usually threw his crackers at Ret.lek whenever he said it.

Buckled in, jacked in, helmet on, Ret.lek let the Operations Command system guide his mek out on the next patrol.

Specialist-Five Hr'Kat appeared on the screen. "Are you ready, my friend?" the Treana'ad asked.

"Born ready," Ret.lek said.

The Treana'ad looked around slyly then held up a wrapper. "I thank you for your gift. It was most gratifying."

Ret.lek just smiled. "Anytime, friend."

And the new war went on.