When the Devil Dances

The Abrams was never designed to mount the MetalStorm 105. The original Abrams tank was designed to fire a single 105mm cannon that was similar in energy. Until the coming of the Posleen and such monstrosities as the SheVa gun, the concept of a mobile MetalStorm 105 would have been ludicrous. The energy imparted by the gun was sufficient to loft a 747, briefly. Lighter systems were considered possible for mounting on medium armor, but a 105mm, high-velocity penetrator was a different matter. It made the 72-ton tank shake like a mouse in the grip of a terrier and rattled the commander and crew like peas.

“Oh, gee, and miss all this fun?” Captain Chan said, rubbing her shoulder where it had banged into a stanchion.

“Clear sky, captain,” the gunner said, sweeping her sight around.

Chan popped the commander’s cupola and looked around. The air was still hazy with propellant gasses and the smoke from the thousands of bits of plastic littering the ground and the upper deck of the track. But there clearly were no tenaral in the sky. That didn’t mean it was clear.

“All Meemies,” she called, dropping back into the tank. “Back off the ridgeline!” She switched frequencies and called the SheVa. “Hey! Big Boy! You’ve got company south of Dillard.”

* * *

“I hate humans,” Orostan growled as the link from the tenaral went dead.

“So you have said,” Cholo’stan pointed out.

“What were those things?” the oolt’ondai asked. “Esstu?”

“I’m still working on that,” the Kessentai admitted. “There is reference to them in combat, but not against flying tenar; they are usually used for ground defense.”

“Well, we will deal with them after the big gun,” Orostan said with a flap of his crest. The oolt’ondai looked at his battlefield schematic and snarled. “Enough of this playing with them, bring us up so we can engage.”

* * *

“Pruitt, two rounds,” the commander reminded his gunner.

“That’s all Bun-Bun needs,” the gunner replied.

“Major,” Indy called over the intercom. “I’ve got the turbines up to speed; I cut a few corners, but it looks like we’re going to be okay. Anyway, we’re up to full power.”

“Great,” Mitchell said. “Reeves, when Pruitt fires, back down the ridge. We’ve always moved next. This time, back down then wait for my word. We’ll pull right back into position then head north of Franklin for resupply.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver said, checking as his telltales went back into the green. “We’re up to full power.”

“Okay, engage.”

Reeves engaged the drive and threw the multiton tank up the 30-degree slope, leveling it out at the top.

“Oh… shit,” Pruitt whispered; all the landers were up. In the distance he heard the whine of turbines as Reeves cranked the power until the SheVa vibrated with it.

“Target,” Major Mitchell called. Reacting to a training deeper than instinct he had swiveled the gun and laid it on the lower portion of one of the two C-Decs in sight.

“TARGET,” Pruitt confirmed. “C-Dec, nine klicks!”

“Confirmed,” Mitchell said.

“ON THE WAY!” he called, slamming against his straps as Reeves threw the tank into reverse.

“Miss!” Mitchell called as the round tracked under the maneuvering C-Dec. “TARGET, ON THE WAY!”

The second round, fired from the commander’s console, entered the ship on the lower quadrant just as the return fire from the ships erupted around the retreating SheVa. The giant tank still managed to slip away as the top of the hill erupted upward under the flailing of the guns. Despite the heavy fire, the detonation was evident and the fire cut down almost immediately as the hills to either side were lit in nuclear fire.

“NICE SHOT, SIR!” Pruitt caroled. One of the Lampreys was just visible over the ridge they were descending; it was out of control and just as they dropped out of sight it slammed into the side of High Knob. The explosion had easily been the largest so far. “EAT ANTIMATTER, YOU ALIEN FREAKS!”

“Reeves, put your foot in it and don’t let up until we are north of Franklin,” the commander called, manually rotating the turret in that direction. “We’ve got a reload date to keep.” He thought for a moment and frowned. “Swing east of the town; the Sub-Urb is west of it and I’d hate to find out that one of those things acts as a pit trap for a SheVa.”

“Oh, damn,” Pruitt said suddenly. “The Urb! What about the Urb, sir?”

Mitchell sighed and shrugged. “I think they’re on their own, Sergeant. Let’s just hope we don’t run over any stragglers.”

* * *

“I hate humans,” Orostan snarled as six icons dropped off the screen and his own vessels pitched up and down in the shockwave; Chylasarn must have been remanufacturing antimatter already. “Their behavior is bizarre, their reproductive methods are frankly disgusting and they use their weakness as a weapon. There should be a law.”

“Yes, so I am given to understand,” Cholosta’an said, looking down at the obvious trail leading to the north. The SheVa was out of sight and presumably out of ammunition, but they could easily track it down. “Do we follow?”