Chapter Fifty-Eight - What Does the Flock Say?
Chapter Fifty-Eight - What Does the Flock Say?
"Holy shit, they are so stupid. How can they be this stupid? We weren't this stupid, were we?"
--Teachers-Confess post, June 2029
***
Unfortunately, we couldn't goof around forever. I wouldn't have minded that, actually. Maybe an easy run into the aliens just past the walls or something but... no, we had a job to do, and daylight was burning.
Fighting the Antithesis was dangerous enough. Fighting them in the middle of the night was a step too far. The darkness could be dealt with, but it still gave them an additional advantage. Besides, some of us had been up and fighting for a long time. We'd get tired, and tired people made stupid mistakes.
So, I walked the BOBCAT into the Bastion, and then Gomorrah did the same with the Seraphina. I had to hop out and adjust some of the locking mechanisms to better fit her mech's footprint, and just in case, I took out some straps and hooked the mech to a few purpose-built anchoring points.
I think she'd be upset if it came loose and was knocked around the interior of my ship. Also, that could cause me to crash, which would upset me.
The moment spent locking everything into place wasn't lost. It gave the engineers time enough to finish reloading all of the Bastion's guns. I still ran around and did a quick double-check after they had passed, but the systems were designed to be fairly foolproof and tough. I think they mostly took so long because they were nerding out.
I suspected that a few had taken videos and photos of the Bastion's interior. That... was fine, probably. It would get disseminated somewhere, I was sure, but I could live with that. If in a few years the next batch of tanks or whatever had a few design cues taken from my ship, then all the better. It was mostly in service of killing aliens better anyway.
When I stepped out, it was to find Gomorrah's Fury parked nearby, with an unfamiliar vehicle next to it.
The ride was long and low and rather narrow, with multiple shaped pods linked together around a central chassis. The 'winglets' were all sharp-edged and pointy, and the top half of the vehicle was covered in curved spines. It wasn't Mad-Max-y, however. The car was a pale off-white and tan sort of colour, with a few green highlights, and it was very clean, even around the more obviously armoured part.
It had more in common with an armoured corporate VIP transport than anything else I could compare it to. Only it could obviously fly, and it had several boxy missile launchers plugged into it with needle-point projectiles poking out of their ends.
That had to be Hedgehog's new ride, especially since he was standing next to it, arms crossed and looking casually proud of the thing.
"What's that called?" I asked.
He glanced at me, then his ride. "The Atelerix," he said.
"Hedgehog and I will be flying on your flanks," Gomorrah said. "We have a flight-plan lined up that should bring us close to the hive. Since we don't want to waste a good point-gathering opportunity, we'll be landing on a hillside not too far from the main hive, then moving in to plant the explosives we'll use to wipe it out. If all goes well, we might move on to other hives, or at least hit a few sub-hives on the way back. I think it might be best for all of us if we make this a go-and-return sortie, instead of spending too much time in the field."
"Alright," I said. "Who's riding along with me?"
"I am," Crisis Mode replied.
Shy raised her hand to shoulder height, and then Knight nodded to me. "I'll be coming as well," she said.
Which meant that no one was going with Hedgehog, but I didn't think his new car could fit two in any case.
For some reason, everyone was looking at me, and it took me a moment to realize that I'd placed myself in charge. So, I clapped my hands, cupping them to make a loud noise, only it made more of a weak smack. Sue me, I wasn't used to clapping. "Okay! Let's get moving everyone. Once we're in the air I want... the opposite of radio silent. Gomorrah, Hedgehog, do either of you have good sensors?"
"I do," Hedgehog said. "And I purchased some long-ranged scouting drones. The army's are acceptable but... well, they have limited numbers."
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
"That's fine," I said. "Let's head out? I'll take off, both of you get on my flanks, and we'll make for the point you marked out, Gom." I really was just repeating what the nun said at this point.
I jogged over to the Bastion and climbed aboard, the two three Samurai (at this point, Knight basically counted) following behind me. "Shy... no, Knight, can you help with comms and navigation? Crisis, Shy, if you feel like shooting out the back, feel free. There's also systems for taking over manual controls of the guns and missiles if you want. The automated fire is alright, but it's not perfect. But try not to waste all of my ammo."
Shy on navigation was probably fine, but for comms... not so much.
I slid into the cockpit and buckled myself in, then before taking off, I ran through a quick system's check. It wouldn't do to discover that I was outta fuel halfway to the objective, or that there was something clogged somewhere. Everything read green enough, however, so I pushed up the throttle and we rose off the ground while kicking up a small dust-storm that probably showered all of the soldiers below.
Gomorrah and Hedgehog were already above, circling a little behind the wall, probably to stay out of the arcs of fire of the local AA installations. We didn't need friendly fire, even if I was pretty sure the idiot AI controlling the army's AA was smart enough not to try anything.
I pushed the throttle down and gained some speed, then clicked into the command channel, the one that was filled with constant chatter from Army command. I cut through in the middle of some officer's request for something or other. "This is Samurai Stray Cat, along with Crisis Mode, Shy, Princess and Knight, Hedgehog and Gomorrah. We're heading out to go say hi to the local aliens hives. We should be back soon enough. Keep an eye out for second suns on the horizon. And ah, wish us luck. Stray Cat, out."
"Wait... is it 'out' or 'over' at the end?" I asked.
"Over, I think," Knight said from the fold-out seat she'd taken over. "I don't know that much military jargon. I'm trying to learn, however. My sister is not serious about that kind of thing, so I can't help but feel I need to make up for her lack of, ah, seriousness."
"Fair enough," I said. I angled us upwards a little and soon we were dragging along the bottoms of the lowest clouds. The battlefield around the wall, at least the section where most of the fighting today had taken place, was quite small. Just a fraction of the circumference of Quebec, and the ground wasn't blistered and torn for that much distance.
If we flew high enough, then we'd avoid some amount of notice, and we'd be less likely to run into flights of Model Ones. I didn't need the little bastards scraping the paint off of my hull with their hard little beaks.
We might still run into bigger fuckers though.
"Anything on sensors?" I asked over our group's shared comms.
"Nothing nearby," Hedgehog said. "We flew past a flock of Model Ones, but I chose not to antagonize them. I'm going to fire one of my scout drones now. I'll let you know what comes up."
"Go ahead," I replied. "Also... is it really called a flock?"
"What else would you call it?" he asked.
"Crows are a murder," Gomorrah said.
"A parliament, for owls. I think it's a murmuration for starlings. Gaggle for geese," Knight added. "Oh, a flock of flamingos is called a flamboyance."
I rolled my eyes. "We're not calling a flock of Model Ones a fucking flamboyance."
"Maybe a flame-boyance once I'm done with them," Gomorrah said. I heard Princess giggling over the line a moment later.
"I... Gom, I thought better of you."
"I am genuinely sorry," she said. "I don't know what came over me. I promise, once this is done, I'll seek repentance."
"I don't mind the chatter that much, but maybe a little more professionalism on the line?" Hedgehog asked. "I've got pings already, larger aerial signatures than Model Ones. We might be dealing with a... flock of Model Elevens soon."
"Got it," I replied. "Gun check, then make sure you're all hanging onto something. This might get bumpy."
***