When the Corvites appeared in our sky, we had nothing to oppose them. They destroyed our orbital defenses with contemptuous ease, dropped a garrison and a company of super-tanks at our capitol, declared victory, and moved on to the next colony world.

 

What they didn't do is take any time to survey their new acquisition. That was a mistake.

 

Corvites are heirarchical by nature. It wouldn't occur to them that rural homesteaders might be anything other than low-caste farmers. It certainly never crossed their minds that humanity might have a colony populated mainly by retired Space Marines.

 

* * *

 

We needed to capture their headquarters before they could call for help; we also had to stop their tanks while still in the barn. Those were equipped with an energy shield we couldn't breach with our civilian slugthrowers.

 

We assembled by squad. The youngest were divided into battalions: Headquarters, Garrison, Tanks, and Reserve. The rest were assigned various support and contingency roles. General Girvan came to me personally: If any enemy tanks went active, my boys would have to take them down. We were given the Colonial Robotics tractor works and carte blanche on supplies.

 

We worked three shifts to arm the tractor inventory. Since a hit from the enemy's main gun could take out anything we could field, we concentrated on mobility, using light armor to deflect small-arms fire. Our deployment plan was based on the T-34 versus Tiger model, from the Battle of Kursk; we figured enough light vehicles swarming one enemy could do the job.

 

On Go-Day, we had 38 tractors with single-shot cannons for the swarm attack. Another fifty-odd robot drones would go in ahead of us as cannon fodder; if we were lucky we could run the enemy out of ammo. We deployed in the fields south of town, engines idling, waiting on our signal.

 

Reports came in: Headquarters fell first, and moments later the tank barn was secured. The enemy garrison was fighting hard, but our boys had them contained; by T+0:15 we figured we wouldn't be needed. We were wrong.

 

At plus-twenty minutes we were shaken by a huge detonation. One of the massive Corvite tanks was rolling down Main Street and had just let loose with its main gun; we heard later it'd scored a direct hit on our reserves. Right then, that sound was all the signal we needed.

 

The drones went first, half rushing forward and the rest zig-zagging about. Our infantry opened up with small arms from the treeline; bullets spattered against the tank's energy shield. We waited in defilade, either praying or cursing depending on personal preference. I did neither; I was too busy watching through my periscope.

 

That main gun was deadly, but it took half a minute to reload. Instead, they deployed auto railguns that fired slivers of molten metal. Our first drones were vaporized in seconds. The others proved tougher to hit, but not much. I gave the signal and we rolled.

 

Our assault came in four columns: eight from each flank, and the rest of us around both sides of a small hillock in the middle of the field. We had cover until about halfway.

 

The enemy slewed sideways to meet the flanking columns; their railguns were front- and rear-mounted. Once we appeared, the main turret swiveled toward us and we scattered; two moved too slowly and got caught in the first blast. The flanking columns were getting chewed up, and I figured the Corvites would rotate to face us. Instead, the enemy headed toward a small irrigation pond. We'd figured on that.

 

I sent in the rest of the drones ahead of us. The main gun fired, blowing a hole in our advance, and the last of the right flanking column fell to the railguns. I was leaning on the accelerator but the weight of my comm gear was slowing me down. I watched helplessly as the rest of my group, firing ineffectually, got raked by the railguns.

 

Then the main gun swiveled in my direction. I knew I was done for; I locked the accelerator, fired the cannon, and bailed — not a moment too soon. My right leg caught some of the blast.

 

Three of our tractors had made it to the pond ahead of the enemy and formed a line blocking its advance. They all fired at once, aiming at the turret ring; one of the rounds made it through, jamming the swivel.

 

For the first time I could see clearly just how big that monster was. Our tractors were man-high; the enemy's treads went right over the top of them. It didn't even slow down. Seconds later it was hull-down in the pond, and the last of our makeshift tanks had fled the field to reload. They'd be back soon.

 

Meanwhile, I was busy digging as deep a hole as I could.

 

The irrigation pumps had already pulled most of the water out of the pond. Seconds after the enemy tank arrived, one of the big overhead standpipes dumped its contents down over it. It wasn't water.

 

The idea was, if our tractors failed, a few thousand gallons of burning ethanol would probably cause some trouble. There were three such traps laid, and the Corvids had picked the most deadly. I was hunkered down out of sight over a hundred yards away, and I could feel the heat washing over me in waves. That energy shield never stood a chance.

 

Then one of our tractor-tanks rolled right up to the side of the thing, planted its barrel hard against it, and fired. In the blast that followed, that Corvite turret flew almost a thousand meters straight up into the sky.

 

* * *

 

A few weeks later the Terran Fleet arrived. Some of the boys enlisted, and we gave the scientists a tank to play with. As for the rest... if the Corvites ever come back, we'll be ready for 'em.