On the distant planet of Dylar IV, the Zerg grasp on this barren world slowly slips away as the successes of the Dominion continue to mount. Unknown however to the Terrans, their good fortunes shall soon be making a turn for the worse. Surging forth from the depths of space, reinforcements in the form of a new Zerg brood has arrived in secret to swell the much-depleted ranks of the cerebrate Trasa. Piercing the practically cloudless atmosphere, the arriving Zerg continue to flow down to the darkened surface like a shadowy wave as they continue on to the blasted remains of the Terran city, New Vista.
Buried deep within the central communications center of the Dominion on the far side of the planet, two privates continue their dull early hour monitoring duty. The recent successes by their forces here have left them with a great deal of time and very little in the way of work during their shift. It is most unfortunate that they happen to choose this moment to be asleep at their posts. Several hundred kilometers above the planet, a half dozen orbital relays spring to life as their receptors pickup an extremely faint signal far too weak to be received by conventional means. The numerous antenna and sensor dishes on the relays begin to twitch like the ears of a small creature as they struggle to track in on the source and boost it sufficiently enough for retrieval. Functioning as programmed, they compile the degraded signal and then beam that information down to the planet below for further analysis. The signal is received at the station and decoded and restructured as much as possible. After several seconds of digital enhancement, a scratchy, static filled transmission issues forth from the comm. Despite the poor quality, the fear and panic in the voice is quite clear.
“This is… mander… of explor… sel… ttached… trol group… have…under attack by… ing Zerg! Repe… we… llen under… ack by… new incom… erg… broo… someb… wer… me dam… it! For… sake som… answer me! I say aga… this is… priori… one messa… unkno… Ze… brood sighted—“
Sadly, the urgent message goes unnoticed by the two asleep on duty. It will be four more hours before the shift changes and the message logs are checked and ultimately cleared, two hours too late to avert a grave disaster. The Dominion intends to commence their assault on the Zerg at New Vista far before that time arrives. At the base, preparations for the upcoming assault continue at a frantic pace as units and equipment are prepped for battle.
***
“C’mon! Move it along!” screams a duty officer above the roar of dropship engines as he directs a line of vehicles to their assembly points. The sound of thousands of footsteps thunder through the air as the men and women of Alpha Squadron march to their positions. As far as the eye can see, hundreds of lights blaze throughout the massive base and burn with enough brightness to rival a small sun; practically turning night to day. The mood is light and anxious throughout most of those gathered as the thoughts of yet another victory over the Zerg fills their minds. Such eagerness is not shared by all however, those who know better are already having doubts about this assault.
“Are they outta their minds?” grumbles Frost as he glares at the mission objectives and intelligence estimates; small wisps of smoke circling around him from the cigarette burning softly in his mouth. “This plan is so full of holes I could drive a tank through it Manny.”
“That’s what I basically told them Hal,” says Manny with a snort of disgust. “I tried to point that out in the mission briefing and they shut me down… hard,” he adds as he angrily tosses a data pad onto the small desk.
“Does general “high-and-mighty” honestly expect us to keep such a tight time table?”
“You know how he is… what do YOU think Hal?” retorts Manny as he drops down into a field chair.
“I think we’ve got a tough time ahead of us,” answers Frost with a frown hard enough to crack durasteel.
“Yeah… let’s hope that when it’s done we’re still ‘round to bitch about it,” says Manny with a slight smile. “By the way, how’s our new lieutenant holding up?”
“Which one?! All we’ve got left are new lieutenants Manny,” snaps Frost as he takes the seat across from his friend. “Practically the entire company, excuse me… more correctly what’s left of it, is composed of nothing but replacements.”
“It’s not just us Hal… all of Alpha Squadron is in pretty rough shape. Oh, and I was talking about Lt. Beekins when I asked earlier.”
“Beeker?” responds Frost with a grimace. “Do I have you to thank for that Manny?”
“Of course,” replies Manny as he drops his feet onto the tabletop, “that kid is pretty green but he’s got potential. He could use you to whip him into shape if he wants to keep on living.”
“Like what I did for you?” asks Frost with a sly grin.
“I was never that bad Hal,” replies Manny with a dismissive wave and a grin, “besides, since he’s in charge of 1st platoon that makes him your responsibility.”
“Great,” grumbles Frost, “for that ‘small favor’ you can forget about any morning coffee from me anytime soon.” Both men take a moment to laugh over their inside joke. Their brief period of relaxation is interrupted as a distant voice is heard over the base-wide comm channels announcing that the final mission preparations are to commence immediately.
“We better get going Hal,” says Manny as he drops his feet to the floor loudly to stand.
“Shit,” grumbles Hal as he rubs his face roughly with his hands before he moves, “I just hope we brought enough ammo this time Manny.”
“Yeah… me too Hal. Better instead to hope that we won’t be needing it all but I got a bad feeling mano… a bad feeling…” says Manny softly as both of them leave for the company’s rally point.
***
Elsewhere in the Terran base, as one informal meeting ends another is just beginning. A transmission from Dominion Command has just been received and those few present do not like what they see. The three officers continue to watch the transmission, as their moods grow dark.
“As you can see from what little preliminary imaging we have received from the 6th battle group,” states the unknown officer in the transmission, “the alien vessels are unlike any that we have encountered before. The only race that even comes close, as far as appearance goes, is the Protoss. We in intelligence can only speculate as to the identity of this new space-faring race and strongly urge that any and all information gained regarding them is to be immediately marked vital and forwarded to Dominion Command. Further information regarding this encounter will be transmitted to all commands once the 6th has ascertained the true identity and intentions of this alien fleet. This concludes this report.” The image fades to black to be replaced by Arcturus Mengsk, Emperor of the Terran Dominion.
“As you can see Chris,” says the image of Mengsk in his usual southern drawl, “we appear to have new visitors to our lil’ sector. The boys in intelligence are still fussing over the identity of these newcomers but one thing is for sure… they are not friendly.” Mengsk’s features become tense and grow dark as he continues on with his transmission.
“After the commander of the 6th battle group, Commodore Thaddeus Dearborn sent the preliminary images you saw, all contact with our forces stationed in the ‘zone’ was lost; we have not heard from them in sometime. I have dispatched several battle groups to investigate but I suspect they will find those boys dead. In any event we know very little at this point in time, I suggest you prepare your forces for a possible engagement with the Protoss until we know for sure who they are.”
“I also suggest that you wrap up this final campaign of yours against the Zerg quickly,” states Mengsk with a slight edge to his voice. “This fiasco has been dragging on long enough. If this alien fleet is in fact, the Protoss returning, I want our best where they can do the best,” adds Mengsk with a slight smile. “I’ll want that after-action report of this offensive strike you intend to initiate as soon as it reaches its conclusion, Chris. Good luck and good hunting.” Mengsk’s image shifts his hand slightly on his desk and the image goes completely black to be replaced with the emblem of the Dominion thus ending the recorded transmission. The central display reverts back to a revolving holographic image of the alien vessels and a rough estimation of size and capability.
“So what do we do now general? Do we abort the assault?” asks Colonel Stewart the minuted the transmission has concluded.
“Hell no!” snaps Ames as he dusts his cigar in an ashtray. “We’ve already invested a great deal of energy and planning into this assault and I’ll be damned if I let that go all to waste over a few ‘scary images’ from HQ,” adds Ames with a snort of disdain.
“But what of HQ’s intelligence report of the fleet being possibly Protoss general?” asks Lt. Colonel Ian Kerrel, Alpha Squadron’s intelligence officer. “Shouldn’t we hold some of our forces back in reserve just in case? Maybe assume a more defensive stance? The ‘zone’ is not that far away from Dylar sir.”
“I don’t need a lesson in astromechanics colonel,” snaps Ames as he fixes Kerrel with a hard stare. “I am fully aware of the position of the ‘zone’ and its proximity to us,” he adds as he stands to stretch and walks over to a window.
“We don’t have time for this,” says Ames as he looks out towards the landing fields. “We’re a couple of hours away from practically wiping the Zerg off this planet for good and you want me to call off the attack because of this unsubstantiated crap?! No way in hell is that going to happen!”
“Sir,” ventures Stewart cautiously, “perhaps the S-3 is correct in his suggestion. Perhaps we should retain some of our forces in a ready state just in case.”
“I don’t believe this!” snarls Ames as he takes a couple of puffs on his cigar, a noxious cloud billowing into the closed room. “I can expect something like that coming from him,” says Ames as he stabs an accusing finger towards Kerrel, “but to come from you Nick?”
“He does happen to have a point sir,” flatly replies Stewart. “As your senior colonel it’s my duty to voice concerns whether you like them or not and his is a valid one. With a potential threat out there we should retain at least a force in reserve. It would only take a small amount of time to reassign units so that their absence in the assault would negligible at best sir.”
“Your suggestion is duly noted colonel,” says Ames with a small nod, “but the assault goes as is… without modification. The Zerg presence on this planet shall end today and I intend to see to it that it happens. Once that is completed, then we can worry about these ‘bogeymen’ or Protoss or whatever they may be. Are we clear on that?”
“Crystal sir,” both men say in unison.
“Good, that will be all then gentlemen… you are dismissed.”
Both colonels stand and snap off a quick salute as they gather their gear and leave the room. Ames watches them both leave and them slowly turns back towards the view out the window to watch his forces assembling in the early morning light. With one final glance, he turns to ready himself for the coming battle.
***
Zero hour has finally arrived and the forces of the Dominion are ready for action. All along the landing field, hundreds of DropShips, their navigation lights twinkling softly, sit poised to deliver their deadly cargo against the Zerg at New Vista. The high pitched murmur of their engines fills the pre-dawn air as ground crews scramble about performing last minute checks. The last few troops quickly board their waiting transports as ordinance and maintenance vehicles clear the flight line. Standing in front of their dropships with their arms crossed, hundreds of crew chiefs wait patiently for the order to release their birds. With a brief transmission, the order is given and one-by-one each chief signals their pilot with a raising of arms and a crisp salute for luck. The once high-pitched murmur changes to a roar as throttles are thrown to the stops to drive the transports skyward, heat and compression waves surging outwards from the landing field. Single ships are quickly replaced by waves as they fly up towards the heavens to rendezvous with their fleet waiting in space. All along the ascending formations of dropships, hundreds of fighters blast parallel providing close-in escort for their charges. The sound of dozens of sonic booms rattles the nearby landscape as the ships rocket up through the atmosphere. After several minutes have passed, the last of the Terran assault groups have assumed formation with the fleet. On command, thousands of drives flare brightly as the Terran fleet quickly accelerates to their final destination.
On board the lead fleet cruiser, Mengsk’s Fist, General Ames stares out the forward viewports and smiles at the view he beholds, the sight of over a hundred cruisers and thousands of fighters and support ships flying in formation around him. Throughout the bridge of the cruiser, crewmembers move rapidly from station-to-station conducting their duties in preparation for the upcoming battle. The constant buzz of conversations and calls from reporting sections merely increases the electrified tension in the air. At one particular station, a routine status report continues to go unanswered despite several attempts. The young crewmember, a slight frown creasing her features, immediately calls her duty officer.
“Lieutenant Prescott, I’ve got a situation over here.”
“What’ve you got Wheaton?” asks the officer as he comes up to her station.
“All planetary patrol groups have checked in except one—Captain Foster’s group sir.”
“Where was her group assigned?”
Wheaton punches in an inquiry into her station and is rewarded with a display of unit patrol assignments. She moves her finger towards Foster’s group to highlight it. “Here sir. Captain Foster’s group was assigned to cover sector 27B.”
“The Zerg zone huh? That would put them inside the planet’s shadow and beyond relay range,” states the officer as he nods his head with understanding. “They’re probably still caught on the opposite side.”
“Possibly sir but I don’t think so,” offers Wheaton thoughtfully, “given the time they initiated their patrol and the time required to complete, they are long overdue… at least over an hour sir.”
“That long overdue?” asks Prescott with concern, his reward a simple nod. “Continue scanning for a response then, I’ll inform the general immediately.”
“Aye sir.”
Prescott quickly makes his way across the crowded bridge towards where Ames and several senior commanders are conversing on the forward observation deck.
“Excuse me sirs,” says Prescott urgently as he snaps off a quick salute, “we might have a problem.”
“What have you got lieutenant?” asks Sam Brandis, captain of the Vigilance.
“It might be nothing captain but one of the patrol groups has failed to check-in. There has been nothing from them since their last transmission, which was several hours ago. They are long overdue.”
“Which patrol group is that son,” asks Ames as turns away from his gazing.
“Captain Foster’s group general. They were assigned to sector 27B—the Zerg zone.”
“The last patrol assigned to that area indicated that the route was clear general,” offers Brandis, “most of the Zerg seem content to remain planet-side with their slug so an attack on the patrol would be unlikely. Besides with the communication blackouts on that route, late status reports are not unheard of.”
“Not from Rachael,” states Ames as he shakes his head disapprovingly, “I know that girl, she’d never let something like that happen if she could help it. How long did you say they were overdue son?”
“At least over an hour general.”
“That’s too damn long to chalk up to simple communications failure,” says Ames as he frowns slightly. He gestures for his senior officers and the young lieutenant to follow him as he moves towards a tactical station. “What have we got near that sector son?”
“Nothing right now general,” states the crewman at the tactical station. “All non-essential planetary patrols have been diverted to rendezvous with us for the assault. The closet unit to sector 27B is the 1024th tactical fighter squadron, Commander Darrel Giles in command, sir.”
“Order them off to investigate. Inform her commander that I want them to search for Captain Foster’s group. Vector them in on the last leg of her patrol and backtrack from there. I want her group found. If they encounter any hostiles, they are NOT to engage. They are to break contact and to report in immediately. Make sure they acknowledge that.”
“Yes sir,” says the crewman as he immediately relays the new orders. On command the fighters of the 1024th peel out of formation with the fleet and rocket towards their new vector.
“Possible trouble general?” asks Brandis.
“Doubt it Sam… but it never hurts to be sure. Still though, Rachael wouldn’t let a slip like not reporting in happen unless she had a damn good reason or she was incapable of doing so,” answers Ames with a grunt.
“Do we still proceed with the assault? Sir,” inquires Stewart as he eyes Ames carefully, “given this rather disturbing news.”
“The assault is still a go colonel,” states Ames as a look of annoyance crosses his face briefly, “but I think I’m beginning to strongly consider your earlier proposal. What’ve we got that we won’t miss Nick?”
Moving towards the tactical display, Stewart begins to highlight several groups composed of cruisers and assorted support units. “These groups can be shifted to bolster our reserve forces in the event of any unexpected occurrences. Their absence during the assault will be minimal sir.”
“Very well then colonel, make it happen. Deploy the reserves as you see fit.” Turning to look at his senior officers he continues on, “Don’t forget our main objective today gentlemen is the Zerg. I want them squashed and squashed HARD! Anything less than complete victory is an insult!”
“Yes sir,” they reply.
After some last minute details are ironed out, the senior officers depart to meet up with their assigned units. Off in the distance, the planet continues its slow rotation as the fleet, aided by simple orbital mechanics, rapidly approaches their target.
“General, we have reached the bombardment coordinates,” announces the tactical officer above the noise on the bridge.
“Order the fleet into bombardment positions Sam and alert the assault teams to prepare for deployment,” orders Ames as he moves towards the central display.
“Yes sir,” briskly replies Brandis as he turns to a subordinate to relay the orders.
The cruisers of Alpha Squadron lumber into their assigned positions as they prepare to unleash hell down on the planet below. The bows of the cruisers begin to glow, as the energy required to fuel their hellish cannons are charged, merely waiting for the command to fire. At the same time, other orders are issued to those groups reassigned to reserve status. Dozens of ships and vessels break formation with the fleet and move to their distant rally point.
“All captains reporting in their assigned positions. Cannons charged and main batteries online sir,” states Brandis.
“Tactical, confirm that all cruisers are in their proper positions and that the assault lanes are clear. I don’t want any of my boys getting blasted by our own fire.”
“Confirmed general,” states the tactical officer with a thumbs up, “all cruisers in position and lanes are cleared.”
“Very well... and the assault teams?” asks Ames calmly.
“Assault teams are all set and ready general,” replies Stewart as he glances down at a display of the fleet positions.
Ames steps slightly towards the main viewscreen to get a better view of the planet beyond and smiles tightly. Keying a nearby comm station, he issues the one order he has longed waited for.
“All cruisers commence bombardment! Hammer ‘em!”
***
Down on the planet, thousands of Zerg in and around the city continue about their daily routine, totally unaware that hell is about to be unleashed upon them. Far above them in orbit, the bows of the cruisers flare as incredible energies erupt outward. It starts off with a single blast, soon replaced by a flurry of streaks, as death flows from the heavens to smite those below. Hundreds of lances of energy pierce the atmosphere of the planet and slice their way downward through the sparse cloud cover. The air grows hot as the heated beams fall like rain from a vengeful sky. The sound of loud sizzles and sharp cracks are left in the wake of their passing. The results as expected are beyond description. The heated lances strike the ground and the planet struggles to absorb the abuse. Hundreds of large craters are immediately gouged out of the arid surface as a constant shower of debris rains everywhere. Literally thousands of Zerg are vaporized under the merciless abuse as they quickly reform to strike back at those beyond. The grounded Zerg immediately scatter under instructions from their cerebrate while those capable of flight rush off to bring the battle to their foes. Weaving their way through the intense barrage, they rapidly close the distance to the Terran fleet. Hundreds more Zerg fall to the intense hellish fires that carve through their numbers.
***
The crews of the fleet stare outward and see the dark mass that is the Zerg, rising up like a massive serpent from the planet below. With their last remaining stronghold in jeopardy and their cerebrate in danger, the Zerg rush headlong towards the fleet, heedless of their own well-being. Despite their animalistic fury, they are no match for their foes in their current state.
“All cruisers intensify your forward fire,” orders Ames tersely as he watches the Zerg begin to engage his forces. “Assault teams standby for my signal. Green two you’ll ride shotgun with ’em.”
“Acknowledge command,” replies the distant voice of green two’s commander. Dozens of clouds of expanding matter continue to mark the passing of the attacking Zerg as they fall to the laser batteries of the cruisers.
Sensing that the time is right, Ames gives the order to commence the ground assault. “Assault teams—GO!” barks Ames.
Hundreds of dropships surge forth from the fleet as they accelerate into Dylar’s atmosphere turning into small shooting stars. The fighters and cruisers in green two follow them down like shepherds watching over their flock. The cerebrate immediately recognizes the new threat for what it is and orders his forces to engage them at all costs. The Zerg desperately try to lash out at the invaders and despite the efforts of the escorts, still manage to have some success. Over two dozen DropShips disappear in white-hot explosions as they struggle to reach their drop zones; their crews and cargo reduced to ashes to be scattered throughout the atmosphere.
***
“Shit!” snarls Manny as he struggles to maintain his balance as a nearby explosion rocks his dropship. Several marines, already nauseous from the violent motions are unable to contain themselves and spill their vomit on the grated deck. The roar of the top mounted turret drowns out the rushing of air against the hull as the gunner merely continues to add to the chaos.
“We’re going in hot captain!” screams the DropShip pilot as he dives to avoid the flaming wreckage. “Two minutes to LZ!”
“Get ready!” screams Manny above the noise. “Two minutes!” he adds as he holds up two fingers.
For the men and women onboard dropship 051, two minutes can last forever when death is staring at you in the face. Several more nearby explosions marking the loss of more of their comrades only serves to increase the urgency to land as they mentally will the pilot to hurry. After what seems like an eternity, the assault groups have finally arrived at their destination. Clouds of dust are kicked up as the dropships flare and settle in to unload. The first troops on the ground surge out quickly from underneath their transports as they attempt to secure a landing point for their comrades. Overhead, dozens of fighters roar by as they struggle to keep the Zerg from their charges; explosions and dark clouds marking the losses on both sides. A transport preparing to land is struck in the aft section by a passing Mutalisk and drops to the ground with a crunch. A stream of tracers defiantly arcs out from the gun turret.
Manny feels the ground thump beneath his craft and silently whispers a prayer for protection to a saint whose name he no longer remembers. Gripping his rifle tightly, he rushes out with his troops into what he hopes will be the last battle he has to fight on this miserable world. Sadly though, this war is just beginning as a dark, unseen shadow continues to flow over the landscape towards the embattled Zerg at New Vista. The shadow rapidly closing the distance as high-pitched shrieks stab through the early morning dawn.
