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StarCraft: The FactionsStarCraft: The Factions
Outskirts of the Terran Dominion, Mar Sara
The wind howled aimlessly across the sands of a desert, whipping between the alien cacti and bushes, brushing past outcroppings of stone. Suddenly, in the darkness, a red light flared into existence, illuminating the faces of several humans. Startled, the wind turned away, toward the desolate wastes, content to let the humans alone, undisturbed.
Private Robinson, Bravo Squadron, Terran Dominion, pulled heavily on his newly lit cigarette, the images of the three other humans still burned into his retinas by the momentary flare of the self-lighting tip. The cold wind of the desert night had petered off, but he was far too intelligent to relax his grip on his 'Impaler'. The desert surrounding him was dead quiet, save the lonely wind whipping between the strange, squat thistle bushes and cacti.
"Man, Ah teh' yew whut . . ." Private Davis drawled, thumping his Gauss Rifle hard with his armored hand, "if them bugs come near me, Ah'm gonna . . ."
"Run screaming into the night," Private Mitchell completed, laughing lightly into the thick, humid night air. Someone shifted slightly in the silence that followed, a nervous, restless silence. The only noise was the hissing of static in their radios and the whistle of the wind. "It was a joke, guys, lighten up . . ." Private Mitchell mumbled, her voice dejected.
"Cut the chatter, squad." Squad Leader Williamson hissed, turning immediately back to his comm gear. "Mar Sara Headquarters, Mar Sara Headquarters, this is strike team Bravo Tango Alpha, come in Headquarters." The hissing of the static filled the airwaves. Then, a faint voice materialized out of the chaos.
"Strike team Bravo Tango Alpha, this is HQ, over." The voice across the line sounded strained and the background noise, garbled as it was, clearly showed that, despite the apparent tranquility surrounding the four squatting soldiers, only a few miles away, a war waged.
"HQ, we are in position and awaiting orders, I repeat, we are in position and awaiting orders, copy." SL Williamson's voice sounded distant in the ebon night, tense. The air was charged with expectancy.
"BTA, we copy. Orders are being transmitted, repeat, orders are transmitting. Prepare for download." Each of the four soldiers closed their combat visors while their orders downloaded, complete with known troop movement and terrain information.
After a short, apprehensive time, the process was complete. "HQ, download complete. Orders received and being accessed with encryption code, copy." A small burst of sound, typing, could be heard from the direction of SL Williamson. Suddenly, all of their visors were filled with information. Charts, graphs, maps, and scrolls of text rolled along their vision, all of it accompanied by the neutral voice of their in-suit computers.
"After receiving this transmission, you will proceed to nav point one, two clicks north of your position." On their mission maps, a small dot covered the nav point, strikingly green in the dark night. "From there, you will proceed three clicks west, evading or eliminating any enemies you encounter." Another dot appeared, this time a deep crimson. "From there, you will meet up with strike team Bravo Tango Bravo and create a beach head." A small town sprang up, bunkers and missile turrets. "After the defenses are in place, we will send reinforcements. That is all." The text boxes disappeared, along with a goodly portion of the map. Nobody moved for what seemed like hours.
"Well," SL Williamson said, "you heard the man, that's it. Come on, let's do this." Helmet lights flashed on, partially illuminating the scene, ghostly wraiths of light wafting in the starry night. The four marines picked up their gear and, hefting the cases of ammo and weapons on their backs, began to trudge out into the night.
***
Outskirts of the Terran Dominion, Bravo Squadron flagship Thunderhead
The tactical display lit up at the touch of his hand, sending brightly lit red and green dots dancing on the display. At another touch, the christmas colored lights disappeared, replaced by shrinking light blue areas, some surrounded by subdued green specks, others by red. Another brought up a display of red and green squares, another brought up screens of statistics and production. He sighed. Never has so little been measured so much. The adjutant's voice spoke over the intercom, an easy, light female voice.
"Commander, Emperor Mengsk has requested a private line. He wishes to discuss these battle plans." Commander James Patten looked up at the communications screen.
"Put the Emperor on the main line, priority one transmission." He straightened his jet black uniform, adjusting the positions of his three gold stars on each cuff and collar. The communications screen flared slightly as the connection was made. Suddenly, Arcturus's bearded face appeared on-screen, the Imperial Throne framing him.
"Ah, Commander, I understand you've started the attack?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Good, I do hope everything goes well with my plan. If not, well, I may have to find another Commander of the Bravo Squadron. And you, I'll find some place to stick you."
"Yes. My Emperor, your plan has been initiated. The Zerg are in disarray and falling back from your assault. Your forces have overwhelmed even their best defenders. The Cerebrate is within moments of being captured." He bowed low.
"I see. And the . . . secondary plan? Is it in operation?"
"Yes, my liege."
“Good. See that nothing happens to upset my scheme." His face suddenly disappeared, the screen filling with static. The commander sat down, heavily.
"I'll give you a place to stick yourself . . ." Glancing around to ensure no one heard him, he queued up the battle schematics and statistics. The battle was not going well, at all. Most of his reserves were tied up in the attack and only a skeleton force remained to deal with any counterattack. The medics, most taken from the UED as prisoners and 'neurally reconditioned' were helping, immensely, but not enough. He was down to only a few hundred troops, and those were not advanced enough to do any real damage.
"Damn it!" He pounded the armrest with his fist, his outburst causing many of his lieutenants to glance in his direction. He queued another screen, this one giving his overall resource situation. Only a few dozen SCV's remained to handle resources, all of his others were repairing war machines at the front. And his resource reserves were taking a huge dent as more and more machines suffered damage. He pounded his armrest again. Only one thing to do . . . He turned to his Special Operations Officer.
"Get me Ghost One."
Her eyes got wide. "But, sir, we were ordered . . ." She petered off and swallowed, deeply. "Yes, sir."
"Ghost reporting."
"Ghost one, you are to approach the Zerg base, as close as possible, cloak and launch our entire nuclear arsenal at the outlying Zerg Hatcheries. Do not, I repeat, do not allow any nuclear missile to strike the Cerebrate."
"Never know what hit 'em."
Patten sighed, deeply. This just wasn't his day . . .
***
Interior of Zerg Space, Planet Char
This just wasn't his day . . .
Jamison ran down the corridors, toward his Queens Chambers’. He could hear her rage, feel it as his feet struck the living carpet that was the Hive. As he burst through the valve-like door into the Throne Room, a shredded Zergling struck the wall next to him, falling wetly to the floor, red blood oozing out from the still twitching corpse.
"Erm . . . m-my Queen?" The crouching form of Kerrigan, Queen of Blades, slowly straightened, her prehensile wings stretching out behind her.
"Yes, Jamison?" Her voice, deep, threatening, resonated off of the walls, able to reach every part of the room, even broadcast about the many planets of the Zerg, sometimes.
"Ma'am, the Mar Sara Cerebrate reports that the Dominion forces are attacking it heavily, but it can probably hold them off. The, uh, the Dylar IV Cerebrate reports that all Dominion forces have pulled back into their Defensive Perimeter, but it expects another attack. And, uh, the, uh, um, ma'am?" Kerrigan, seated on the Throne, was toying with a stray piece of Zergling, reclining in her seat of power.
"Go on, Jamison. I'm listening." Her voice was . . . quiet. Dangerous.
"Er, yes, well, the Korhal Cerebrate is near destruction. The Emperor is really laying into it, spending innumerable troops just to get that one planet back. He doesn't seem to be giving up after the attack against you failed." He knelt after his report was finished and waited. Mind you, she didn't need a secretary, but it helped streamline things to have another person pass over it and weed out unimportant things.
Kerrigan remained silent for some time, the piece of Zergling intestine in her hand making a wet flopping sound as she shifted it around, absently squeezing more and more of it's juices out, causing it to run down her arm and drip down onto her Throne. Suddenly, she snapped back her head and, with one gulp, swallowed it whole.
"And of the Fleet dispatched to exterminate the rest of the UED forces?" She placed her unbloodied hand on the armrest and began licking the other one clean.
"The Cerebrate hasn't reported in yet, my Queen, but I doubt that it could face any real trouble. You did send your best Cerebrate to destroy them . . ."
***
Outskirts of Sol System, Pluto Orbital, UED Flagship Alexander
The Scourge rammed into the side of the battleship, tearing huge chunks of the hull off as three Devourers launched acid at the frigates next to them. A cloaked Wraith Squadron was spotted by a hidden Overlord and quickly dispatched. Three battleships powered up their Yamato Cannons, only to be destroyed as their beams found targets among the mass of flesh still bearing down on the bedraggled ships.
Rear Admiral Arkham grabbed onto the edge of his command console, his knuckles white with strain. Another explosion rocked the bridge, the debris released by the blast slicing into anyone unfortunate enough to be caught.
"Sir! Our primary Batteries are out! We only have three . . ." An unmanned console to the fore of the ship exploded, sending out a powerful shock wave, knocking over a few rushing crew members. His XO, Commodore Sue'Wen Mary, ducked briefly, almost loosing her footing on the rapidly tilting deck. ". . . three turrets left of the ATS Batteries and even they are giving out. Our Yamato Cannon has failed, and all of the Wraith Squadrons assigned to protect us have been eliminated. Sir, the situation is, well, pretty fucking grim." She looked up at him, her smoke and sweat stained face clouded by a multitude of emotions; fear, sadness, despair. "What the hell are we going to do?"
"Die with honor, Commodore. Die with honor." He turned back to the fore of the ship, the entire view screen filled to the brim with the destruction and carnage surrounding them. "It's really all we can do, right now."
A tactical officer, young and recently promoted, scrambled across the torn and battered deck, trying to reach the Admiral. "Sir! Sir! A . . ." He was knocked into the wall as a dying Mutalisk collided with the hull. "Another fleet has been spotted, a UED fleet! It's moving to intercept and we don't think the Zerg has spotted it yet." Rear Admiral Arkham looked at the Tact Off and back to his XO.
"Are you sure it's UED? There was to be no reinforcement on this mission." The Tact Off shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm sorry, sir. They are transmitting new and old UED codes and even appear to have some new type of ship." Another wave of Mutalisks flew by the Main Bridge screen, chased by a Wraith from the new fleet. The ship seemed rather new, almost pristine.
"Sir, incoming transmission." His adjutant queued the message on the screen.
"Admiral DuGalle? This is Admiral Chavez of the UED 2nd Recon Fleet. We were ordered to . . ."
"Uh, Admiral Chavez, this is Rear Admiral Arkham of the UED 1st Expeditionary Force. Admiral DuGalle is dead, I'll give you full information when," another dying Mutalisk rammed the bridge area, "we have a more hospitable situation. We're transmitting target data now."
"But Rear Admiral, my orders were only to help quell the few small uprising you were experiencing."
"Admiral, we are not in control of the colonies. And unless we get some help, we won't be able to regain them. Now, transmitting target data now." He motioned to his Adjutant to kill the transmission.
Perhaps this day was not lost after all.
***
Outskirts of the Terran Dominion, Bravo Squadron flagship Thunderhead
Perhaps this day was not lost after all.
Commander James Patten, Commander of the Mara Sara Attack Fleet, stared at the tactical display. The Bravo Tango ruse worked, and quite well. The Cerebrate was sending a large group of defenders to cut the team to pieces. Bravo tango was entrenched well enough to cause the defenders some trouble. Hopefully, this plan of Mengsk . . . Emperor Mengsk, might work after all.
A small orange suited technician ran up to his command chair. There seemed to be an uneasiness about him.
"Sir, we've a problem. It seems that one of Raynor's boys somehow got a tap on our com unit. It seems we've been accidentally sending all our info to them."
Patten shook his head. "Could you get a fix on where we were sending it all?"
"No, sir. As soon as we found the thing, it detonated. The explosion was only large enough to destroy it. It is not recoverable."
"Damn!" He smashed his fist into the arm of his chair. A few heads turned his way, but most were far too busy to notice. "Mengsk will have my ass if this gets out. This stops here. Find out whatever you can and report back to me." Hopefully, by the time it actually gets to Mengsk, I'll have something to show. "Jamiee, I want security doubled." He looked straight at the face of the waiting technician. "We don't want any security leaks." As his Security Officer left, he dismissed the technician and motioned for his Special Forces Officer. "Has our operative launched yet?"
"No sir, he's almost in position now, however."
"Well, tell him to wait. Hold position, whatever. I may need him, but it's not as imperative now."
Security leaks, a slim chance of winning this battle, Emperor Mengsk threatening his life (at best), a possible secret agent. Yep, things were looking great.
***
Shakuras Orbital Sentry Station Auriga 1, Nightside
Things were looking well.
Executor-Praetor Artanis stared at the inky sky, wondering not for the first time what is was like wandering the depths of that black void for as long as the Dark Templar had. Such thoughts helped distract him from the ever growing worry and hopelessness he had begun to feel. Though their position on Shakuras was completely secure, as the Zerg had only the Warp Gate to lead them here and that was destroyed, he couldn't help but reflect on the price they had all paid.
For what? Kerrigan sat on her throne, nearly untouched by the slaughter she caused; Mengsk, the fiend who helped create . . . no, who had created Kerrigan, waged a war with his one time friend and ally; Raynor fought a running guerrilla war with Dominion forces; Zeratul was no where to be felt; the Matriarch was dead. No wonder he felt lost and hopeless. He leaned back on the slanting 'roof' of the sentry station, his Scout hovering nearby.
En Taro Tassadar. That once held so much meaning for him. Now, in was just an empty phrase, something he said more out of habit than out of the burning desire to serve he had once felt.
Out of the depths of space, a small flash caught Artanis' eye. Slowly at first, then with surprising rapidity, the small flash became a sleek and streamlined Corsair. As it approached the sentry station, it slowed and came to a stop. In his mind, Artanis could 'hear' the occupant.
"Young Executor-Praetor, why do you sit here dejectedly? Is your Scout damaged?" The side of the Dark Templar vessel seemed to melt outward, forming into a series of steps leading up into the craft. After the darkness of space, Artanis' eyes were unused to the bright interior, but, as they became adjusted to the light, they could make out the form of a female Protoss warrior.
She descended the steps to the 'roof', standing at last beside him.
"Executor-Praetor, are you all right?" Artanis shook his head.
"Yes, I am well. You surprised me, that is all. I did not expect anyone to be wandering about out here." He turned to face her as she walked about on the small station.
"You never answered my question, young one. Are you now so old as to be losing your memory?"
He looked at her quizzically. She couldn't be much older than him, if she were any older at all! "Oh, and why am I so young? You seem to be about my age, if you're not younger."
She stopped pacing and turned quickly to face him "I am about your age, true. But your position requires age and experience, while mine does not. Are you prepared to lead these people into a new beginning, young one?"
Artanis bristled at this assertion. True, it was what he was thinking while he was alone, but for a stranger to bustle in and outright ask him. "Of course I am ready, pilot. I fought alongside Fenix, Raynor, and Zeratul. I have seen things you could only dream of. I am prepared for this challenge." He struck his chest, an old Protoss assertion of experience and prowess.
"Then stop sitting here feeling sorry for yourself and get planetside. A meetings been called, and the Executor-Praetor should be there." She strode past him, into her Corsair. As he turned toward his Scout, she called to him. "Executor-Praetor, you may find it faster to ride with me. Your Scout should be fine, so long as we are not invaded." After a few seconds consideration, he replied.
"I concur. I shall fly with you."
As he stepped into her ship, he couldn't help but wonder what emergency or otherwise would cause a meeting of the High Council to be called.
***
New Amsterdam, Moria, Secret Headquarters of Raynor's Raiders
Who could be calling?
Raynor's hand shot out from under the blankets and smacked the 'Accept Call' button. As he tried to wipe the sticky, unknown substance from his hand, he also struggled to free his head from the tangled sheets of the bed and tangled flesh of his partner. He accomplished neither very well.
"Yeah, what?" The view screen fizzed for a moment, and then suddenly went blank. Suzee Q, his sparring partner, stretched on the bed clothes, her dark chocolate skin a stark contrast to the white bed sheets.
"Your stocks are up." A click and the line was dead. Great, finally the signal that their deal with the Umojans was complete and he could finally leave this filthy rat hole.
Suzee Q stood up, wincing as her bare feet touched the cold floor. He watched as she went about her daily toiletry, always fascinated by what women went through to make themselves 'presentable'. True, he knew some women who could walk out the door without a second thought. He also knew men with longer toiletry habits than any women. But the maxim still applied, for the most part.
"Finally, we can move out of this stink pot." Her back was toward him and she peeked around her reflection at him. He looked back at her.
"Yeah, it'll be good to finally get some decent quarters at a descent rate." He walked into the bathroom and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I couldn't have made it these past few days without you here." She laid her head back on his shoulder.
"Don't worry about that, babes. I wouldn't be able to make it without you." She turned around in his arms, placing her hands behind his head and drawing his face close to hers. "I love you." She kissed him, deeply.
He disengaged from her kiss after a few moments. "I love you too. But we have to get ready. We leave in three hours." He tried to walk into the bedroom, but she held him tighter.
"If times so tight, we may have to shower together." She smiled. "Besides, the shower's to cold without some one to warm it up with me."
***
Outskirts of the Terran Dominion, Mar Sara
What he wouldn't give for a cold shower right now.
Squad Leader Williamson looked at the bedraggled group of four Marines around him, the Bunker shaking as the Zergling's pounded into it. He grabbed a hand full of clips and jammed one into the base of his Gauss Rifle, spreading the others in front of him for easy access.
Beside him, Private Robinson grabbed one of clips he had just laid out and stabbed it into his own weapon.
"Sorry, boss. Need one quick." He continued pouring hot-lead-death out the window of the small bunker and into the sea of the lizard-insect fleshed aliens. Another cluster of bunkers just north of them were also being hammered, but that was of no concern of Williamson.
As the Zerglings fell, the group of Hydralisks that had been sniping at the Bunker under Zergling cover were revealed. Williamson targeted the lead Hydralisk and started to hammer away at it, the rattling of the Gauss Rifle and the shaking of the Bunker numbing him, cutting away his feeling until there was only him, the gun, and the target. The Bunker meant nothing, the screams of the Aliens fell on deaf ears, and the cries of rage that poured from his lips were nothing. Only the target, the gun, and him.
A harsh hand fell on his shoulder. Immediately, he swung his gun around to face this new target. Something stopped his finger from the trigger, something important. Slowly, he could hear again.
"Whoa, boss! Come on, it's dead. They're retreating. Slow down, hoss. Don't shoot me, boss, calm down. Calm."
Williamson lowered his weapon. "Sorry about that, Robinson. I got lost in the battle back there, but I'm fine now. I'm fine." He sat down heavily, his Marine armor crashing into the cement and plasteel floor. Slowly, the others did the same. He glanced at his ammo readout. 25/9999. Unlocking the clip, he poured the rounds into an auto loader, pulling a fresh clip from the window sill and slamming it into place. A Firebat from Bravo Tango Bravo popped her head into the Bunker.
"Is there a Private Williamson here?" Williamson stood up. "You got a call at Barracks. I'll take your place till you get back." She clambered down into the bunker, her slightly heavier suit making travel more difficult.
He climbed out of the bunker and into the hot, dusty badlands air. The new Barracks stood not but ten yards away, barely scratched from the previous attack. SCV's were crawling all over his old Bunker, repairing as best as they were able.
Who the hell would call for him in the midst of battle?
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