Private James Hendersen did not like the way the battle was turning out. He was only fighting because his general was a loyalist, he had no love for the emperor. Indeed, Mengsk was in the process of fleeing from the looks of things.
An artillery shell landed near Hendersen, sending the front of a nearby building into oblivion. Two loyalist that had been using it as cover were sent sprawling , and shrapnel cut through one’s head. Such is war, Hendersen though.
He was crouching behind the low wall of a now demolished house, and spotted a group of four rebel soldiers running toward him. Spraying his gauss rifle from left to right, he downed one with a few shots to the chest. The man screamed and fell forward, alerting his comrades of the danger. The others tried to take cover, diving behind pieces of rubble and a burnt out tank for protection. Henderson managed to get one in the face during the dive, and the man died so quickly that he didn’t even scream.
The other two, however, were quicker, and were crouched nearby Hendersen, taking shots at nearby enemies. Another artillery shell happened to hit their cover, and one went flying while the other was ripped to pieces. Hendersen turned his attention to an approaching tank, and opened fire. It was like shooting peas at a can, and Hendersen gave up and ran.
He ran fast, but the tank was on his trail. He heard a bang from behind him, and then fell over with a scream. He lay there, shot in the back. He had tripped juts as he was being shot, and lay in the demolished ruins of a building. This in itself, but the other half of the building was engulfed in flames.
He lay there, afraid, smelling smoke and blood, trying to pull himself out with his hands. He cried out, “Help! Someone pull me out of here!” but his fleeing comrades didn’t bother. They were too worried about getting themselves out alive. In the end two rebel soldiers pulled him from the ruins, and after calling in a med-team ran off to follow the fleeing loyalist.
The poor man lay in the road for at least half an hour before the medics finally got there. He would be lucky to survive.
***
Augustgrad, Korhal
Arturus Mengsk sat on his throne, alone for the moment. General Hokov’s reinforcements meant that he still had a chance, bunkered up in the ruins of the capital. He could hear the dull thud of cannon fire coming closer as his forces retreated from New Moscow. In only a few minutes they would join the defenses of the city.
Arcturus had dispatched his imperial guards from the palace to aid in the battle, which left him more or less unguarded. He did not care. If he was to die that day he would do the honors himself. He had a bottle of poison with him, which he would take.
The air raid sirens sounded as rebel fighters reached the city limits. Arcturus gave his men the order to charge over the com-link, then sat back down in his chair to wait. Wait for the end, or perhaps the new beginning.
The fighting was fierce, and the loyalist now had the advantage of numbers, but the rebels had a cause. They did not back down, they just plowed right on forward, shooting as they went. Grenades were launched into bunkers, men fell clutching there heads, and they just kept on coming. Artillery shells were lobbed into the loyalist defenses, and the noise was deafening. It seemed as though the onlooker had lost there mind, and indeed any onlookers may have.
In about twenty minutes the loyalist were running for cover in the city or surrendering. At this time the rebel commander gave his tanks this order, “To the palace, boys!” and that is what they did. They began to lob tank shells at the door, infantry began trying to scale the walls, tearing down any sign of Arturus they saw, and then entering the hallways.
This was the time that Mengsk had planned to drink his poison, but two orbital transmissions, one after the other would draw his attention…
***
SS Hyperion, Entering Orbit of Korhal
Jim Raynor watched as his two battlecruisers sailed over the desert terran below him. He could see the large black dots were cities were, scattered across the planets gold and brown surface. Mountain ranges and plateaus stood out against the large planes, staining the gold with their black shadows. There were no clouds, and rain was so rare that there had been none in over a year.
“Captain Raynor,” said the voice of his new lieutenant, “Captain Rollmann has sighted three battlecruisers moving into the space near Augustgrad. They’re hailing us.”
“Patch them through.” Raynor retorted, pivoting his chair to face the communications screen.
“Ahh, Cap’n Raynor, so good to see ya’ve arrived. I jus’ had a lil’ word with the Empra, and I…” He stopped suddenly, “Oh, how rude of me, I forgot to introduce maself. I am General William T. Anderson of the Confederate Nova squadron.”
“The Nova Squadron…” Raynor mouthed the words, “But you guys should be dead on Tarsonis!”
“Oh Cap’n Raynor, you should’ve known that us in the Nova Squadren ain’t got no headquarters. Our leada was on Tarsonis for a meetin’, but we were far from there when the Zerg took the place. I assure ya, the Nova squadron only lost three men on Tarsonis, thanks to your meddlin’, and now we’re here for some payback. Arcturus Mengsk will be dead in about three minutes.”
***
Imperial Palace, Augustgrad
Chaos was all about the city, as Loyalist gunmen tried to fight there way back to the palace, while Rebels tried to by enough time to snatch Arcturus.
Inside the palace, gunfire echoed down the halls. Three invisible observers watched as a group of six rebels ran down a hallway. They were careless, and their watchers were trailing them for simply that reason. They were running along a hallway overlooking the inner courtyard, with large windows, of the kind you would find in an old European palace.
Suddenly a shot ranging out, and one of the six dropped to the floor, his blood staining the red carpet. More shots came, blasting out the glass pains in the windows, and tearing the red curtains. It had come from a side corridor, and the other five had scrambled for cover. They fired using the corner as cover, spraying fire down the small hallway, and leaving bullet holes in the wood. The wooden door the guards were protecting splintered, sending splinters of wood onto the unlucky guards.
There was yelp and a thud, followed by a second yelp and a thud, then silence. The Rebel soldiers ran through the now half collapsed wooden door, it’s intricate designs never to be admired again. The three ghost uncloaked, one absent mindedly kicking at the dead rebel, who’s blue eyes now starred blankly upward. They had a look of death upon them, something that made anyone that saw them shiver. They were the same ghost that had finished off Arcturus’s father over ten years before.
They all wore the same white uniform, the same blond hair, the same dark, hollow look in their eyes. They had seen and taken part in a million deaths, each of men who had no way of defending themselves. They had killed off guards of every sort with ease, and considered their job a sport, tallying off skulls on their coats inside. With simply a glance the leader told them to move, and they moved silently into the next room.
Fancy wooden couches greeted them on the other side. A few imperial guard’s bodies were sprawled on them, leaving body impressions in the silk covers. Through another wooden door they could see that their rebel escorts had not made it far, as there bodies lay at the end of another hallway. The leader motioned them down a different hallway, lined with large Greek style pillars. They group stopped for a second, fixing scopes to their rifles, then continued.
The hard marble floor of the hall echoed the heavy footsteps of a guard up ahead, though it was muffled by the cannon fire outside. The three lifted their rifles, and waited. After a second the guard rounded the corner, and he was nervously glancing down the hallway. There was a muffled shot before he crashed to the floor, spilling the contents of a nearby table with him. Running now, the ghost went by him, one tallying a kill in his coat.
***
Throne Room of Arcturus I
“Well Captain Raynor, I’m not sure how your visit affects things, but I can tell you this, I’m not going down to confeds!” Mengsk yelled at the screen.
“Arcturus, I just though I’d tell you. Kerrigan will be avenged at last.” Raynor replied, giving him a superior look.
“Damn you all! I’ll take myself out rather then have a bunch of two timing…” Mengsk stopped, as he heard banging at the door in front of him.
“You see Arcturus, either the rebels get you, or the confederates get you, some choice eh?” Raynor laughed.
Mengsk never got a chance to respond, as the door behind him flung open. He started to turn, but was dead before he could, as three ghost walked into the room. One of the barrels of their guns was smoking. They looked at com-screen, where Raynor was starring dumb founded, and engaged there cloaking. The rebels burst through the door the next minute, completely unaware that they had fought for nothing.
