Frost War

Disclaimer: I don't own Starcraft.

Chapter 1: Painful Painkiller

Sam was thrown backwards, his armor creaking from the massive blow. Sam merely gritted his teeth and spun so he could kick off the wall. He pressed backwards on the wall, and jumped foreward, servos wining. He struck out with his massive armored fist, impacting Justin in the chest, knocking him onto his ass.

In the surrounding crowds, Michael frowned and put a five-dollar bill into Dixie's open palm. Sam cracked his neck back in place and bent down to grab the rookie's collar. Justin rolled into a ball and kicked out, launching Sam into the air. Michael smiled and tapped Dixie's shoulder. She pouted and handed back the cash. Michael flexed his fingers.

"Asshole." She muttered, and then put another ten into his palm.

Sam reached for his jaw, and discovered it had been severely dislocated. He popped back into place, earning a wince and a groan from the crowd, then landed on his feet. Something suddenly hit him in the stomach, and they were both sent flying, Justin using his weight of ram Sam into the deck. Sam grinned and rolled backward, kicking the sergeant in the face.

About now Richard tackled from behind, knocking him onto his belly, and got off just in time for Justin to land an elbow drop. A massive burst of gauss rifle fire cracked the air, and everyone turned to behold a gaunt marine dressed in the black tailcoat of a Lieutenant. Pieman quickly went to his flask of whiskey and drained a few drops.

Lt. Ricky Sterman lowered his gauss rifle.

"Who started it?" he growled, his knuckles paling on his rifle.

Sam went to immediate attention. "Last minute training, sir."

"Two-on-one isn't a training exercise, Sergeant."

"Permission to speak candidly?"

"By all means, speak candidly."

"They're pansies. And you obviously have not seen me in this kind of one-on-one. And quite frankly, sir, you can kiss my fat armored ass." The corner of Ricky's jaw twitched, revealing only for a moment the sharpened fangs of a Fenrisian wolf, then gritted his teeth.

"You'll report to Commander Locke after you remove your armor. Code word: Rabies."

Sam's face went from passive to enraged, and Dixie was worried he'd charge her husband. Ricky would have not a prayer against Sam outside of a suit of power armor.

"Hellmarines, mount up." Ricky growled, then walked past Sam, taking care to bump into Sam's shoulder.

& & &

Sam stepped into a posh decorated office. His black sergeant's uniform was regulation snapped, but he'd clearly put it on in a bad mood. Commander Jonas Locke was staring at his desk, the front of his white jacket open.

"Sergeant Samual Perry. Fenris born and raised." He said, then straightened in his chair. "Pit fights are for the grunts, boy. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't remove you from the Hellmarines."

Sam remained silent. He didn't have one. "Sir, I don't know a reason worth mentioning, sir."

"Fine. You're being moved to the Prospero First. The Thousand Sons. They lack a officer to use them properly, so you're being promoted to Lieutenant and taking command of the Thousand Sons. You'll be assaulting the Protoss gas reserves on the outer edge. The Hellmarines are in the main assault push, acting as a hit-and-run attack force. Lieutenant Commander."

A young officer appeared in the doorway, saluting.

"Fetch SCV workers and retrieve Lieutenant Perry's armor and weapon, then lead him and his armor to the Prospero barracks."

& & &

A sergeant saluted as Samual stepped onto the deck, the Lieutenant bars on his shoulder and throat. Prospero. Prospero was a natural enemy of Fenris, and the two often went to war, usually resulting in marines being recruited from both. Now Sam was going to be leading their elite. The Hellmarines had often fallen into conflict with their Thousand Sons counter-parts, when Fenrisian and Prospero regiments had been together.

"Sir, Sergeant Crim Magnus." The sergeant shouted.

"At ease, Thousand Son. Lieutenant Samual Perry, taking command." Sam checked his watch. "At fourteen-hundred."

"Thousand Sons, Attention!" the Sons snapped to attention. "Suit up and get ready to hit dirt. We're dropping." The legion of marines bean stripping down to the thick jumpsuit that went on underneath the CMC-400 armor.

Sam went into the corner. He began dressing down, resigned to his fate. For better or worse, he was a Thousand Son now.

Ricky Sterman sat down into his acceleration couch, then pulled down the heavy restraining braces. Dixie did the same next to him, setting her blocky C-10 between her legs.

"Where's Sam?" she murmured. Ricky looked around and realized only Bill's Goliath was being hitched onto the dropship.

"Good question. Locke said he gave him an easy detail." Ricky looked over to his wife, who was looking back at him, worry apparent in her eyes. Ricky looked back to the front, then brought up his Commander battlenet. He searched the database for Sergeant Samual Perry. One entry appeared.

Lieutenant Samual Perry. He checked the regiment. Then his eyes widened, and he cursed.

& & &

Locke was already fit into his CMC-400 when Ricky bust through the door, his rifle raised dangerously. Locke was aware of that particular rifle's abilities, it was the one he'd picked up on Char.

"What the hell are you doing, reassigning my men!" Ricky cried, a certain fury in his eyes. Locke could tell from the dilation he was already juiced on his regular stims.

"What men?" Ricky grabbed the side of the desk and threw it into the wall. He raised his rifle to Locke's nose, and thumbed off the safety.

"If you shoot me, your precious Hellmarines won't last the week. I'm sure the Thousand Sons could use the target practice." Locke said, a slight smile gracing his lips. "I've already sent out a communication to my successor concerning the Hellmarines, and my untimely death. You shoot me, and Sergeant Perry is commanding your firing squad. With our without his cooperation." Ricky's eyes flashed. The muzzle lowered. He thumbed the weapon's selector, then put a needle round into Locke's groin. The needle stabbed through the plate like a knife through bread, and ripped through the soft flesh underneath.

"Now. Get Sam back in the Hellmarines, or next time you won't be walking." Ricky turned around and barged out of the office.

Locke pumped himself full of pain relievers and stimulants, then punched the talk button on his intercom.

"Are we sure the reserves is in heavy Zerg territory?" he said into the speaker.

'Yes, sir.'

Locke grinned.

& & &

Dun, dun, duh. Old Painkiller is heading into a trap. How's Hellmaker gonna react to this?