Chapter 1: The Koprulu Sector
In a region of space, know to the Terrans as the Koprulu sector, a dropship skimmed across the surface of a rust brown planet named as Mar Sara, it's four giant ion engines flaring brightly. Some, had they seen the ship, might have said that the vessel was flying at a dangerously low altitude, too close to the surface, which was fairly unpredictable and dotted with hills, ridges and mountains that ever increased the danger of the ship crashing into something. But to the experienced pilot sitting in the cockpit of the ship the maneuvering was as simple as taking a stroll on an open field, the easiness no doubt in part due to the gravitic emitters assisting with the keeping of the altitude.
The craft was of a simple, yet elegant design, with rounded edges and an overall sleek look to it, very different from the bulky and blocky military ships usually seen in that sector of space. Blue highlights had even been painted on its otherwise black hull, signifying it's affiliation with the Mar Saran militia.
A peculiar looking symbol was also visible on the hull. It was that of a flag, with a blue cross drawn across it, on an otherwise unremarkable red background. Several small white stars were also lined within the cross, the number correlating with the number of worlds currently under control by the organization to which the image was affiliated. Some historians would recognize it as the Confederate flag from a civil war fought hundreds of years earlier on a planet lightyears from Mar Sara. Incidentally, the name of the organization currently associated with the symbol was also the Confederacy, weather by chance or purpose, nobody could tell.
Dawn had just broken, and the first rays from the scorching sun were already lighting up the red and brown landscape all around the speeding ship, bathing it in a bright light and making the sand shimmer, as if it were made of small grains of gold. Nothing, except a few plants and trees could be seen on the otherwise barren surface, no water, no buildings and no people, this was after all what the Confederacy had termed a backwater planet. Scarcely populated, with only a few mining colonies here and there. The natural resources being the only real reason anyone took any interest in the planet in the first place. The vast mineral fields and the vespene gas deposits, that the Confederate industry relied on so heavily, could be found in abundance on the planet.
Private Chris Morham, a marine in service of the colonial militia, sat in one of the many uncomfortable seats lined on either side of the dropship, strapped in tightly so that he wouldn't fall over every time the pilot had to maneuver sharply to avoid an outcropping or ride in the landscape. There were also five other marines in that same cramped little space of the drop bay, all belonging to the same squad as Morham.
Where the hell is the magistrate sending us this time, he wondered as he sat there, preparing mentally for the mission that was to come.
Planets like Mar Sara rarely saw any real military conflicts, so the tasks usually performed by the local militia were nothing more then keeping the peace and suppressing the occasional riot. The only real action they had seen was when the occasional pirate group or terrorist organization decided to use their planet as a base of operations. But those incidents were few and far between these days, with the Confederacy slowly tightening its grip on even the most remote worlds.
Morhams thoughts shifted from the mission to something he had been thinking about before they had touched off. For some time now, he had been wondering what life would be like outside the military, what it would be like as a civilian. He had served as a marine in the Confederacy almost all his adult life now, the reasons for joining long forgotten. At first he had been stationed on his home planet of Tarsonis, and then later, during the guild wars, he had been reassigned to the front, where he had spent two very long years trying just to survive.
During this time, he had voiced his opinions and dislikes of the Confederacy and their policies once to often and so he had finally been demoted, just as the war had ended, and that was why he was now stationed on Mar Sara. A position that had originally been intended as a punishment, but Morham had grown to like the peaceful little planet and the quiet atmosphere it harbored, a welcome change from all those muddy trenches he had spent most of his time in during the guild wars, with the sounds of automatic gunfire and explosions ringing constantly in his ears.
But thinking about leaving the military was pointless now. No one could retire any more, at least not alive, not since what happened at Chau Sara, the neighboring planet and twin of Mar Sara.
But then again, why would he even want to leave the service? All he knew was war and how to be a soldier, and a damn good soldier he was too. Still, he was getting tired of the same routines day in and day out. Life had to have something more besides killing in it, right? And the thought of someday having to re-live those two years of hell he experienced during the guild wars wasn't all that comforting, he wasn't sure he could go through all that one more time and survive, at least not with his sanity intact.
"'Ere, have a drink, you look like you could use one." The marine sitting next to Morham said, and extended a small silver colored flask his way. His voice was raspy and he reeked of the stuff inside the flask. Anderson was his name, a private just like Morham, and one of the closest and most trusted friends he had, despite his love for the bottle.
Their Sergeant hardly agreed with Morham's high opinions of him though. Being drunk during combat missions wasn't a quality he liked in his soldiers all that much. But despite all that, Anderson was a fair combatant. And out here on the very edge of civilized space, you couldn't be too picky, you hade to make due with what you had, even if it was a somewhat drunk marine carrying a fully automatic gaussrifle capable of tearing whole groups of people apart in mere seconds.
"Nah, thanks for the offer but I'd rather be sober during this one, I've had a bad feeling about this mission all morning." Morham replied.
"Suit yerself then," Anderson said, taking a big gulp from the flask. "Me on the other hand," he continued, stopping in mid sentence as if to gather his own thoughts. "I need a little alcohol in me to get the old blood pumping." He said, finishing with a hearty laugh and another gulp from the flask. "Besides, I'd probably go insane if wasn't drunk during these engagements."
Morham didn't doubt that, and if the man kept going like this, he would probably pass out long before they even got out of the ship, which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.
But Anderson and Morham weren't the only ones in the dropship waiting for their deployment. Sitting next to and in front of them were three other marines, all part of their six man squad, with the sixth, their Sergeant, still in the cockpit with the pilot. No doubt on the horn with command, receiving orders and deciding on the best way to execute them.
The other marines were all clad in the same kind of standard issue CMC-400 powered combat suits Morham and Anderson was. A suit designed to enhance the combat effectiveness of a soldier by adding a great deal of protection and strength, as well as a nifty heads-up display to the soldier's disposal. Heck, you could even take a walk in space with the damned thing on, as it had an autonomous life-support unit and offered full NBC protection to the wearer, all so that the marines could fight on planets not otherwise suited for human life. Though Morham had to admit that he thoroughly hated missions situated in space, the thought of going spinning off into the endless void and then lowly running out of air wasn't the best way to die in his mind. The only downside with the suit was that the agility was severely hampered due to its bulkiness. So bulky in fact, that Morham thought they made the men inside look kinda like super sized steel gorillas.
Though they all wore the same kind of armor, they each had a very unique look to them that helped them recognize who was who in combat situations. It was, in fact, common practice among marines serving on the fringe worlds, where Confederate regulations weren't as strongly enforced, to paint and augment their suits so that they had a very personal look and feel to them. Including nifty catchphrases like 'death incarnate' and various images, like Anderson had done, was something practiced by the general majority here, so too in Morham's squad. He himself sported a suit with the image of a clenched fist on his right shoulder pad and the phrase 'Ass-end here' with an arrow pointing to his foot, on his left leg.
The same kind of augmentation was also done with their C-14 rifles, with Morham having named his 'Bertha', after a particularly vicious dame he had had an unfortunate encounter with a few years back, and lettering the phrase 'I come in peace' on its side.
The door separating the drop area of the dropship from the cockpit slid open suddenly, and into the drop bay stepped a man, wearing an even bulkier model of the combat suit then the CMC-400. It was Sergeant Coldwell. He was closely followed by another man, this one wearing only his civvies. Morham didn't recognize him so he presumed he was a technician or perhaps an engineer assigned to their squad for the duration for the mission for some reason.
There was something very odd about him though, something that felt out of place. Morham couldn't quite put his finger on what that might have been, but there was definitely something strange about the man. The way he moved for example, it almost seemed too graceful and too controlled. And his eyes, they were a piercing blue color and darted around the drop bay with a very calculating look in them, and when they met with Morham's own, the marine couldn't help but turn away from the sheer intensity in them. No, there was something very different with this man, that much was plainly noticeable now, and the realization of exactly what that was hit Morham like a brick to the head a few seconds later.
"Alright marines, listen up!" The Sergeant shouted, demanding everyone's full attention. The men quieted in anticipation, perhaps he had finally deemed it fit to let them in on their orders, they had after all been waiting for nearly an hour already, without the slightest idea about where they were going and what they were supposed to do.
"No doubt you have all heard about the aliens attack on Chau Sara by now," The Sergeant started, and yes, they all had. In fact, it would have been quite the trick to avoid hearing about it, with every single news station talking about nothing else but just that, and rumors spreading through the colonies like wildfire.
"But just to separate the rumors from the facts, I will start by restating the true version of what happened during the attack and thereafter. Keep in mind that what you are about to hear is classified and should not to be repeated ever again." He said, giving the men a glare that told them that should they disobey, they would quickly find his foot up their ass.
"Two days ago, a large fleet of alien warships dropped out of warp near the planet in question. They then proceeded to destroy the small contingent of ships stationed in the planets orbit and bombard the entire surface for a prolonged period of time. They gave no warning and no explanation for what they did, except to identify themselves as the Protoss, and as a result of their actions, every single living thing on that planet, along with over ten thousand colonists, were wiped out in a matter of seconds."
So it was true, Morham thought. The entire planet was dead now, just like the rumors had said. Why would an alien race they hadn't even heard of before do something like this. And why wasn't he more surprised that aliens existed? It wasn't as if any had ever been encountered before.
"This unprovoked attack was quickly followed by a large Confederate fleet in the nearby system mounting for a counter attack, the operation however, failed miserably, and most of the ships participating were destroyed in the ensuing chaos." He continued.
So it's war then, Morham thought, the Confederacy was at war with the mysterious aliens known as the Protoss. He guessed that whoever won wouldn't really matter to him, as he was bound to die before the end. His hopes of never again seeing the horrors he saw during the guild wars were quickly diminishing.
"And this is where we come in gentlemen. I'll let specialist Fitch here explain the details of our mission to you." He motioned to the man who had come in behind him to take his place and speak up.
"During the battle between the two fleets, a group consisting of three smaller Protoss vessels were separated from the main force and forced to crash land here on Mar Sara, intelligence have since determined that the three vessels in question were shuttles or transports of some sort. Our mission is to secure the wreckage of these three ships, so that the R&D boys back home can examine the surviving technology in grater detail." The specialist explained.
This peaked Morham's interest. At first he had thought that they were simply being sent to reinforce some distant military outpost, or perhaps calm some panicking civilians, but now he realized that they might even get go up against the Protoss themselves.
"I should add that we are expecting most of the Protoss, if not all of them, to be dead from the crash itself, but if there are survivors I want you all to be prepared for combat. If their ground forces are anything like their navy, we will be in for one hell of a fight."
"And what might your part in this mission be, Sir?" Private Sanders asked.
The question was a moot one of course, since the marines had all pretty much guessed what Fitch's role in all this would be. He was a ghost, a highly skilled assassin and infiltrator. Some rumors even suggested his kind had telepathic abilities, though that seemed a little too fantastic to be true to Morham. The Confederates no doubt wanted someone they knew they could trust on this mission, and who more loyal then someone trained to obey since birth?
Fitch's eyes narrowed dangerously on the marine that had asked the question. "My part in this mission is exactly the same as yours, to look for surviving Protoss and eliminate them if the need arises." He said and turned around to go back to the cockpit.
Just as cold as all the other ghosts he had met before, Morham thought.
"We will be touching down a few klicks from the crash site, but I want all of you on high alert the second we exit this transport. Now get your gear ready and prepare for combat, the drop will be made in a few minutes." Sergeant Coldwell said and turned to join Fitch back in the cockpit. The door slid shut behind the pair, leaving a very quiet pack of marines behind.
"Wow! We're actually going up against the Protoss! Do you realize that we will be the first ones to engage them in ground combat? Or even the first ones to actually see what they look like, even if they are already dead when we arrive" One of the marines finally said excitedly.
"I wonder if they will be the short gray type people always claim to have shown up in their backyard." Another asked.
"Now there's a freaky thought." Sanders chimed in.
"I just hope there are still a few of them alive after the crash. That way we get to be the ones to kill 'em." The one who had spoken up first chuckled, eager too engage the mysterious enemy and deal them the retribution they so rightly deserved.
But Morham knew better then to hope for survivors, if the Protoss fleet had been able to destroy dozens of their ships in a matter of minutes, then their soldiers would no doubt be able to do the same thing to their ragtag squad. "Good thing you took that flask with you Anderson, I have a feeling staying sane during this mission is going to be hard." Morham mumbled to himself.
-----
The lights that a minute ago had bathed the drop area of the ship in a green hue changed to red, signaling that the marines were to prepare themselves for embark. They unfastened the belts that had been securing them and stood up, grabbing a hold of a railing just above their heads.
The modern day dropships, in difference to the old ones, didn't land to allow the marines to embark. No, that would take to long and would jeopardize the dropships themselves in the process. Instead the dropships now had two huge doors in the middle of the drop room, separating the two rows of seats that the marines had been sitting in just moments ago. When the ship was ready to make the drop, two of its four engines would rotate, so that the engine wash was directed downwards, allowing the ship to remain stationary for just a few seconds. During this time the doors would open, allowing the marines to jump through them, their suits protecting them from any injury as they landed on the ground a dozen meters below them.
The engine wash of course provided the marines with one more advantage on planets like Mar Sara. It covered their drop area in a cloud of sand and dust, shielding them from any hostiles that might want to target them when they first exited the craft.
"Alright boys, it's nearly time." The Sergeant said as he stepped back into the drop area from the cockpit. The Ghost was with him again, this time wearing that all too familiar black stealthsuit they were so fond of.
The two took up stations beside the marines, waiting for the drop doors to open. They didn't have to wait long either, as the room was filled with the hiss of the opening doors a few seconds later, the bright light from the outside nearly blinding the men in the process. Their helmets automatically adjusted to the bright light, dimming the visors and allowing the marines perfect vision once again.
The first one to disembark was Private Sanders, jumping out into the swirling chaos of dust and sand below them. He quickly proceeded to check the area for any hostiles, using his close range sensor systems that were built into his suit.
His sensors showed no contacts so the all-clear was given to the rest of his squad, who dropped from the hatch in quick succession, with the Sergeant and the Ghost being the last two to exit the craft.
The men formed a circular perimeter, with a generous amount of space between each of the soldiers, so as to minimize the damage, should they come under attack and area effect weapons would be deployed against them. This was merely a precaution as the sensors already told them they were alone out there.
"Alright boys, I'm heading out so you're on your own from now on, call me when the crash site has been secured." The pilot in the dropship said, and then broke to speed off away from the marines.
Once the dust and sand had settled enough for the marines to visually confirm they were in-fact alone, they could ease up a bit.
Morham took a look around the area they had been dropped off at. There were sharp ridges shooting up on all sides around them, with only a single route leading out of the shielded area. The route looked like a miniature canyon as the ridges continued on, on both its sides. It would provide the marines further cover once they started moving towards the wreckage.
"The target area is just a few clicks east of here. If we follow the canyon here it should lead us straight to the crash site." The Sergeant finally said when he was certain they were alone. "We're going to proceed towards it in a single file, loosely spaced. I want everyone on their toes, the Protoss, if there were survivors, may very well have taken up stations on the ridges to the sides."
"As for you Specialist," He turned to the Ghost. "You climb the ridge there and provide cover for us. The altitude should give you a great vantage point for sniping and scouting. Contact us the second you see anything suspicious."
Sergeant Coldwell took point and soon the men were proceeding through the canyon as fast as they could, without making too much of a ruckus in the process. Each and every one of them continually scanned their surroundings for any signs of hostiles, both visually and with the built in sensors. But the land was as dead as can be, apart from the occasional plant there was nothing but sand, dirt and rock in every direction.
Anderson took this little stroll through the countryside as a good thing, and thought it quite nice. So nice in fact that he started whistling a happy old tune to himself, he had his comms switched off of course, so that no one else could hear him.
Morham on the other hand, took the advance very seriously, and checked his short range scanners continuously. He just couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.
"Contact!" Screamed one of the marines, a scream that was closely followed by the dull 'thwumps' his gauss rifle made as he let loose a burst from it.
The rest of the squad got down on their knees and targeted the area the marine was shooting at, joining in on spraying the area with fire. The needles peppered whatever he was shooting at, throwing the dust from the ground into the air making it impossible to see what it was he was targeting.
"Hold your fire!" The Sergeant shouted, putting his hand on one of the marine's rifles, lowering it to the ground. A few moments later they were all completely silent, staring at the area they had just fired at.
"But I saw something moving out there, I'm sure of it!" The marine who had opened fire protested, wanting to reopen fire until he was sure nothing could have survived.
"I know you did son, I saw it too." The Sergeant said, leaving the marine with a perplexed look on his face, and walked over to the spot the marine had fired at. There was still too much dust in the air to see what exactly he had been shooting at but it all became much more clear when the Sarge hoisted a dead rhynadon, or what was left of it, into the air, holding it out for the men to see.
"And just to inform everyone else, what you see here is NOT a Protoss warrior, it is in fact nothing but a six legged mammal called a Rhynadon, they're quite known in these parts for their exquisite meat, but even so I would suggest you hold your fire next time until you see the real thing!" He said with an irritated voice. In his mind he knew that any surprise they were hoping to have once they reached the crash site was gone now.
The column of marines got on with their advance, Coldwell taking point once more. And after a while they reached their destination, clearing the canyon that had led them there. They could see the first crashed vessel some distance away with the two others even further from that, smoke was still rising from their superheated and charred hulls.
"Must've been some landing." Anderson said.
"Yeah, I don't think anything could've survived that." Another marine replied.
"Shut up and take up tactical positions!" The Sergeant demanded.
The marines crouched down at the lip of the long and narrow crater that had been created when the vessel first slammed into the ground. It was about twenty meters wide and many times that in length. They spread out and lay down, keeping some distance from each other to increase their chance of avoiding detection. They checked the debris for any signs of life but none was visible.
On the ridge to their left, Fitch was doing the same thing, combing through the area with his sniper scope, trying to find some evidence of something still alive down there. But the smoke and debris clouded most parts of the ship from his sights. The most troubling aspect of it all was that he could see no bodies, no dead Protoss whatsoever.
"Why the hell are we crawling around in the dirt for? Nothing could have survived that crash." One of the marines said, voicing what everybody else was thinking and what had already been stated. Morham was still not quite convinced though.
"Well now, that's just a damn shame now isn't it?" The voice of Private Sanders could be heard. "I was looking forward to personally thanking a few of the Protoss for what they did at Chau Sara." He laughed with a few others of the marines joining in on his mirth. It seemed as if much of the tension that had been built up during the march had now been relieved.
"Well in that case, Private Sanders won't have anything against taking a closer look at that wreckage, now will he?" Sergeant Coldwells voice crackled through the comm systems, a statement that promptly ended the laughs. "Oh don't worry, the rest of us will cover you from up here." He added. Apparently Morham wasn't the only one not completely satisfied with the idea that the area was clear.
Sanders didn't doubt his own assessment of the situation, but he was still a little nervous about getting closer to the wreck, what if there were automated turrets or mines there, what if something suddenly blew up in his face.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Get down there and report back when you've cleared the area." The Sergeant insisted.
"Yes, sir!" Sanders replied grumpily.
The marine got up from his position and walked over to the edge of the crater, looking for the easiest way down. One of the marines thought he saw something shimmer in the sunlight some distance away but by the time he realized what it was, it was already too late.
"Get down!" He screamed, trying to get Sanders to take cover, just as a bolt of what looked like pure blue energy crashed into him. The blast blew Sanders left shoulder and a big chunk of his torso to pieces, separating his arm from his body and sending his dead body flying to the ground.
The marine who had first spotted the danger looked back at Sander's broken body, where it lay a few meters from him, shocked to his very core by the gory sight. He could hear the other marines shouting out frenzied commands and opening fire all around him, but he himself could not move, unlike Morham he had never seen real combat before, much less a dead friend.
None of them had seen exactly where the shot had originated from and they all knew they were probably hitting nothing but dirt, but still they held the trigger. A few of them even launched grenades but all the good that did them was shower the entire area in dust and smoke, giving the Protoss perfect cover.
"Hold your fire! Hold your goddamn fire!" The Sergeant screamed over and over again over the comm and after a while the fire finally died down. "We need to find the hostile before we start shooting otherwise we'll just end up hitting nothing!" He shouted.
The others realized their mistake and turned back to the crater, but this time all they did was wait and watch for a clear target to present itself. Morham could feel the cold sweat running down his face and he could hear his heavy almost panicked breathing. He knew something like this would happen.
And it was still far from over.
There! What was that? For a split second Morham thought he saw something, a shadow perhaps, moving behind the veil of dust and smoke, and it was coming towards them. He searched for the shadow again but he could see nothing, nothing but clouds of sand.
Then he heard a shout from one of the marines situated far to his left. He turned towards him and saw a bipedal creature exiting the dust cloud at a running pace, climbing up the wall of the crater so quickly, it almost seemed as if it wasn't even there. It had to be at least a head taller then the marine it was heading for, even with his suit on. And it was clad in golden armor with twin blades jutting out from its arms, but the blades were not made from any tangible material, they were made from what seemed like pure energy.
The three marines closest to the enemy got up to their knees and started firing at the advancing monstrosity. But the spikes never connected with it, an energy field of some sort shimmered into existence just before they were about to impact, harmlessly repelling them. And before they knew it, the warrior was at arms length from the marine he had been running for. With a few swift moves of his blades, the Protoss warrior had cut the marine down, the comm filling with the screams of the dying marine and then the sound abruptly changed to a gurgling noise as his lungs were filled with his own blood.
The Protoss turned to head for the marine next in line, but now the field surrounding him had started to buckle from the continuous fire the other marines were dishing out, and soon it failed. But not before it managed to get one of it's blades through the visor of yet another marine, killing him instantly. Without the shielding the warrior was torn apart even as his bladed arm was still lodged in the dead marines head, body parts and blue blood flew from the warrior, leaving nothing but a crumpled heap of guts and gore on the ground after a few more seconds of fire. And a severed arm still sticking out of the dead marines visor.
Then another shout was heard, this time from the marine to Morhams right, it was private Anderson. Morham got up and aimed his rifle at the Protoss running for his friend. This was also the one who had killed Sanders he realized, when he saw the rifle strapped to its back. The two marines let out burst after burst of fire but the enemy didn't so much a flinch, much less slow his inhuman advance towards Anderson, and soon he was upon him.
Anderson gave one final scream and tried to press the trigger as hard as he could. But his finger and the rifle were no longer connected to the rest of his body he noticed. Anderson looked down in horror at his severed arm lying on the ground, still holding the rifle. Cut clean from his body by one swipe from the enemy's energy blades. Then he looked back at the warrior.
The last thing Private Anderson would ever see was another energy blade, this one swiping across, cutting his head from his body.
Morham watched in horror as his headless friend fell limp to the ground, the severed parts of his head landing a few meters away. He was in a state of full panic now and all he could do was hold down the trigger on his rifle and scream as hard as he could. He hoped the Protoss shielding would fail before it reached him, but he knew that was wishful thinking.
But unexpectedly the warrior didn't turn towards Morham. Instead it headed the other way, towards an advancing Sergeant Coldwell. The warrior stopped dead in its tracks though when Coldwell fired both his wrist mounted flamethrowers and bathed the fiend with superheated plasma. The shield around the Protoss glimmered brightly for a few seconds and then gave way under the continuous strain. Without the protection provided by the shield the warrior was burned alive, his armor melting into nothing more then slag and fusing with his charred skin until nothing remained but a molten heap of metal and skin blended together in a steaming pile of filth.
A scream turned both Morham and the sergeant to their left again, a third enemy had emerged from the clouds. But this one didn't come running at them like the others had. In fact it didn't even look like the two others Morham noticed, instead of the golden armor and twin blades the others had this one sported a long, flowing robe and it carried no visible weapons at all.
But when the only remaining marine, except for himself and Coldwell, fell dead to the ground, Morham knew he had been wrong when he had thought it unarmed. The Sergeant leaped out in front of Morham and ran towards the new enemy, thinking he could close the distance fast enough too engage it with his flamethrowers. But the Sergeant was still a long way from the enemy when he suddenly stopped and screamed so loud that Morham had to silence his comm. Coldwell was clutching the headpiece of his armor with his hands, but Morham could se no weapon used against him or any wound that would explain what was happening. He looked back to the Protoss and saw that it held its hand out towards the Sergeant, as if it was reaching for him from afar, trying to grab him. Morham lifted his rifle to his shoulder and fired at the strange warrior, but the all too familiar blue shielding intercepted his needles once more. The sound of accelerated spikes soon changed to that of an empty clicking sound, he was out of ammo, unable to attack the creature and left nearly defenseless.
The Sergeant gave one final scream and then his visor exploded outwards. He fell to the ground and blood flowed from the hole in his helmet. On the inside, Morham could see that there was nothing more then a gory mess of brain and pieces flesh left where his head should have been. His head had exploded, but how? Morham didn't know what to think anymore, his entire squad had been taken down by only three of the Protoss, and now he was out of ammo, with the most dangerous one of them slowly approaching him.
"Well fuck you and your whole piece of shit species then!" He screamed and held his rifle out in front of him like a club, intent on dishing out some damage before he himself was killed. He got in one swing at the fiend but it parried it and smacked him to the ground, all too easily. He thought he was going to die right then and there but then he saw something shimmer behind the Protoss. A trick of his eyes, a mirage? He heard a dull thud and then the Protoss fell to the ground, landing just in front of Morhams feet.
"Now that's what I call battle!" He heard a voice say but couldn't discern where it came from, it was as if it had come from thin air. If he had stayed conscious for a few more seconds he would have understood why, as Fitch the Ghost disabled his cloak and reappeared, standing over the unconscious Protoss with a triumphant grin stretched across his face.
-----
Several hours had passed since the firefight when Morham finally woke from his unconsciousness. It took a while for him to remember exactly where he was and what he was doing there, but slowly it was all coming back to him. He arched his back up and supported himself on his elbow, lifting the other hand up in front of his eyes to shield him from the bright sunlight.
He could see the silhouettes of people all around him. They were milling about, examining things and carrying various objects that looked much like pieces from the Protoss wreckage to and fro. The dropship that had brought him and his squad on the mission was also there, along with maybe six other ships that looked like cargo haulers and military transports.
"Glad to see your awake and well again." Morham heard a voice say.
"Wha… What happened?" He stammered, not fully remembering all the details of the mission yet. "The mission… I thought I was going to die." he continued trying to sort out all his feelings and thoughts. But the overpowering memory of the advancing Protoss dominated everything else.
"And indeed you would have if I hadn't been there to save your ass." The voice said again. And this time Morham recognized it. That cold and icy voice could belong to no one else but Fitch. Memories of his squad dying all around him filled his thoughts and a cold realization that Fitch had never joined the fray to help followed closely. Not until only one of the damn Protoss was left and his squad was eliminated.
Morham forced himself to his feet and turned towards the Ghost. He was smiling, that bastard was smiling although Morham had just been forced to watch his squad and his friends ripped apart by their enemies. Without another thought Morham moved to strike the bastard, but he was still too groggy and Fitch sidestepped his fist easily.
"Is that the proper way to thank the one that saved your life?" Fitch asked with an angry voice.
"Saved me?" Morham echoed incredulously. "Saved me! You let my entire squad be slaughtered without so much as lifting a goddamn finger to help and then you want me to thank you for saving me?" the anger shook Morham from his grogginess and this time his punch connected. Fitch stumbled to the ground, his eyes flaring menacingly.
"You don't seem to get it, do you?" Fitch spat. "I wasn't sent to protect you or your pitiful little squad of rednecks from the Protoss. The Confederacy couldn't care less about your lives. I had a different set of instructions, namely to capture a live Protoss for later interrogation, your squad was merely sent to distract them while I did this. So be glad I decided to act when I did, I could have let you die and trust me, you wouldn't have been missed." he concluded and got up again. "Besides, even if I wanted to help you I couldn't have, not after some moron thought it appropriate to cover the entire area in dust. From where I was I couldn't see you or the Protoss."
Morham wanted to hit Fitch again. But he knew it would be pointless, what the Ghost said was true, especially the last part about the dust. His feelings of anger gave way to that of helplessness. Things were what they were and there was nothing he could do about it anymore.
"And now that you've settled down, I've got new orders for you." Fitch said once he realized that Morham wasn't going to try to hit him anymore.
"What?" Morham asked with a resigned voice, no longer able or willing to argue. Fitch was a little angered at the apparent lack of respect for a superior officer but decided to let it go.
"We are to escort the captured Protoss to a rendezvous point with the Confederate fleet, and from there they will take over."
Morham was a little surprised at himself for not actually being angered by the thought of transporting one of the Protoss that had been responsible for decimating his team. Objectively he realized that in the end he was probably no different from Morham, he was just doing his job and in the end he had been the one to actually loose. The Protoss had also seen his entire squad killed by the Terrans. Hell, he had probably lost a lot more friends then Morham. And that thought comforted the marine a little. "Fine, show me the way and let's be gone from this blasted place."
A few hours later Morham was sitting in the exact same seat he had been sitting in when he was on his way to the mission site. Only this time, his friends had been replaced by an unconscious Protoss warrior and a Ghost.
"You sure he ain't getting free?" Morham asked and pointed to the shackles binding the Protoss ankles and hands.
"Quite, he's been pumped full of tranquilizers and should be out for at least a few days." Fitch said. "And even if he managed to sober up somehow, those shackles would stop him from doing much harm." he added.
"Good, cause it would be a shame if I had to kill the bastard if he tried to escape." Morham said and gritted his teeth.
Fitch laughed at that remark. "You? You think you could kill him?" He asked, looking directly at Morham with an incredulous expression on his face, his eyes fixing Morhams, never blinking.
Morham said nothing, just stared back at Fitch. "This is no ordinary Protoss warrior we have here," Fitch said. "Do you honestly think you could defeat him after you saw what he did to Coldwell? He doesn't need weapons to kill, all he has to do is use his psionic abilities to fry your brain. That's what he did to the others in your team." Fitch explained.
"Didn't you just say those shackles would keep him from doing any harm?" Morham asked.
"Well yes, it would keep him from doing any harm to me, you see as a ghost I'm able to shield myself from his abilities to a degree, enough for me to incapacitate him with my more conventional weapons anyway. You on the other hand, you're screwed if he decides to take a shot at you." Fitch laughed. Morham wasn't amused, but he knew what Fitch had just told him was true so he decided to drop the issue.
A few minutes spent in silence passed. Morham's eyes never left the unconscious Protoss. It was the only other form of life known to have an intelligence, at least as great as humans, and yet it looked so very odd. It was roughly humanoid in form, it had two arms, two legs, a head and a torso. Although the legs were reverse jointed, like a goat's, and the torso and the limbs looked quite frail. But frail was far from what this creature was Morham thought, as he remembered how easily it had swatted him aside, even with his armor on. How do they communicate? Morham wondered. He could see no mouth and yet he knew they had to have some form of communicational abilities. Telepathy? He speculated, it would certainly fit considering what Fitch had told him about its mental powers.
He was shaken from his thoughts when the comm system crackled to life. "You boys better strap yourselves in," the pilot said with a slight worry noticeable in his voice. "My scanners are picking up some weird readings all around us and I don't think I can avoid-"
Morham never heard the end of that sentence as the entire ship rocked violently and threw his head into the wall beside him, knocking him unconscious in the process. Fitch suffered a similar fate, but the pilot wasn't so lucky. The turbulence cracked the cockpit of the dropship open like an eggshell, sucking the pilot out into space as it did. The pilot tried to scream in denial, but no sound was heard, and suddenly the cold and empty space around him made itself terribly obvious. Dying in the vacuum of space had never been a pleasant notion, but the thought of it didn't quite compare to the actual thing.