They left the base in the early morning, three hours after the failed attack had nearly broken their defenses. The Protoss had come at them one last time, in terrifying force and with war machines Victor hadn't known existed until they'd started trying to kill him. The aliens had pulled no punches that night, and the last of the tall bladed warriors suitably referred to as 'zealots' had thrown themselves into the teeth of the Terran defenses to die rather than retreat. 'The last stand,' the colonel had called it, and declared the night a victory. Victor, who had spent an hour of that particular 'last stand' deep in the corpses the Protoss had made of the rest of his platoon, had privately wondered which side the colonel was referring to.

There were no real protoss survivors to speak of, but two of the Protoss war machines had seemingly gone rogue before the end of the fight. They'd turned and retreated while the zealots were still charging into the centre of the Terran firing line, and no-one which had watched them go had done anything but breathe a prayer of thanks to whatever gods they felt could watch over such a blighted region of the Universe. Nobody with any real authority had found out about that particular fuck-up until after the machines were miles away and still moving, and nobody with a pulse saw much point in pursuing an enemy with a history of ambush and trap tactics. When the sunrise came up, of course, all of that fear vanished with the darkness, and the colonel had declared it a priority to kill the damn things before they came back.

Their air support, mostly aging Wraiths but for a couple Banshees the Dominion had sent them the plans for a month ago, was intact or close enough to intact to fight an enemy with no anti-air support. Unfortunately, there wasn't much fuel to go around and while a fast assault would be possible a scouting op was out of the question. That left a ground team to do the tracking work, and call down the targets to air support at a distance.

So now Victor Lawson, a Lieutenant as of one and a half hours ago, had been assigned a ragtag commando group that had been assembled out of the few experienced survivors left of the ground regiments. He watched his command as they came out of the base.

Three Death's Head Regiment marines, the white-paint skulls fresh on their armor. Victor had been introduced just before they'd left; he remembered their names as Donovan, Julia, and Ben. Death's Heads were hard as nails and on top of that these new recruits would have a reputation to fulfill. They would be tough, reliable... maybe a little enthusiastic. Victor made a mental note to wait several days for the dulling monotony of recon duties to wear them down before he put them on point; he wanted them sharp but not hungry.

They had heavy support as well, a marauder named Willis who had as many kill markings on his armor as there were marines in the base. He'd apparently been a sergeant, before Protoss had hacked his squad into piles of meat and wasted armor. Victor felt a pang of empathy for the man.

The last one was a quiet ghost operative named Anna who generally kept to herself when she wasn't out on recon missions. Anna was medium sized and dark-haired, and wore roughly half the amount of armor Victor and the others were in even without allowing for the lighter kit requirements of a ghost. Victor wondered if all of the ghosts wore only a sniper's visor in lieu of a full protective helmet, or if it was just the mentally unbalanced ones.

The path they took out of the base took them straight path past where Victor had been posted for the night. The crowded streets walled by marine barracks and tent cities of support staff gave way to a high ground of sorts, with trenches and other improvised defenses making deep furrows that gradually led outward. Vic tried not to let his eyes follow the path the trenches made outwards, to the bunkers like the one he'd been fighting for his life in hours ago.

Willis fell in beside him. "Shit," he murmured. "This where you were posted, Lieutenant?"

"Just Vic, so long as we're on recon detail for the next couple weeks. But yeah." Victor shook off the pervasive numbness that was beginning in the base of his gut, and made himself point out Bunker A3. "The 41st was down there for a good six hours, holding off zealot charges. We were doing all right until those things came down on us."

Willis nodded understandingly. He'd have to had seen the terrible machines they were hunting now as well; they were fairly hard to miss. "How many got out, man?"

Vic pushed out a breath and made himself say it. "Just me. All the others bought it."

"Bastards," said Willis harshly. "So this is personal for you, huh."

Victor shrugged. "Dunno if it can be. The Protoss are all dead, right? Can't take revenge on a fucking computer."

"You just try, man. When we catch up, maybe we just tell the birds to cripple those things instead of kill, huh. Then you can borrow Anna's gun, since that pea shooter of yours isn't high enough caliber, and get some payback. Maybe a souvenir or two."

Victor forced a chuckle. "Yeah. Maybe."

Anna tilted her head, from several meters away, and put her hand to her ear. Over the comms, Victor heard, "Sure. Just remember how hard these C-10s kick when you do."

"Hey, he'll do that," said Willis. He drifted towards Anna as they walked, and Victor actually wondered for a moment whether he'd have to put both of them down hard for fraternization between ranks. Then he kicked himself for a paranoid psycho and took point for Anna while she drifted back to talk to Willis.

"So," said Willis. "Never seen you around the base before. When did you deploy here?"

"Back about two months ago. But I've been on recon missions the whole time, so I believe you when you say that."

"No shit? Where were you when they hit?"

" I was in on patrol when they started in on us," said Anna. "Had to fight my way into our own lines."

"You're pretty fucking tough, then. Kill your share?"

Anna shrugged modestly, then gestured at his kill tags. "What about you?"

"I get by. So how come you got picked for this?"

"Probably because I know a little about the Protoss." Anna drew her finger along the stock of the long sniper's rifle strapped to her back. "One of the reasons I was deployed here was as intel support for an anticipated attack."

"Yeah? Impress me."

Anna thought for a moment to think, long enough for Victor to think she'd given up the conversation entirely, and then gave Willis a broad grin. "Fine," she said. "For one thing? Those two machines we're chasing? The Protoss call them kul'nazeen."

Willis turned to look at her, interested. "What's it mean?"

"Mmm. Little hard to translate. Kul means predator, or hunter. Nazeen is a modifier, but generally means large or powerful. It also has connotations with being old." Anna shrugged. "Us impressive intel operatives just call it a Colossus."