For All Mankind
The carbine was fekking useless.
He knew that he was going to die fighting a losing battle. That he'd spent the last few months fighting for a false leader. That he'd likely die without taking even a single one of these mouthless freaks with him. He knew all of this, and right now, could only think that he really needed a more powerful weapon.
"Keep firing! Keep firing!"
Did Sergeant Coleo know that it was useless, like he did? Was he fighting in a means to make amends for what General Davis had done? What the Defenders of Man had done?
"They're getting closer!"
He'd been there, on Borea. He and his fellow troopers had surged out of a dropship, putting 8mm rounds through any critter that got too close. Most of those critters had been zerglings, and as many of them as they were, they'd gone down fast. He'd returned to Vardona, happy in the knowledge that even as the Dominion failed its citizens and licked the boots of aliens, he'd joined up with the side that would protect terran interests.
"Fekking bullets are useless!"
So, Private Dublin had come to the same conclusion he had. He knelt down behind the sand bags, slamming in another magazine into his rifle. He wondered if it would be his last one before the protoss took him out. And whether he could take even one of their number down with it. Taking a breath, he sprung back up and rested the rifle on top of the sand bag, before firing in short, controlled bursts down the street.
It did jack shit. Stalkers clogged the road ahead of them. As soon as the protoss had attacked, he and his squad had rolled out to man the perimeter, to try and give the civilians as much time as possible to reach the city centre. They fired, and watched as the walkers' shields flared up, protecting them from the hail of gunfire. Watched, and prayed that the Dominion, the same Dominion that he'd denounced, would be able to help them. Fired, and winced, as blue bolts of energy started coming their way. One trooper after another fell, wounded or dead. He let out a yell as one of the bolts hit the sandbags, passing straight through. He'd only been saved because the Stalker had missed.
I'm going to die.
That was all he cared about now. All he thought of, as he struggled to find the nerve to get back up.
"Zealots!"
He got the nerve to glance, as he saw zealots fan out from behind the Stalkers, charging the terran lines. Moving like blue-white blurs, dancing in and out of the hail of gunfire.
"Fall back! Fall-"
Sergeant Coleo fell silent as a zealot appeared on top of the sandbag, decapitating him with a glowing red blade.
Gonna die.
He crawled along the ground, to a nearby building. Wincing, as the sound of gunfire grew fainter. Closing his eyes, as the screaming grew louder. Human screams only, of course, those alien freaks didn't even have the decency to have mouths.
"No! No, please!"
He couldn't help it – he glanced round to see Dublin crawling backwards from an advancing zealot. Begging for mercy. Receiving none, as the alien plunged his psi-blade through his chest, withdrawing it without a second thought.
He didn't have to die.
He got to his feet and readied his rifle. Most of the Tal'darim barely seemed to notice him.
I'm going to kill you.
The zealot looked at him. Had it read his thoughts, or was it just coincidence? Either way, it began striding towards him, only a single psi-blade ignited.
"Just die!"
He walked backwards and opened fire on full automatic. The zealot's shields flared up, but held. The monster's eyes blazed a blood red-glow.
"Fekk you!"
The magazine ran dry. The zealot raised its blade. He tried to reach for another clip, but-
…but did nothing, as the zealot stumbled under a hail of gunfire. He watched as it tried to regain its footing, but found nothing, only death or defeat, as gunfire tore through its shields. He watched as it disappeared from him in a flash of light.
What the-
The Tal'darim had been caught off-guard. He watched from the rubble, as a platoon of black-armoured marines and Marauders advanced down the street. They were unlike his squad – far better armed and armoured, far more efficient in coordinating their fire. The zealots tried to charge, but crumpled under the hail of grenades and hypersonic spikes. He looked at the Stalkers, who began to fire back. Looked on as one was reduced to a pile of slag – Liberators were in the air.
I'm not dead.
The Tal'darim began to retreat. Well, this group at least. He stood there in numb silence as the platoon halted at the barricades. Silently, they began setting up ammo crates, barbed wire, mines, gun emplacements…
"Are you it?"
He watched as one of the figures approached him. A marine – seven feet tall in that suit of armour, and looking down at him as if he were an ant. Looking at him from behind a golden visor, almost as alien as the protoss themselves.
"Are you it?" the marine repeated.
"I…what do you mean?"
"Your squad. Are you it?"
"He's it," came another voice, and he looked on as a woman appeared right out of thin air, leaving only a temporary blue shimmer. "His name's Raman Perez. Corporal, Defenders of Man."
"What? How did…"
He trailed off as he watched the blonde raise her visor. A Ghost. A teep. Likely the same Ghost the Defenders had tried to snag on Borea. And most certainly the same Ghost that had brought out Davis to Valerian on the podium. Fekker.
"Get back to the line," the Ghost said to the marine. "Hold the position."
"That a request?"
"If it makes you feel any better, the 18th Armoured is rolling out from Fort Crowling. You'll get siege tanks within the next fifteen microticks."
"Heh. Damn tankers. Turn up late, get all the credit."
He stared at the display. At how…casual, it was. That the marine could talk to the Ghost without fear of having his brain fried. He likewise stared at her, as she looked at him. Examining him. No doubt teeping him.
"Sorry about your squad," she said.
"You're not sorry," he murmured.
She didn't say anything. Why should she be sorry, he wondered? She'd brought the Defenders of Man down, shattered everything he thought he was fighting for. She'd done her job. He'd failed in his, and only by mere chance had he survived.
"Why are you still here?" she asked.
He blinked. "What?"
"You're out here fighting protoss with a CK-27 carbine. You don't have any armour or heavy firepower, and you're still here. Why?"
He shrugged. "Defending humanity, I guess." He met her gaze directly. "It's why I joined them."
"Hmm." She lowered her visor. "Well, keep at it then."
She didn't care, he noticed. He was little more than a drone. A drone that could shoot and fight, but still a drone. But…
But he walked over to the marine. Asked if there was a C-14 or spare CMC lying around. To his surprise, both questions were in the affirmative. He was even offered an appointment with the platoon's medic. He took the first two, but not the third. All he wanted to do was fight.
"Heads up, Tal'darim incoming in five. Void ray support confirmed."
He'd fought for a lie, but the ideal was true. And he'd fight now.
He'd defend Man.