PlanetFall
Long shadows claw desperately away from his dusty combat boots, fueled
by the relentless sun of a late Texas afternoon. Shading his eyes against the
glare, he squints for the thousandth time at the line of soldiers ahead of him.
It stretches on endlessly across the rubble, disappearing at last into the cool
shadows of a troop carrier. Soon he'll walk up the ramp into the ship, climb
into his one-man cocoon, tear through the interplanetary gateway, and smash down
light-years away from the blowing sand and blasted ruins that surround the
Dallas-Metro crater. "What the hell is taking so long?" he snarls, slamming the
battered barrel of his rifle, against his scarred palm. "I've waited long
enough. Time to kick some ass." Slightly rocking back and forth under the
sweltering August sun, he spits out of the side of his mouth, rubs his eyes, and
thinks back to the day when the wretched creatures first attacked. Like flaming
meteors, their crafts pounded into the Earth and unbelievably, these bio-
mechanical aliens... these hideous monsters... swarmed out while their ships
still sizzled with reentry heat. They killed or captured anything that lived. We
figured that they were after our planet's resources: minerals, metals, and
water: things like that. But their onboard storage facilities did little to
disguise what they considered to be resources: fleshy limbs and organs for new
cyborgs, and of course, food. The line moves. And moves again. Into the cool
shadows at last. The assembled armies branch off into new lines divided by corps
and unit. "I can't deal with this shit - what's the friggin' hold-up?"
"Cool your jets, marine." Tokay mutters and smiles over his shoulder.
"We'll all get a few Strogg heads to take home as souvenirs. I promise you that."
"You, soldier 3585." The medtech's voice startles him. "You in or out? "
Competent hands guide him into the coffin-like opening of his Mark 9A drop pod:
sleek, dark, and invisible to the Stroggos defense systems. One of the techs begins
to drop the reinforced pod door. "Sleep tight, soldier. You'll see sunlight in less than
six and half-hours. Not our sun, mind you." SLAM Pitch black except for the mild
glow of his video readout system in front of him. He's done this a dozen times
in the sim classes. No sweat. Just a few short hours to sleep, recharge, and
then the moment of glory. But this time it's for real. It's also time to think.
He recalls his first official day of training; his unit commander discussing how
these damn parasites made it to earth and other nearby colonies in the first
place. By employing our best satellites and long-range scanners, we learned how
they traveled light years so quickly - the Strogg used these black hole-like
gateways as their highway to heaven. We still don't know if they created these
rips in the fabric of space and time, or if they simply discovered them by
accident. Either way... it's just like opening the door to an all-you-can-eat
restaurant for these bastards. In about two hours, we'll be entering the same
interstellar portals, to hit 'em where it hurts... on their own turf. He closes
his eyes and relishes this thought. Eventually, he nods off to the low hypnotic
hum of the troop carrier. *Crackle* ... *fzzzz* ...
"Greetings to the people of the Coalition. This is Flag Admiral Stromgulf,
speaking to you from the bridge deck of Phobos. We are entering the outer orbits
of Stroggos, the alien's home system. As we had postulated, Stroggos' atmosphere
is harsh but breathable. We expect to make planetfall soon. Now is the time to
switch on your debriefing panel if ya need it."
"Boomer?" the voice crackles through every soldier's headset. "Drop X-ray
squad in 30 on my mark. You copy?"
"Roger that!" In another pod, his sergeant snaps back.
"OK boys and girls, you see the clock on your heads-up. Two demerits for
anyone who up-chucks during bounce and roll!"
*Shthunk! * His drop pod is shot from the side of the carrier and hurtles
downward. *Wheee-oooooo!* Incendiary atmosphere howls past the pod's rapidly
heating shell. *Ka-WHUMP! * The pod wall suddenly buckles to his right, but
stays intact. Another pod must have clipped his on its way in. ECM didn't
indicate enemy fire. Shit. Thrusters and stabilizing gyros are fading. Based on
the pings, the other pods are pulling away. Below him, the large alien city
roars into focus on the screen. But where are the other pods? They were there a
minute ago. Suddenly, distorted radio chatter lights up,
"Mayday! Mayday! Lost all power... shielding failed... missed dz... Some
kind of EMP is... kzzzt... us out. We're dropping like fli... zzzzkkkzzzt". Silence.
Damn! If the Strogg have electromagnetic pulse defenses and we failed to detect them...
all of us are in the shitter. That HUGE blip has to be the big gun he thinks as he does a slow
dogleg left while his navcomp finds a place to land when all of a sudden retros kick in
and propel him south.
"What the...?" Before he can take command of the ship, it skips across
the lip of a crater and slams into the ground, a good distance away from his
target. Dazed and bleeding from a head cut he toggles open the labeled arsenal
bins and reaches for where his gear ought to be stowed. Damn. Nothing but his
rifle, and enviro-armor suit. Damn again. He leaps out the crushed pod door, alone,
with rifle in hand. As he looks at his surroundings, he discovers that he is not alone.
The adrenaline starts pumping through his veins. Two strogg guards come running
over from where they had witnessed the very ungraceful landing. "Damn."
He whispers as he ducks behind the pod, making sure his weapon is ready to fire.
He switches the ammo feed from "semi-automatic" to "automatic" in hopes that
he can overpower them. As they get closer, he can hear them talk with their phony,
gutteral, mechanical voices. Voices that sound like they should be made by a
hydraulic pump instead of vocal chords.
"It's my turn to inspect the vehicle" says the first strogg to the second.
"No, it's my turn... you had the last five. It's my turn to eat." was the
second's reply.
"Screw you both!" Yells the marine as he burst from his hiding spot,
gun blaring. Neither of the strogg were prepared for the pilot to be alive, let
alone shooting at them! The first one fell with a bullet hole in his face plate
among other, less serious wounds (from a strogg's point of view). The other
falls, much to it's surprise... probably due to the fact that it no longer has any legs
to support it. The marine casually walks over to the wounded strogg and removs
its armaments. Tossing them off to the side, he says "My name is Jim Raynor
and not one of you sons of Bitches is gonna eat me." He then switches his gun
back to "semi-automatic" and puts a bullet into the strogg's half corroded brain.
He then decides to radio the phobos to get an idea as to where he was
supposed to go next. "Phobos, this is Lt. Jim Raynor, request directions to the dz.
repeat Phobos, this is Lt. Jim Raynor, Request directions to dz." He waits several
minutes and after he recieves no reply, decids that, either his radio is not working,
or the phobos has left. After thinking about it for a few minutes, he decids that it
was his own radio and that he would need to find another to complete his mission.
He searches both of the strogg bodies and finds nothing of use. He searches the
surrounding area for some useful item but none are found. It is just about then
that he remembers that his pod had been set up with a tracking device and also a
flare gun with a dozen flares. He pulls the crushed pod door from it's hinges and
searchesthe pod. Behind the saftey netting, he finds the flare gun.
"I'll hold on to this until I find the tracking device" he thinks to himself. After
searching the entire pod, he discovers that his pod had no such tracking device.
"Why do they keep screwing me over?" He yells. Stepping back outside, he loads
the flare gun. Pointing it skyward, he pulls the trigger. *POP* the flare shoots into the
sky, bright red and growing steadily brighter. "Now, all I need to do is wait." he thinks
to himself. leaning on the pod, he stands guard, aware that he has also given off his
position to the strogg. four hours later still nothing, the flare had already fallen to the
ground and went out. "I guess i'll set off another" he
thinks. *POP* a stream of green flame shoots into the sky. About a half hour later,
a marine Sky-cycle comes roaring up to the pod.
"Hey... what're you doing out this far?" Asked the pilot of the sky-cycle.
"Trying not to get myself killed" replys Jim.
"Well hop on, and hold on tight, did you know that you are about 20 miles off course?
I only barely saw that red flare. At first I thought it was just an illusion, but it lasted about the
same ammount of time that a military flare does, and that second flare was a dead giveaway.
you're lucky, my company just eliminated a squad of strogg headed your way." said the pilot. But
due to exhaustion and lack of adrenaline in his system Jim had passed out.
Long shadows claw desperately away from his dusty combat boots, fueled
by the relentless sun of a late Texas afternoon. Shading his eyes against the
glare, he squints for the thousandth time at the line of soldiers ahead of him.
It stretches on endlessly across the rubble, disappearing at last into the cool
shadows of a troop carrier. Soon he'll walk up the ramp into the ship, climb
into his one-man cocoon, tear through the interplanetary gateway, and smash down
light-years away from the blowing sand and blasted ruins that surround the
Dallas-Metro crater. "What the hell is taking so long?" he snarls, slamming the
battered barrel of his rifle, against his scarred palm. "I've waited long
enough. Time to kick some ass." Slightly rocking back and forth under the
sweltering August sun, he spits out of the side of his mouth, rubs his eyes, and
thinks back to the day when the wretched creatures first attacked. Like flaming
meteors, their crafts pounded into the Earth and unbelievably, these bio-
mechanical aliens... these hideous monsters... swarmed out while their ships
still sizzled with reentry heat. They killed or captured anything that lived. We
figured that they were after our planet's resources: minerals, metals, and
water: things like that. But their onboard storage facilities did little to
disguise what they considered to be resources: fleshy limbs and organs for new
cyborgs, and of course, food. The line moves. And moves again. Into the cool
shadows at last. The assembled armies branch off into new lines divided by corps
and unit. "I can't deal with this shit - what's the friggin' hold-up?"
"Cool your jets, marine." Tokay mutters and smiles over his shoulder.
"We'll all get a few Strogg heads to take home as souvenirs. I promise you that."
"You, soldier 3585." The medtech's voice startles him. "You in or out? "
Competent hands guide him into the coffin-like opening of his Mark 9A drop pod:
sleek, dark, and invisible to the Stroggos defense systems. One of the techs begins
to drop the reinforced pod door. "Sleep tight, soldier. You'll see sunlight in less than
six and half-hours. Not our sun, mind you." SLAM Pitch black except for the mild
glow of his video readout system in front of him. He's done this a dozen times
in the sim classes. No sweat. Just a few short hours to sleep, recharge, and
then the moment of glory. But this time it's for real. It's also time to think.
He recalls his first official day of training; his unit commander discussing how
these damn parasites made it to earth and other nearby colonies in the first
place. By employing our best satellites and long-range scanners, we learned how
they traveled light years so quickly - the Strogg used these black hole-like
gateways as their highway to heaven. We still don't know if they created these
rips in the fabric of space and time, or if they simply discovered them by
accident. Either way... it's just like opening the door to an all-you-can-eat
restaurant for these bastards. In about two hours, we'll be entering the same
interstellar portals, to hit 'em where it hurts... on their own turf. He closes
his eyes and relishes this thought. Eventually, he nods off to the low hypnotic
hum of the troop carrier. *Crackle* ... *fzzzz* ...
"Greetings to the people of the Coalition. This is Flag Admiral Stromgulf,
speaking to you from the bridge deck of Phobos. We are entering the outer orbits
of Stroggos, the alien's home system. As we had postulated, Stroggos' atmosphere
is harsh but breathable. We expect to make planetfall soon. Now is the time to
switch on your debriefing panel if ya need it."
"Boomer?" the voice crackles through every soldier's headset. "Drop X-ray
squad in 30 on my mark. You copy?"
"Roger that!" In another pod, his sergeant snaps back.
"OK boys and girls, you see the clock on your heads-up. Two demerits for
anyone who up-chucks during bounce and roll!"
*Shthunk! * His drop pod is shot from the side of the carrier and hurtles
downward. *Wheee-oooooo!* Incendiary atmosphere howls past the pod's rapidly
heating shell. *Ka-WHUMP! * The pod wall suddenly buckles to his right, but
stays intact. Another pod must have clipped his on its way in. ECM didn't
indicate enemy fire. Shit. Thrusters and stabilizing gyros are fading. Based on
the pings, the other pods are pulling away. Below him, the large alien city
roars into focus on the screen. But where are the other pods? They were there a
minute ago. Suddenly, distorted radio chatter lights up,
"Mayday! Mayday! Lost all power... shielding failed... missed dz... Some
kind of EMP is... kzzzt... us out. We're dropping like fli... zzzzkkkzzzt". Silence.
Damn! If the Strogg have electromagnetic pulse defenses and we failed to detect them...
all of us are in the shitter. That HUGE blip has to be the big gun he thinks as he does a slow
dogleg left while his navcomp finds a place to land when all of a sudden retros kick in
and propel him south.
"What the...?" Before he can take command of the ship, it skips across
the lip of a crater and slams into the ground, a good distance away from his
target. Dazed and bleeding from a head cut he toggles open the labeled arsenal
bins and reaches for where his gear ought to be stowed. Damn. Nothing but his
rifle, and enviro-armor suit. Damn again. He leaps out the crushed pod door, alone,
with rifle in hand. As he looks at his surroundings, he discovers that he is not alone.
The adrenaline starts pumping through his veins. Two strogg guards come running
over from where they had witnessed the very ungraceful landing. "Damn."
He whispers as he ducks behind the pod, making sure his weapon is ready to fire.
He switches the ammo feed from "semi-automatic" to "automatic" in hopes that
he can overpower them. As they get closer, he can hear them talk with their phony,
gutteral, mechanical voices. Voices that sound like they should be made by a
hydraulic pump instead of vocal chords.
"It's my turn to inspect the vehicle" says the first strogg to the second.
"No, it's my turn... you had the last five. It's my turn to eat." was the
second's reply.
"Screw you both!" Yells the marine as he burst from his hiding spot,
gun blaring. Neither of the strogg were prepared for the pilot to be alive, let
alone shooting at them! The first one fell with a bullet hole in his face plate
among other, less serious wounds (from a strogg's point of view). The other
falls, much to it's surprise... probably due to the fact that it no longer has any legs
to support it. The marine casually walks over to the wounded strogg and removs
its armaments. Tossing them off to the side, he says "My name is Jim Raynor
and not one of you sons of Bitches is gonna eat me." He then switches his gun
back to "semi-automatic" and puts a bullet into the strogg's half corroded brain.
He then decides to radio the phobos to get an idea as to where he was
supposed to go next. "Phobos, this is Lt. Jim Raynor, request directions to the dz.
repeat Phobos, this is Lt. Jim Raynor, Request directions to dz." He waits several
minutes and after he recieves no reply, decids that, either his radio is not working,
or the phobos has left. After thinking about it for a few minutes, he decids that it
was his own radio and that he would need to find another to complete his mission.
He searches both of the strogg bodies and finds nothing of use. He searches the
surrounding area for some useful item but none are found. It is just about then
that he remembers that his pod had been set up with a tracking device and also a
flare gun with a dozen flares. He pulls the crushed pod door from it's hinges and
searchesthe pod. Behind the saftey netting, he finds the flare gun.
"I'll hold on to this until I find the tracking device" he thinks to himself. After
searching the entire pod, he discovers that his pod had no such tracking device.
"Why do they keep screwing me over?" He yells. Stepping back outside, he loads
the flare gun. Pointing it skyward, he pulls the trigger. *POP* the flare shoots into the
sky, bright red and growing steadily brighter. "Now, all I need to do is wait." he thinks
to himself. leaning on the pod, he stands guard, aware that he has also given off his
position to the strogg. four hours later still nothing, the flare had already fallen to the
ground and went out. "I guess i'll set off another" he
thinks. *POP* a stream of green flame shoots into the sky. About a half hour later,
a marine Sky-cycle comes roaring up to the pod.
"Hey... what're you doing out this far?" Asked the pilot of the sky-cycle.
"Trying not to get myself killed" replys Jim.
"Well hop on, and hold on tight, did you know that you are about 20 miles off course?
I only barely saw that red flare. At first I thought it was just an illusion, but it lasted about the
same ammount of time that a military flare does, and that second flare was a dead giveaway.
you're lucky, my company just eliminated a squad of strogg headed your way." said the pilot. But
due to exhaustion and lack of adrenaline in his system Jim had passed out.