"Tom… damn, where the hell are you?" Jericho pleaded into the comm. He looked around, and for the second time today he wished that he was somewhere else. He wished he never made the suggestion to come. He was going to be eaten and killed any minute. Now Aunt Niña will never know what had become of him, and he was sorry that he said all those horrible things when he left to enlist. "Please, please, Tom, I don't want to die."

The marine had his back to the wall. The only sure thing that could prevent his death, a gauss rifle was laid spent on the ground. Jericho swung his little knife (that looked quite outrageously tiny in his armored gloves) as if the action itself would ward off a potential killer.

He was alone. If that was the factual situation, it wouldn't have been too scary. He was in a dark hallway with no source of light, and Jericho knew for a fact that that he was only alone because he was the wrong species. Even in the pitch blackness, Jericho knew that the enemy could only come from two ways. Before this, he had always thought the Zerg was a mindless alien race. Now he was beginning to have doubts. The enemy obviously knew tactics, and they weren't afraid to lose two or three of their own to find the best way to kill him.

So far they had only attacked three times from the right side and twice from the left. The solid safety of the wall behind him had become his only sense of direction in the darkness. The Zerg have been interchanging their direction in two minute intervals. If they held their pattern true, they were going to balance their act and hit him from the left. Unless this was all an elaborate trick the Zerg had came up with and they were instead going to attack from the right. Or perhaps this time, the aliens had decided to stop toying with him and killed him with an attack from both sides at once.

"Damn it, I'm making this more confusing for myself." The problem was that, if he wanted to live at all, he needed to know what direction they were coming from. It was a problem when he had a gun. Now he was using a dinning knife that could barely skewer a pig.

Time was up. Jericho could hear them now.

"Tom, you promised me that I wouldn't die. Damn you!" He raised his weapon to parry.

He was going to die.

"Following an unannounced mass evacuation of Mar Sara, the Confederacy has confirmed that its civilian population has been safely transferred to new dwellings. Any military operatives and personnel are now being redeployed.

In other news, a local official, Field Marshal J. Ra—"

"So why are… are we…" though the marine was covered with a layer of red dust, the white camouflage drab on his armor was unmistakable. He lazily reached down to ground and turned the radio off. He turned toward his companion and said, "Why the hell are you and I still here?"

"Simple, Tom. We're still here because we cared about this backwater enough to stay."

"That's bull, and ya know it. Besides we're—," Tom trailed off. He suddenly looked pointedly at his fellow marine. The other man was in a similar state as he was. His armor was riddled with jagged scars and the white colors were faded. "Don't try to hide it, punk. Spit it out. I'm not going to say it again, spit it out!"

The other man blushed, but he did what he was told and spat out a strawberry on the little circular table between them. There was silence for a moment as both men sat staring at the saliva coated strawberry; the tip had been chewed off.

"Jericho. Slice it in half."

With his left index and thumb holding the berry in place, Jericho divided it swiftly with a silver dining knife.

Tom took what appeared was the larger half and ate it. He chewed it slowly to retain in his mouth the sweetness of the berry's flavor. It was ten seconds of heaven. The fact that it had been covered by his fellow marine's saliva did not faze him.

"Hell," Jericho popped his portion into his mouth and gulped it down, "I'm still hungry."

"You do that again, and you'll wish you were hungry when you're done eating my shit."

"Yeah yeah, so what's up? You didn't wake me up to listen to the news. I rather listen to Aunt Niña's prattles than Mr. Confeddy's propaganda."

"Not today, punk." Tom might have laughed at Jericho's attempt at humor, but today he had to be serious. Food might be in short supply, but that wouldn't be their killer. "We've got two cases left. After that, we're out."

The two of them have been together long enough to know each other habits and personality. Jericho wasn't an idiot. He might be rash, a little prat, and maybe even a little naïve, but he was… he was…

"So that's it? We're out?"

"Get out ladies! Enjoy the sunshine!"

Their dropship, and several hundred others, had landed. Even with the visors down, Jericho squinted his eyes. He had read the summary on the Sara System. Bright sun, check; the twin moons Pyramus and Thisby eerily bright during the day, check; and it was a typical wasteland, check. From what he could see through the heat's haze, Mar Sara City could only be a few dozen kilometers from where the dropships had landed.

Jericho nudged the soldier beside him and said, "David, You would think we'll get a party from the colony for coming to save their collective behinds from the Protoss."

"We are representing the Confederates' military strong arm. Yokels here would probably thank the Protoss for a planetary bombardment than thank us for our intrusion."

"Ha! Aren't ya being a little bit too pessimistic?"

"Sir, I'm conditioned to be pessimistic. If you want optimism, I'm sure the Lieutenant would be more than willing to share his."

Jericho couldn't help but wonder if David actually made a joke. If he had, he must be an exception to the rule that all conditioned convicts were emotionless. Most of his mates were conditioned, only a handful like himself, the lieutenant, and a few others assigned to the 81st Garrison Regiment were volunteers.

"Atten—"

Instantly the entire platoon, volunteers and conditioned conscript alike, snapped to and stood rigid for the company's landing inspection.

"—tion!"

Their Lieutenant, recognizable in his white and red command camouflage, took his time scrutinizing the men in the front row. The Lieutenant hollered, "Corporal Ariha! Where's my man?"

Jericho stepped out, his visors now up and saluted. His commander returned the salute. The Lieutenant's visor disappeared into his helmet, revealing a crook smile and sharp purple hued eyes.

"Ah, there you are. A charming sight from here, isn't it? Ariha, there's been a change in plans. NoradIIjust issued new orders. You are transferred to 7th Platoon, Raamiah's Company. They're at Iota."

"Sir yes sir! Will I get to keep my team?" Man, what a day. Not even ten minutes since Jericho just got acquainted with his new NCO status, acquainted with the men, landed on the planet, and now he was being transferred. The very least would be that he could keep his team. In those ten minutes in the dropship, Jericho had quickly realized how conditioned the men under him were. They were as loyal and eager (if you could call it eager) to finish and complete an order as they were to be completely emotionless while doing the task.