Author's note: A couple more changes to tech. For one, Diamondbacks (the concept of which, if not the implementation, I loved in the game) are no longer Confederate relics; they're produced more or less alongside siege tanks, and serve as the true main battle tanks of the Dominion armies, due to the defensive inclination of siege tanks, though they're called Diamondback gunships, mainly because I like gunships (the word and the various vehicles so designated) and because they seem to be based on the Hammerhead Gunship, a hovering armored vehicle used as an MBT by the Tau in Warhammer 40k. Also, dropships are extremely heavily armed, which fits in with their role as an airborne armored personnel carrier. Further, Hercules dropships are used as heavy-lift combat transports by the Dominion military, instead of a Raynor's Raiders exclusive. As for the immediate future, I'll be working on chapters for Kerrigan and Ulrezaj. Further out, I'm pretty excited about introducing some Umojan characters, with their unique blend of Terran and Protoss technology (and their role in the overarching plot, which I've conceived of to be fairly significant, will be revealed), and there will be chapters on the Mengsks, Samir Duran/Emil Narud, and probably Raynor.
Strapped into his harness in the dropship, still nestled safely inside DNS Bishamonten's hangar, Ozzy marveled at how the ship, entering Korhal's atmosphere, was able to shake so much without falling apart. "Either it's really well designed or incredibly badly designed!" he bellowed at Baird, strapped into a similar harness, meant to take Marines in full power armor, across the aisle from him.
"What?!" he responded
"Never mind!" Ozzy shouted back, and tried not to throw up his lunch. He failed, somewhat spectacularly, when the monstrous, careening ship began to rapidly decelerate, negative g-forces trying to squash him into the ceiling, the straps of his harness straining to keep him in place and his undersuit struggling to keep inertia from liquefying his internal organs anyway. Both succeeded, if only just, none of which made Baird, generously spritzed with upchuck, look any less furious at the vector of Ozzy's partially-digested mashed potatoes.
Ozzy, despite being encased in a full ton of the most sophisticated military technology known to man, managed to look sheepish when as he met Baird's eyes, burning with hate, for a half-second.
As the roar of their arrival cut out, Ozzy could hear batteries of laser cannons opening up, sterilizing the landing zone over which the flying city slowly came to a halt. With a jolt, the great vessel was hovering, all downward motion gone, adding some more tumbling to Ozzy's stomach. He had only begun to contemplate the trauma his body had undergone when the electromagnetic catapult to which the dropship was attached, not all that dissimilar to his modified gauss rifle's firing mechanism, flung the dropship, Black Morgan's Ghost, out the launch tube at terrifying speed. For an awful second, Ozzy thought he could literally feel his liver trying to squeeze through ribs three and four.
No sooner had they cleared the tube when the dropship's automated gauss turrets and rail grenade launchers began to hammer and thump. A second or two later, the d-ship started taking fire from hydralisks on the ground, and from swooping mutalisks that had penetrated Bishamonten's terrific curtain of anti-air fire. The heavily armed and ungainly dropship's dorsal point-defense turret did its best to intercept the glaive wurms the mutas fired, but too many got through, burrowing into and exploding against the hull, opening rents in the ceiling and floor, and disabling their third engine. The ship buckled and dropped, sending Ozzy's stomach into further convulsions, but didn't fall out of the sky.
Through one particularly large hole, Ozzy saw a flight of missiles appear from smoke-smudged sky, slamming into the mutalisks, tearing them in half. Continual fire from the cloaked Wraiths cleared the way for Black Morgan's Ghost to slam ungraciously into the ground, the loss of an engine precluding a controlled landing, some distance from its designated zone. As the d-ship bounced to a stop, it smashed a few unoccupied SCV suits, and left large, ugly skid marks across the concrete and planter beds of the once-pleasant municipal park that served as the brigade landing zone.
About a second before the ship came to a stop, the harnesses holding the forty marines of 1st Platoon automatically released, sending armored troopers toppling over one another a half-second later. The dropship's main hatch opened, and the marines started clambering out.
A few meters from the destroyed SCV suits were a small clump of blithe-looking men in overalls and baseball caps. The one in front, probably a foreman, Ozzy reasoned, took a step forward, chewing hard on a massive, unlit cheroot, and said, "Nicely done, there."
"Tell it to the pilot," Baird said
"Ain't it ironic, though, that a damaged d-ship destroyed the very things that could have repaired it?"
"My internal organs are too screwed up for irony. Are all you SCV pilots such weirdos?" Ozzy asked, as the rest of the platoon regained their footing
"In my experience," he said, spinning on his heel, presumably to find replacement suits.
"Sideshow over. Bandit company, move out," Baird said over the company channel. "Deploy to the northeast corner. Ozzy, take your section and provide overwatch from that building," Baird said, pointing to one of the two buildings on either side of the street corner that fed into the park. As Ozzy and his men peeled off from the company, Baird told off two other marksman sections to secure and provide cover from two other buildings. Ozzy opened a channel to Baird and asked, "Just defense for now?"
"Looks like. Got a Herc coming in with much heavier equipment. Banshees, siege tanks, Goliaths and Diamondback gunships. Gotta clear pads for the Banshees and Vikings," presumably to supplement Bishamonten's primarily infantry complement.
As the company took up defensive positions around the mouth of the road feeding into the park, Ozzy and his men took leaping bounds into the first-floor windows of their assigned building, hoping to avoid any ambush at the door. Fortunately, the building proved to be almost entirely Zerg free. When they emerged onto the top of the building, they quickly took stock of the surrounding streets, finding them filled with retreating Zerg. "Looks like the Zerg are retreating for now," Ozzy said to Baird.
"Regrouping, no doubt," he replied.
"None." Ozzy, though, continued to sweep the streets below and rooftops adjacent with his telescopic sight. He loosed a few rounds, mainly at stragglers or scouts, but without a lot of success. Suddenly, he felt an urge to scan a particular part of the skyline, to the southeast, nearer the Imperial, which was still under siege, and where the Emperor was rumored to still be. For the briefest instant, Ozzy could swear he saw he saw a bit of rifle and the swish of a dreadlock. He dismissed it and went back to scanning.
"Okay, he knows I'm here," the lone gunman said, apparently to empty air.
"Why?" a voice said inside his head
"I told him."
"Again, why?" the voice asked again
"He deserves to at least know it's coming."
"Are you sure this is the man?"
"No doubt. I'd know that rifle anywhere. He's definitely the man who killed Reese."
"Are you sure we need him? We're going out of our way as it is."
"Man like him, we can always use."
"Fine, but is it worth the time and the increased chance of detection?"
"We been working together long enough now you should be able to trust my judgment."
"I came to this planet with the number I judged necessary to get the job done. In six hundred of your years, I have yet to be wrong about such things. I would say my judgment outweighs yours."
"Not many men can do what he's done. Not many Protoss, either."
"Fine. But if this detour of yours causes this mission to implodeā¦" the voice trailed off.
"You've made your point. Trust me, I wouldn't jeopardize this, brother. I want Mengsk as much as you want the hybrids, and they're a package now."
"I do trust you. Why, I do not quite know."
"Your faith is touching."
"Sarcasm, again. You Terrans are inordinately fond of it," the voice said, with a touch of asperity. "How do you intend to recruit him?"
"I'll think of something."
