Chapter 6: They Are Zerg
"The stations up that ridge, aways from here," Raynor pointed to a distant outcropping. "Soon as we gear up, we'll head over there and rescue those folks. Hopefully things haven't gotten too bad yet." They were standing on a minute hill of rocks, near the edge of the encampment. From the position that Raynor was indicating, a few dull lights could be seen over the lip of the distant rocks, giving the area an eerie glow.
"That's a hell of a walk," Marcus whistled, "And there might be more of those things along the way lookin' ta pick a fight. Fuckin' creepy crawlers…" At this, Raynor glanced his way.
"Sounds like you had a run in with them too huh? I told you, they're violent nasty things."
"No shit 'bout that," Colt concurred from behind, "They were crazy, ugly, an' smelled terrible. An' one of them tried to give ol' Stone here a big ol' kiss. He's lucky ta be standin' here, without missin' an arm or a leg. Came away with a little souvenir of its claws." At this, Jim glanced around at Logan, who was broodingly silent, and took a look at the long deep marks slashed into his armor, cutting through the reinforced plates.
"Jesus," Raynor commented, examining the clawmarks, "No wonder those things killed the patrols. They probably could cut their way into an armored vehicle with no problem with these. Man, this is one big pain in the ass."
"I hear that," Logan muttered.
"That may be," Marcus stomped out a cigarette, "But I'll be damned if some weird alien creatures are gonna scare Marcus Wade, second in command of Unit 507 away. We'll show'em what it means to fuck around with us."
"Now that's an attitude," Raynor gave him a grin. "With you boys around, we can extract some serious payback from those suckers. We'll have to stock up on some ammo and other things." He checked a handheld computer attached to his belt, no doubt giving a report of the current resupply operation. "So I guess until then, you boys have free run of the camp. So long as you make sure no more of those things attack, you can do what you like."
With that, he hopped off the hill, and ambled back to camp, leaving the marines alone.
"So," Gunner asked with a grin of his own, "By do what we like," he started to chuckle, "Does that mean…"
"It sure as hell doesn't," Marcus cut him off curtly, "We're still here with a job ta do, an' I'll not have the Sarge chewin' my ass out because I was lax with you boys. You know him, he's got some weird sixth sense; he seems ta know when I let you boys have an' easy time, an' he likes ta yell at me 'bout it. 'Sides, this place don't seem to have the highest grades of security. I'm thinkin' that we'll need some of you boys at the front door, case more of those creepy ass monsters come knockin'. Now move ya asses!"
"Shit," Colt grumbled, "We seem ta have a miniature ball-buster in the workin' here. You'd do the Sarge proud."
"Hah ha, keep walking smartass." There were snickers as they departed. Logan, seeing as he was more or less a marine himself, sort of, made to follow. But a hand on his shoulder held him.
"You stay at the command center rook," Marcus gave Logan a mild look; "I think you need ta settle down a bit before ya go back out into tha+ line of fire. Wouldn't want ya to freeze up again, or lose ya grip of sanity. Get your bearings a bit first; I think that's the best thing fer ya right now." Logan had no complaints there, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the other soldiers, militia and other Unit 507 boys went hiking towards the defensive line.
The camp's position gave it an ideal defense, making things easier for the guards. Tall columns of rocks on three sides, creating natural protection. Nothing could get over and down those without falling and being smashed into paste. That left only the one opening, the way out and in. Which had numerous perimeter wires strung around to act as a makeshift wall, and several bunkers behind that for the infantry to hunker down inside, letting them shoot in safety.
Within the camp, there was constant motion. Mining efforts were in full swing; SCV's mining up a hard indigo crystal, and hauling it back to the command center. Others were going into and out of a refinery, carrying sealed crates full of precious gases. These minerals were the backbone of the armed forces, the way Logan understood it.
Other buildings were also being constructed; more supply depots as well as an engineering bay. Also hanging around the base were numerous militia soldiers. More than likely, they were cons from Mar Sara, not to mention with recent disturbances on the fringe worlds, probably more than a few were average citizens, forced into Confederate service. Just like him.
Despite these possible common bonds of brotherhood, Logan didn't mingle with the other soldiers. He hung back, sitting atop a crate in the shadow of the command center. He wasn't antisocial by nature, but in a hostile environment like this, when he was perhaps quite literally seconds from death…that puts a bit of a damper on ones chatty mood. His outlook on life and such at the moment were bleak, to put it mildly.
Eventually, Marcus strolled over, leaning against the wall. The silence lasted for some time between them.
"Is it always like this?" Logan asked after a while. Marcus didn't look his way, instead fishing around for a cigarette. He brought one to his lips and with a flip of a lighter, a interesting trick with those huge iron fingers, it flared up, and he took a long drag, blowing smoke through his grit teeth.
"Yep. War ain't no picnic Logan. It's dirty, its scary as shit, an' makes ya want ta take a shit. Most guys do…But it's just somethin' that's gonna happen, one way or another. The world ain't a peaceful place. It may seem like it when you're away from the action on Tarsonis, in a cushy office, doin' some pencil pusher job, and watchin' 'bout it on TV…But don't kid yourself. When yer out there yourself, mixin' it up with the enemy, it's a whole different ballgame. War is somethin' that we can't avoid sometimes. Somethin' bred into our species I guess. And now we got hostile aliens to contend with. I suppose if ya want ta think about it hard, ya got yourself ta do somethin' bigger than what ya did before goin' to prison."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, look at it like this. Before, ya may have had a job, a bunch of friends, a hot girlfriend maybe…But when its all said an' done, you're just another guy. Just like the million others schmucks in this sector. But here, in this hellhole, you're doin' somethin' that not every man can boast about. You're protecting mankind from gettin' our asses kicked by some greasy smelly aliens. Maybe when you finally get outta here, someone will throw you a big ol' party and parade. Hell, it'd be more than any of us ever got."
"Fame isn't really what I would call one of my major priorities in life right now. Staying alive is."
"Maybe so. But ya got a job that's rough, tough, an' make ya more of a man than prison could ever do. Plus, ya get to blow shit up. That's a bonus right there." Logan gave him a funny look, but couldn't keep a tiny grin off his face.
"I've never been too much of a fan of blowing up crap."
"Give it time, you'll find ya might got a taste for it. But until then, ya need ta get into a battle situation, and not lock up. That's the first step."
Logan stared down at his feet, feeling that sinking feeling in his guts return. Those thoughts kept coming back…How close he had come. Death had actually brushed up against him. And those things…God in heaven, those things were…terrible. Awful. In truth, he felt it was downright amazing that he only locked up instead of falling unconscious. He was a tough guy, but he felt that there was no shame in fainting when one looks at something so grotesque and horrifying.
"Ya hate the Confederate's…right?" Logan looked over at him; Marcus was keeping his voice down, but his expression was straight.
"You know I do."
"Well, let me give ya a tip. Anger can help a man out here. It gets the blood pumpin', and gives ya the drive ta fight. Too much can make a man crazy, like Daemon. But just the right amount can make ya one pissed off motherfucker, who'll tear a hole through his enemy before the son of a bitch knows what's happenin'. Next time we get into a scrap, try an' think about all the reasons ya hate the Confederates. Everything that makes your blood boil. Then, let all that out through your gun and your actions. I guarantee you'll feel better 'bout this stuff."
"I'll…think about it…"
With that subject put on the backburner, the two began to chat like old friends; finding out they had quite a bit in common. Marcus too had worked in the Confederacy, as a programmer. He was laid off after the corporation he was contracted out to was bought out by some other company. He had no other skills, and was starved for money, so he joined the military.
And somehow, someway he had been brought into Unit 507 as the chief programmer, and had risen to the second in command, after the former number two had been relieved because of a fragmentation grenade in the chest. Marcus also was born on Tarsonis, and didn't have much affection for the Confederates and their often times tasteless methods.
A few other militia soldiers stepped over and joined them, lighting up smokes, and just shooting the breeze. Logan was surprised that even the Resocialized soldiers hated the Confederates too, despite the mind-altering enhancement. Seems some hatreds can't be stomped out that easily…
It was a shame there wasn't any beer around, but unfortunately there wasn't much time to drink it or relax. In the military, there's always something going on, hence the mood of friendship and comfort was shattered by the screech of the alarm over the numerous speaks around the camp.
"Ah shit," Marcus spit out his cigarette, and yanked up his gun. "Those bastards are back again. Come on rook, to the front gate!" And off he ran. Logan however, had gotten caught up in the sudden motion, as other marines were rushing to the aforementioned gate.
But though he had been moving about in the combat suit for a while, he hadn't quite gotten the hang of running. It looked rather peculiar, as he was almost shambling along, trying to get the mechanical legs to respond in time with the adrenaline. He got it halfway right, managing a loping gait, advancing to the sounds of gunfire, yelling, and shrieking.
They had come back again all right, those weird aliens, rushing headlong towards the defensive line, tearing up the ground and howling in a high-pitched wail as they ran. The storm of bullets struck the first wave, but this wasn't like out in the wastelands, where it was only seven or eight. This was more like several dozen at least. Not only that, but there was something else with them. Enormous creatures, clearly standing out in the crowd, having the same insect look as the four-legged variety, but this was far more terrifying to look at.
They were huge, easily ten feet tall, having the lower body like that of a giant worm. It had no visible legs; it only had what looked to be a long and muscular tail, covered in viscous slime, tapering off with notched grooves. It moved like a snake, slithering across the ground, but at a rate of speed that could chill the blood.
Its torso was wide, reared up off the ground like a poised cobra, with two insect appendages; and at the end of these "arms" were two huge scythes, three curved feet of razor-sharp bone, dangling down in front. Its head was horrible. A huge gaping maw full of horrendous jagged teeth, two yellow eyes, slit and running back along the head, and a wide plate of bone behind its neck, almost like a wide cover. It was something that only could belong in a nightmare.
These…monstrous things, half a dozen of them, were hissing in a deep airy growl, mouths open wide, heads craned forward, as if straining for a bite. They didn't rush in as the smaller creatures did, they hung back. Then to everyone's amazement and horror, with a crackling of bone and dripping of pus, the carapace covering their wide chests began to open, viscous goo oozing to the dirt. With a grinding hiss, the creature's body tensed, and in a violent spasm, accompanied by a bizarre whooshing sound, it launched a volley of spines that rocketed towards the defense line. A chorus of agonized screams drew everyone's eyes.
An undersized group of marines had been directly in the path of the salvo. The four of them were standing there, hollering and moaning, as dozens of long thin shards of bone were protruding out of their chests, arms and legs. Several points were poking out of their backs. They had been skewered mercilessly, blood pouring from their fatal wounds, giving off their dying cries.
At once, the smaller fiercer attackers converged towards them, and with no emotional save savage delight, they dragged the dying men down, and began to tear them apart, chunks of armor, bone, and flesh flew from the shrieking mass of hideous aliens. No sooner had they finished, they swung around, and charge the perimeter again.
"Holy shit," one soldier yelled over the din, "They're firin' back!" Marines left and right began to dive into the dirt, to get low and out of the line of fire as more spikes went whizzing overhead.
Things looked grim as Logan arrived. The line was starting to crumble: a good portion of the defending marines had fallen, and these insect invaders were getting inside the camp. Logan was breathing hard, as he looked around him. The explosions, the fire, the blood, the screams of suffering; he started to feel his body go numb again; the same paralysis was beginning to creep back into his body. His vision began to blur, and he couldn't see anything. As if his body was preparing him for death…
This is it; he said to himself, his mind racing in a sickening haze, I'm done. There's no way I'm getting out of this alive…I'm going to die here…He saw…his home, his friends, Matt and others, his girlfriend, his life…gone…
You gonna let them kill ya? Invading upon his thoughts, snapping him back from his anguish, was a voice from earlier. Well, if ya don't want ta end up dead, then yer gonna have to kick the shit out of anythin' that tries to kill ya. It's that simple.
Get angry, another voice told him; think of all the things that have happened to you, and let that help you.
Logan breathed, and began to think…His life and everything in it…It was happy, but right behind it…hovering just out of the light was the dire shadow of the Confederate rule that he hadn't even been aware of. Even in his day to day life, he had never noticed it. But it was there all the same, the same manipulation, the same lies, the same smug faces as they sentenced him to be locked away…
All at once, he started to see red, thinking about those Confederate bastards, how they had screwed his life up, lied to and manipulated everyone in the sector, how their had killed innocent people indiscriminately just to achieve their goals; it was sickening. Logan wanted revenge, but if he was to be killed here…
I can't go down here, he ordered himself, tearing himself back from the edge of self-despair, I can't die until they pay for what they've done. To me and everyone else. I can't be afraid here. I don't have the time for it.
Finally, his eyes came back, and he started to see again. Logan began to pivot his gaze, from left to right. The smaller creatures were getting inside, going after the workers. The larger aliens at the entrance were keeping the security tied up. Through the smoke, Logan could see the men of his Unit standing alone, firing until their guns ran dry. From the corner of his eye he saw motion, and one of the little fierce aliens was coming in to attack. He shifted slowly, turning to face it with his fixed glare.
Kill me, will you? he snarled at it inside, Bring it on you nasty little fucker!
"NO!" he roared aloud across the battlefield, feeling animation and rage surge through his whole being. Suddenly, he rushed head to head with the approaching enemy, charging the charger, pulling the trigger when the two closed. With an eruption of fire from his rifle, the first one began to shatter, the near point blank impact causing its body to fall apart. But he kept going, as two more were right behind it.
Without even thinking, he began to tightly strafe the area directly in front of him, showering the narrow area with bullets. Such a calm and valid tactic was something that should have been beyond a rookie like him. Nonetheless, the effect was still there, the close range taking its toll on the aliens, getting impaled countless times, falling to the dirt bleeding. Logan dashed onward, slapping a new clip into his gun, leaping over their corpses, stepping in their rapidly congealing blood.
His goal was the command center, where inexperienced militia soldiers were trying to hold their position. If their central command fell, it was all over. Logan didn't care about that, the only thing on his mind, in its focused crimson vapor was to kill those goddamn aliens. There were two of the bigger things blasting the command center with spikes, occasionally slithering forward to gut a helpless worker with their giant scythes.
Logan didn't slow down as he approached the first; he didn't even realize what he was doing. The thing was four feet taller than he was, and must have weighted a good two hundred pounds more, and yet he leapt through the air, and tackled the thing on its blind side, while it was having a field day with the SCV's.
He must have caught it off guard, and it fell forward on its face, squirming like a hapless cockroach under his own weight. It might have been strong enough to throw him off, but it was never given the chance; Logan jammed the barrel of his rifle into what he could judge as its spine and/or back of its head, and with a shout of, "Die motherfucker!", deposited some lead in there. The front of its head blew off, leaving a massive twitching corpse behind.
As the other one turned to face him, Logan unconsciously pumped the bottom housing to his gun, and pulled the trigger. He didn't even know if his grenade launcher was loaded or even functioning, but he was too focused to think on it or even care. He just pumped and fired.
Turns out though, it was loaded, and the grenade shell blasted right into the chest of the alien, blowing pieces of it every which way and knocking it back. It also seemed to have damaged its spine-firing ability, as when it regained its stance, it came in quickly, scythes raised, unaware or uncaring that it was injured. Logan lifted the muzzle of the gun up, and began to blast a cluster of bullets into its face. It fell soon after.
The tide of battle was shifting again; the marine corps was retaking control, the smaller creatures in the base had been beaten, and now a few clusters of militia soldiers were milling about, hastily glancing to and fro, searching for new enemies. What they should have done was once seeing the interior of the base was secure, they should move to stabilize the outer fortifications.
Logan didn't even acknowledge their fear or lack of direction; nor did he have time to direct them. He turned and went stampeding towards the front line, bellowing like a banshee, firing as he ran. Some others fell in behind him, seeing his unconcerned and stalwart charge to battle, and this diminutive force collided with the remaining aliens, and the war-torn defenders.
Logan almost mindlessly flew past his comrades, rushing right into the fray. He could hear them calling, but he paid them no heed. He could only hear the rushing of his own blood and his voice, as it babbled out obscenities like raindrop, as incoherent as a demon-possessed victim.
His gun was like a bolt of lightning, striking with fury at anything that dared cross his path, shredding one small creature and then another and another, puncturing them full of holes as he pressed onward. Despite their numbers having dwindled dramatically, the invaders still did not flee. Rather, they converged together into a single unit, and gave one final charge. It wouldn't have fared well for Logan, who was almost solely out front, but luckily, another garrison, including his colleagues rushed out to create a sturdy unyielding line with him.
The two remaining big bugs led the attack, but the firepower was too concentrated, the first being blasted by the relentless barrage of bullets, pieces of its body getting torn off. The other got off one single shot, clipping another marine in the arm, before three separate grenades blasted it into nothingness. The smaller ones charged, but were annihilated before they got too close. As the last sounds of gunfire and explosions faded, all was quiet save the still squawking alarm. The air was laden with smoke and heavy with the scent of gunpowder, blood, and charred flesh.
Logan stood there, panting for air, eyes bulging, fingers like steel rings wrapped around the handle of his gun, the reinforced stock buckling under the pressure. His vision was hazy again, and his whole body felt heavy, tingling with a burning heat and an unrelenting chill simultaneously. Around him in the aftermath of the battle, the wounded living were limping towards the nearest infirmary station, the uninjured checking for survivors and already getting repairs underway.
Logan couldn't have cared less, being in a spaced out blur. And it wasn't until he heard the nearby crunching of gravel that he started to come around. He looked over his shoulder, as best as he could anyhow, and saw Marcus and the others, each one giving him a rather funny look. Finally, someone whistled.
"Holy fuckin' shit newb," said a near gaping Colt, looking the bloodstained Logan up and down, "Where the fuck did that come from? You were shakin' in your boots earlier, and now…Christ, you were like a fuckin' man possessed!"
"Fuckin' A!" Gunner half-agreed, half-congratulated, "It's been a long time since I've seen a man go apeshit like that! Hah ha, hell that takes me back. You got some serious balls rook. You looked like the devil himself out there. That ought ta send those alien fuckers through one big ass loop huh?"
"Thanks…I guess…" Logan didn't sound too impressed with himself. The truth is, he was still asking himself if that wild, near barbarous frenzy had actually been him. He knew he could be a mean son of a bitch, but to be that fucked-up…He never knew he had it in him.
"Hey, you alright?" Quentin asked, "You look kinda pale…"
"Alright, alright, back up everyone, give the guy some breathin' room," Marcus took his shoulder, giving him a nudge. "You okay Stone?" Logan nodded, slowly coming back to his usual self. The aftermath of this battle, he was feeling quite a bit better than the last time. Since this time he was practically a hero. A few other survivors were gathered around them, waiting to congratulate his furious counterattack.
"Yeah," he answered more resolutely, "I'm good. Just…lost my handle for a minute there."
"Well boy," Daemon told him with a wild grin, "I think you need ta loose yer handle more often. You keep that up; we'll have ta name you Blood & Guts. Shit, makin' us veterans look bad."
"I hope y'all were watching," Marcus addressed the crowd behind him, "Next time those bastards come back, I'd better see each one of ya fightin' just like Stone here, else I'll shove my huge metal foot up yer asses. Now quit gawkin', and get back to fixin' this place. Those things ain't gonna wait around for us to get back into tip-top shape. Move!" The gathering dispersed, and went back to repairs. Logan took some time to breathe, before heading back to the defense line, to aid in its reconstruction.
They had barely gotten underway, when a whole company of soldiers came rushing out of the entrance, geared up and ready to fight. With a roar of an engine, Raynor pulled up next to the six of them, once more straddling his bike.
"Alright," Jim said aloud, "I've had enough of this shit. Time to take the fight to their side. Come on boys, we're goin' to Backwater, and we're gonna bring a big ass piece of hell with us." The men of Unit 507 glanced at one another, shrugged, and hopped into the back of a nearby jeep, calling a few more straggling marines to follow.
"Now that's what I'm talkin' 'bout!" Daemon whooped, "Let's do it, I'm jacked up and good to go! An' with crazy Stone here, we'll kick their ugly asses back to whatever hole they creeped out of!"
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It was a pretty fast trip. They marched across the wastelands, approaching the plateau that Backwater was stationed on. Jim had made simple reasoning, that the attack on their base was substantial, more than anything they had ever attempted in the past. In order to launch an offensive of that size, their primary base would have to have been emptied of all its forces, leaving it vulnerable. Meaning, it was now or never.
They found a dirt trail leading up, a narrow path that would bring them straight into Backwater. Everyone was on high alert, knowing that if they had been attacked that hard, then Backwater might very well not be there anymore. They certainly hoped not. When they reached the top of the trail, they quite literally stepped on a nasty surprise.
One of the lead marines yelled out, and Raynor and Marcus came up. The whole area in front of them had something across the ground, like a huge carpet. It was a light violet, with a soft squishiness feel to it, like a sponge, making nasty squelching sounds. If you stayed still, you could feel it quivering, almost pulsating. It was even making gross sounds, barely audible, like the sounds from inside of a living thing.
"What is that," Raynor asked as he examined it, staring closely, "Looks like the ground here is alive…" Marcus prodded the ground under his own feet.
"I ain't never seen nothin' like this, I can tell ya that…It's like livin' tissues growin' outta the ground."
"Eww," Quentin held his nose, "Well, I'll willin' to bet a shiny new nickel that this belongs to those asswipe critters. Smells just as bad as them."
They were about to move on, with even more caution, when Raynor stopped them.
"One piece of advice," Raynor told them as he was climbing on his hog, "These critters like to rush ya quick, so don't be shy about converging your firepower. You need to drop 'em fast and hard. Don't worry about ammunition. We got several supply trucks that'll be followin' us. Shoot like there's no tomorrow boys."
Further on, behind a large outcropping of rock, there were some aliens, the miniature variety, a little band of them. They were milling about a structure that seemed to be one of their own. With no hesitation, the marine force advanced, quickly getting noticed and sparking an attack, but the alien bugs soon fell. That left them to examine the building in closer detail. It looked to be made from flesh itself, much like the carpet thing earlier.
It was pulsating, and when one of the men took a shot at it, it started to bleed. Not only that, but the purple ground seemed to be coming from the structure in question. With the help of Gunner's flame-thrower and a several precise rounds of bullets, the building exploded in a shower of bloody flesh. As suspected, with it gone the living ground beneath their feet began to decay also, and started to shrivel away.
As it crumbled to the ground, they caught sight of Backwater. It was barren, empty, and void of activity, but it was still standing. On the outskirts of the camp was a bunker, charred and dented, covered with splashes of dried blood like a slipshod paint job.
"Hey in there," Raynor shouted out, "Anybody home?" His voice faded away on the air, and for a moment it looked like there wasn't anyone home. But with a grinding of the iron plated door, several figures came shambling out. Two marines, a firebat, and an SCV. They all looked pretty tired and glad to be out of that stinking crawlspace.
"Thanks for the rescue," the crew member in the SCV unit thanked, crawling out of his enhanced mechanical suit, "We've been holed up in these bunkers for days, hiding from the Zerg."
"What the hell did you say?" Marcus asked, "What the fuck are Zerg?"
"Those," the somewhat shaken civilian pointed to a partially rotting dead carcasses of one of the little bug aliens, lying close to them, "are Zerg." There was a brief exchange of glances among the new arrivals. Gunner leaned forward.
"Where'd ya come up with that name?"
"Well…uh, it was in a transmission our station intercepted…A Confederate transmission."
"So what?" Raynor pressed, "You're telling me that the Confederates knew about these things the whole damn time?"
"Seems that way…"
"Isn't that typical," this news now flaring Logan's own inner hatreds towards the pack of lying bastards, "Keeping crap like this to themselves, not warning everyone about this threat, leaving the innocent people to get slaughtered. Those sons of bitches…"
"Yeah, but it ain't new news, they've been pullin' crap like this for years. Anyway, it don't matter. Right now, they aren't the ones to be worryin' about. First things first, we gotta secure this area by wiping these Zerg off the planet."
"Good luck with that," the SCV pilot told them, stretching his sore muscles, "I haven't seen how many there are, but with the numbers they hit with us with, there's sure to be number of the things. And we're not sure exactly where the Zerg are comin' from, but we think they're slinkin' out of that shallow ravine to the east. Probably the best place to start."
"Alright. You three," Raynor pointed to the military soldiers, "You're with us. Are there any more troops around here to back us up?" The firebat was grabbing a much-craved cigarette from Colt, but he tossed a haphazard thumb over his shoulder.
"There's probably some guys over on the eastern perimeter, if they're still alive. The barracks was located over there too; case you need any more firepower. I'd say we'll need everything we can get."
"Damn right," Gunner concurred. After giving the station a thorough sweep to rout out any hidden baddies, they rejoined at the eastern defense line, which was still standing, where seven more marines and four more firebats were able-bodied to head into combat, plus three more marines were suiting up.
With the enhanced force, Raynor and the rest headed east, following the twisting path south. There they crossed paths with even more Zerg, the small variety, again guarding another of the flesh-made buildings, which in turn was generating the pulsating living floor. A stout line of suppression fire wiped them out, and blew the building to pieces. Moving on, they found another rather untrodden path leading straight into the minute canyon. As they made there way down, more Zerg came to greet them, the smaller fierce ones, and several of the bigger spine shooters.
Not to be taken by surprised, the firebats moved off to one side, to lure in the close range attackers and fry them with their flame-throwers, while the marines engaged the long range Zerg at a healthy distance, Raynor's bike mounted grenade launcher wreaking havoc on their numbers.
Scouring the depths of the crevasse yielded only a few pockets of Zerg, easily dealt with their superior numbers. The only visible route out was up the adjacent wall, on another almost hidden path. They didn't ascend, as their sensors were detecting massive lifesigns up above. That and a familiar smell was wafting under their noses.
"I doubt that they don't care none that we've gotten this far," Raynor surmised, "I'd be willin' to bet there's an ambush up there waiting for us."
"Damn them if they do," Daemon shouted, before turning his head towards the higher cliffs and bellowed, "Bring 'em on I say! Come on out you ugly sons of bitches, ol' Blood & Guts is waitin' ta shred your asses!"
"Will you shut yer hole, you fucked up psycho," Marcus hissed, "The Marshal's probably right an' they're just hopin' we'll come in guns ablazin' with no sense. We ain't just chargin' up there 'cause I don't feel like obligin' these things."
"So what do you think?" Raynor asked, glancing Marcus's way. He was currently brooding on the course of action.
"They might got it in their head to ambush us," Logan said suddenly, staring up the stone walls, smelling the stench of the Zerg in the air. He looked around at everyone, his face asking a question. "Right?" Everyone glanced about, and nodded in agreement. "So…why not ambush them instead?"
"Hmm," Marcus thought, "Not a bad plan rook. Al'ight, here's what we're gonna do. First, I need a couple of crazy idiots." Gunner and Daemon raised their hands instantly, almost if they had an instinctive response to such a request.
"Yeah, I figured you two would step forward. Well, you two are gonna go rushin' up the hill, shootin' and yellin' yer crazy-ass heads off. If they take the bait an' come after ya, you turn, and haul ass back down the mountain. Meanwhile, we'll have our flame-throwers on either side of the narrow base of the path, and a whole line of marines dead in front of 'em. Marshal, yer bike's grenade launcher deals some big ass hurt to 'em, so you'll be in tha thick of things. I'm hopin' a mess of 'em will come runnin' after Gunner and Daemon, right into our trap. Let's hope these suckers ain't too smart."
The two soldiers clomped up the hill, about halfway making a god-awful racket, yelling out dirty words and firing a few random shots. Like an instant tidal wave, Zerg appeared at the lip of the overhead canyon, and came pouring down the side, hissing and screeching, and making an uproar of their own. The two came tearing back down, a few steps ahead of the rush, and everyone started to fire. With easily three dozen marines and unit of firebats, there wasn't much chance for the Zerg, getting fried and blasted into little tiny pieces in the ambush. Wasting no words, all the men went crashing back up the hill, once again screaming and exploded onto the battlefield. The Zerg's number had been diminished, but several remained, with more flesh-buildings.
In an adamant wave of their own, the marine force drove them back, only one man getting killed by flying spikes, and three others got lightly maimed by close range claws. Other than that, amidst the din there were numerous angry yells, along the lines of "Eat this, you ugly Zerg bastards!" and "I'm gonna shit on your corpse," among many others. But soon, the Zerg were all destroyed and quick work was made of the buildings and their creepy purple rug.
As the last of the unsettling alien buildings were piles of blooded flesh, Marcus ordered all men to sweep the plateau and see if anything was left. No Zerg were around, but there was one final upsetting and unnerving discovery. Further back from the Zerg's position was a Terran Command Center, covered with brush, almost buried in vines. But even worse, was it was also covered with pulsating veins across the reinforced walls, slipping inside the hardened structure, with a beating mass on top, almost like a enormous heart. It even sounded if the building itself was breathing.
"Holy shit," Marcus gaped, "What the hell did they do to this command center?" Raynor stepped off his bike, and approached. He studied some of the veins and ran his gloved hand across the walls, coming away with a film-like mucus. He wiped it off.
"Whatever it is, it ain't natural," he turned back to the troops, and tossed his head, "Burn it boys." With a satisfied yell, the firebats rushed in, and put the building to the torch, whilst the marines encircled it, blasting grenade shells through the hardened steel armor.
In the midst of this razing, no one noticed that several shadows were descending on the area, and the roar of starship engines was drowned out by the firing. As the former headquarters exploded, sending shrapnel and shards of metal flying, all seemed well. The rescue forces from Backwater knew they had done their job. At least until their in-suit communicators began to beep, and they finally noticed there were quite a number of white-suited marine troops all around them. Everyone opened com-links, and got a direct message, no doubt originating from the gargantuan battleship hovering in the sky.
The heavy gruff voice of General Duke sounded in everyone's ears, not sounding too pleased.
"Marshal Raynor, by destroying a vital Confederate installation, you and your men have violated standard colonial law. As of right now you're all under arrest. I suggest you throw down your weapons and come peaceably."
Upon closer inspection, the white-suited reinforcements were not cheering and spilling congratulations. Rather, they looked grim and unfriendly, their weapons pointed to the ragtag group of soldiers.
"Arrested," Colt shouted, looking around, "We just toasted who knows how many Zerg, an' we're bein' arrested? What kinda shit is that?" Raynor too didn't look delighted himself, grabbing a radio mounted to his bike.
"Are you out of your mind?" he yelled back to Duke, "If we hadn't burned that damn factory, then this entire colony might have been overrun! Maybe if you hadn't taken your sweet time in getting here…" He got no further, when Duke rudely interrupted.
"Now I asked you nice the first time boy. I didn't come here to talk with you…Now throw down them weapons."
The surrounding unit, undoubtedly the infamous Blood Hawks were slowly closing in, some of whom were cocking their weapons, expecting these men to retaliate. The Mar Sara force knew they couldn't win; they were outgunned in every conceivable category, not to mention that it was about five hundred to one odds.
With no choice, Raynor looked over at Marcus, and gave a lowering gesture.
Marcus nodded, and with a grumbling sigh, he ordered to his men, "Put 'em down. No sense in gettin' killed here." There was a moment of quiet, but everyone knew that it was no use arguing. Everyone dropped their guns, and raised their hands over their heads.
Raynor glanced up at the Battlecruiser overhead, and with a grunt, before putting his own hands up, said into the radio, "Guess you wouldn't be a Confederate if you weren't a complete pain in the ass."