The end of the United Earth Directory has come and gone, the time of the
Terrans has ticked by, and a new generation has emerged...
Location: A civilian airfield near Ft Acabus Mere
Planet: Dionide
Time: 12 May 2067, 0820 hrs.
In the cool, post-dusk air of the frozen, barren planet of Dionide, Staff Sergeant Kyle Malliard, son of the renowned biologist Edward Malliard, sat in wait in his powered armor suit. Lying prone in the snow-dusted crop fields, his shifted slightly, redistributing his weight quietly, he lifted his Kashkinov C-10b Canister rifle to his side, pressing the stock of the weapon against his shoulder. Exhaling slightly, a gently rising fog of heated breath rising into the air, a series of shots rung out, followed by a quick, muffled explosion. Caught off guard, Malliard glanced over to an airfield hanger, seeing a shaft of flames and fire rise from its gutted windows. A quick and speedy hovercar burst through the flames, a rear- mounted machine rifle spurting quick, steady bursts of fire into the flames. Turning cautiously toward the skirmish, he settled his rifle back in his shoulder. He gasped quietly as his nerves jumped slightly. A pair of two combustion-powered jeeps burst through the flames, in hot pursuit of the hovercar. He made out a series of green, white, and blue insignias on the hood, and both doors of the hovercar, indicating he was targeting a Protectorate vehicle. He quickly turned his attention to the other vehicles, and took aim cautiously, his gun arm leading the flag position car as his grip tightened on the trigger. A plume of white smoke shot out from the barrel of is rifle, and falling in a curved arc, a C-10 concussion HE round impacted against the side of the lead vehicle, sending it onto two wheels before i detonated. The explosion gutted the inside of the jeep, shards of glass spraying out in 100 meters in every direction. The vehicle, now in the hands of Sir Isaac Newton and his laws of physics, careened toward a fueling post, slowing sliding to a stop. Withdrawing a side-arm pistol from his suit leg, he jetted quickly over toward the sliding vehicle, continuous blasts of pistol fire impacting on the windshield of the second jeep. Malliard smiled in satisfaction as the windshield was blown out; its blood stained surface crashing to the ground. He saw the still accelerating jeep swerve toward the overturned lead car. Their collision drove them into the nearby fuel post, and Malliard pulled a 360 and leapt away as the flames licked at the sky, dark black clouds of smoke and ash smearing the gray early morning sky. With a smile on his face, and not a scratch on his armor, he marched along in solo to the dispatch base 50 miles away from the airfield he had just terrorized.
Half way to the base, an abrupt and surly voice broke the silence of his comm unit.
"Sergeant Malliard, please signal your presence with three long tones on the comm." The unidentified voice commanded. Malliard glanced down at the comm unit with curious eyes, inspecting the frequency tuner, which was set to the private command frequency.
"Under who's authority? How did you get this command frequency? Show yourself on my radar!" Even with his booming, threatening voice echoing in the cockpit, he felt a pang of fear, and even respect in this man's voice. It showed a hint of self-control and discipline only shown by only a handful battle-hardened commanders.
The voice on the other line chuckled in mock amusement, and an audible click emanated from the speaker. "Well I suppose, since you have so blatantly exposed yourself to the people tailing you, I'll have to dispatch some assistance." He chuckled again, although not in nearly as much in sarcasm as the first.
Malliard's ears perk up when he hear the distant whine of helicopter engines, and saw three Wraith-hybrid fixed wing helicopters approach from nearly 30 miles east of the base. He released a sigh of relief as he saw the assortment of Protectorate insignias on their fuselages, and slowed to a stop in his armor suit. He knelt down as the flagship helicopter, with the words "Hellion" emblazoned in solid blue letters, begin its descent to the ground. Malliard had just opened the combat visor when a single burst of blue energy shot through the underbrush nearby, and punctured the hull of the Hellion. The pilot struggled to ease the now burning mass of steel and titanium to the ground, hearing the agonizing screams for assistance by unsuited soldiers within the cargo bay of the chopper. The pilot brought the collapsing helicopter to the ground in an earth-shaking thud. The two other vanguard helos quickly stopped in mid-flight when the pilots saw a new, heavy line of fire of the blue energy bolts erupt from the trees. As the pilots turned to hightail it back to base, leaving Malliard stranded, a radioman from the Hellion hailed Malliard and called for his assistance.
"Corporal Lewis of the Airborne Marines, sir. High casualties, only myself and the copilot survived--" The terrified airman began giving him a full sitrep on the situation as if he hadn't seen it himself.
"Corporal, I may be your superior in the field, but I do not have the clearance for a debriefing. Follow me back to base and my commander will debrief you."
"Okay sergeant, but do you propose I walk? I don't have a suit, let alone rations!"
Malliard made a wave of his hands toward the fleeing assault helicopters, which were steadily being tracked by the movement of the blue energy bolts, which had yet to reveal themselves from the underbrush. "Its either walk, or stay here for them." He shrugged nonchalantly and continued his march toward the base.
The radioman visibly shuddered at the thought, and began to fall in step with Malliard, when a rustle of the bushes attracted Malliard's attention. The brush erupted outward as a bright blue orb engulfed the tree, and a single Protoss zealot exposed himself. Instead of the traditional yellow armor casings, he bore strengthened, charcoal black armor plating over his body. His Psi blades were extended, and he charged head-on at the corporal. Over the comm unit, he heard the abrupt screams of Lewis as the zealot overwhelmed him. Looking down towards the ground, he saw the hacked and sliced form of Lewis, laying in a bloody pile. Looking around quickly, he saw that the zealot had fled, and knelt down beside the mangled corpse of Corporal Lewis. He opened an emergency channel to the base dispensary, calling for a medivac to pick up the remains, pausing on the word, of Corporal Lewis, and began his trek back towards the base.
After completing another half of the distance to the base, making it almost visible to the eye, a great thundering shook the ground, confusing his gyros as he was brought to the ground. The tree line parted and a mass of 10 or 11 zealots and 3 or 4 dragoons came pouring out in an offensive circle around his fallen suit. He attempted a SOS call by Morse code to the base, knowing the Protoss never understood Morse, but was cut off halfway through by an energy blast by one of the zealots.
Malliard had never been in combat with Protoss, and had never made the connection that the Protoss had assaulted the helicopter group. Seeing that one energy bolt, in addition to a few battered Protoss bodies, his mind had finally made the connection that the Protoss was out for blood. His mind was racing, his head thudding against his ribs. Why were they after a lowly foot soldier like him? He cringed in fear quietly as the circle slowly, almost ceremoniously, tightened around him like a hangman's noose. He stood on his legs, turning about him, thinking; statistically he had no chance of survival. A distanced rifle and a half-drained pistol against several explosive plasma weapons and Psionic blade arrays is not a very even fight. Kneeling down on the ground, he places his weapons in the deepening snow, and glanced feverishly at the nearby encampment. He sighed and raised his hands in the air, surrendering to the Protoss patrol. As he closed his eyes, waiting to be carried off, he saw a zealot approach him from behind, and struck him in the back of the head, the world suddenly spinning into a drain of black, white, and grey.
Location: A civilian airfield near Ft Acabus Mere
Planet: Dionide
Time: 12 May 2067, 0820 hrs.
In the cool, post-dusk air of the frozen, barren planet of Dionide, Staff Sergeant Kyle Malliard, son of the renowned biologist Edward Malliard, sat in wait in his powered armor suit. Lying prone in the snow-dusted crop fields, his shifted slightly, redistributing his weight quietly, he lifted his Kashkinov C-10b Canister rifle to his side, pressing the stock of the weapon against his shoulder. Exhaling slightly, a gently rising fog of heated breath rising into the air, a series of shots rung out, followed by a quick, muffled explosion. Caught off guard, Malliard glanced over to an airfield hanger, seeing a shaft of flames and fire rise from its gutted windows. A quick and speedy hovercar burst through the flames, a rear- mounted machine rifle spurting quick, steady bursts of fire into the flames. Turning cautiously toward the skirmish, he settled his rifle back in his shoulder. He gasped quietly as his nerves jumped slightly. A pair of two combustion-powered jeeps burst through the flames, in hot pursuit of the hovercar. He made out a series of green, white, and blue insignias on the hood, and both doors of the hovercar, indicating he was targeting a Protectorate vehicle. He quickly turned his attention to the other vehicles, and took aim cautiously, his gun arm leading the flag position car as his grip tightened on the trigger. A plume of white smoke shot out from the barrel of is rifle, and falling in a curved arc, a C-10 concussion HE round impacted against the side of the lead vehicle, sending it onto two wheels before i detonated. The explosion gutted the inside of the jeep, shards of glass spraying out in 100 meters in every direction. The vehicle, now in the hands of Sir Isaac Newton and his laws of physics, careened toward a fueling post, slowing sliding to a stop. Withdrawing a side-arm pistol from his suit leg, he jetted quickly over toward the sliding vehicle, continuous blasts of pistol fire impacting on the windshield of the second jeep. Malliard smiled in satisfaction as the windshield was blown out; its blood stained surface crashing to the ground. He saw the still accelerating jeep swerve toward the overturned lead car. Their collision drove them into the nearby fuel post, and Malliard pulled a 360 and leapt away as the flames licked at the sky, dark black clouds of smoke and ash smearing the gray early morning sky. With a smile on his face, and not a scratch on his armor, he marched along in solo to the dispatch base 50 miles away from the airfield he had just terrorized.
Half way to the base, an abrupt and surly voice broke the silence of his comm unit.
"Sergeant Malliard, please signal your presence with three long tones on the comm." The unidentified voice commanded. Malliard glanced down at the comm unit with curious eyes, inspecting the frequency tuner, which was set to the private command frequency.
"Under who's authority? How did you get this command frequency? Show yourself on my radar!" Even with his booming, threatening voice echoing in the cockpit, he felt a pang of fear, and even respect in this man's voice. It showed a hint of self-control and discipline only shown by only a handful battle-hardened commanders.
The voice on the other line chuckled in mock amusement, and an audible click emanated from the speaker. "Well I suppose, since you have so blatantly exposed yourself to the people tailing you, I'll have to dispatch some assistance." He chuckled again, although not in nearly as much in sarcasm as the first.
Malliard's ears perk up when he hear the distant whine of helicopter engines, and saw three Wraith-hybrid fixed wing helicopters approach from nearly 30 miles east of the base. He released a sigh of relief as he saw the assortment of Protectorate insignias on their fuselages, and slowed to a stop in his armor suit. He knelt down as the flagship helicopter, with the words "Hellion" emblazoned in solid blue letters, begin its descent to the ground. Malliard had just opened the combat visor when a single burst of blue energy shot through the underbrush nearby, and punctured the hull of the Hellion. The pilot struggled to ease the now burning mass of steel and titanium to the ground, hearing the agonizing screams for assistance by unsuited soldiers within the cargo bay of the chopper. The pilot brought the collapsing helicopter to the ground in an earth-shaking thud. The two other vanguard helos quickly stopped in mid-flight when the pilots saw a new, heavy line of fire of the blue energy bolts erupt from the trees. As the pilots turned to hightail it back to base, leaving Malliard stranded, a radioman from the Hellion hailed Malliard and called for his assistance.
"Corporal Lewis of the Airborne Marines, sir. High casualties, only myself and the copilot survived--" The terrified airman began giving him a full sitrep on the situation as if he hadn't seen it himself.
"Corporal, I may be your superior in the field, but I do not have the clearance for a debriefing. Follow me back to base and my commander will debrief you."
"Okay sergeant, but do you propose I walk? I don't have a suit, let alone rations!"
Malliard made a wave of his hands toward the fleeing assault helicopters, which were steadily being tracked by the movement of the blue energy bolts, which had yet to reveal themselves from the underbrush. "Its either walk, or stay here for them." He shrugged nonchalantly and continued his march toward the base.
The radioman visibly shuddered at the thought, and began to fall in step with Malliard, when a rustle of the bushes attracted Malliard's attention. The brush erupted outward as a bright blue orb engulfed the tree, and a single Protoss zealot exposed himself. Instead of the traditional yellow armor casings, he bore strengthened, charcoal black armor plating over his body. His Psi blades were extended, and he charged head-on at the corporal. Over the comm unit, he heard the abrupt screams of Lewis as the zealot overwhelmed him. Looking down towards the ground, he saw the hacked and sliced form of Lewis, laying in a bloody pile. Looking around quickly, he saw that the zealot had fled, and knelt down beside the mangled corpse of Corporal Lewis. He opened an emergency channel to the base dispensary, calling for a medivac to pick up the remains, pausing on the word, of Corporal Lewis, and began his trek back towards the base.
After completing another half of the distance to the base, making it almost visible to the eye, a great thundering shook the ground, confusing his gyros as he was brought to the ground. The tree line parted and a mass of 10 or 11 zealots and 3 or 4 dragoons came pouring out in an offensive circle around his fallen suit. He attempted a SOS call by Morse code to the base, knowing the Protoss never understood Morse, but was cut off halfway through by an energy blast by one of the zealots.
Malliard had never been in combat with Protoss, and had never made the connection that the Protoss had assaulted the helicopter group. Seeing that one energy bolt, in addition to a few battered Protoss bodies, his mind had finally made the connection that the Protoss was out for blood. His mind was racing, his head thudding against his ribs. Why were they after a lowly foot soldier like him? He cringed in fear quietly as the circle slowly, almost ceremoniously, tightened around him like a hangman's noose. He stood on his legs, turning about him, thinking; statistically he had no chance of survival. A distanced rifle and a half-drained pistol against several explosive plasma weapons and Psionic blade arrays is not a very even fight. Kneeling down on the ground, he places his weapons in the deepening snow, and glanced feverishly at the nearby encampment. He sighed and raised his hands in the air, surrendering to the Protoss patrol. As he closed his eyes, waiting to be carried off, he saw a zealot approach him from behind, and struck him in the back of the head, the world suddenly spinning into a drain of black, white, and grey.