Captain James Hargrove gazed into the vastness of space, watching everything and nothing all at once. He turned to glance at orbital platform K-04, one of the final defensive strongholds of Korhal. Hargrove felt a chill slink down his spine; he was overcome with the same quiet fear every other citizen of the Dominion capital world was. A fear of inevitability, of impending doom. He feared the Queen of Blades.

Hargrove reversed his Wraith and slowly jetted towards quadrant four. Scout patrol was once the best of jobs; all one really required was the patience to withstand half a day of slow uneventful flight. Patrol duty was now something entirely different. It was now a dreaded sixteen-hour prayer for survival with the angel of death always at your back. If - no, not if - when Kerrigan finally attacked, the current shift's scouting patrol would be the first line of defense. They had no hope of survival and were considered simple fodder --- a mere distraction while defenses were fortified and prepared. The Captain had felt lonely before, but never completely alone.

He had only forgotten his troubled for an instant when he was jolted from his reverie by a voice he once wished never to hear again. The collective hearts of millions of men, from Generals to custodial workers to Hargrove himself, skipped three beats. Captain James Hargrove knew his time had come.

"Foreign warp field detected in quadrant two --- incoming Zerg."

A half-dressed, half-asleep, fully perturbed Commander Michael Wilke sprinted into the control room. "What do we have out there, Friedman?"

"I'm detecting ten to fifteen thousand Scourge, sir."

"Hmph. Kerrigan's throwing away her goddamned pocket change. Alright, I want Yamato strikes from the three nearest cruisers and Bravo Squadron in the air as fast as humanly possible. Patrol will provide cover. Prepare Alpha, Echo and the fleet for the second wave."

"Yes sir."

Just as Wilke turned to his monitor, the entire platform shuddered. The Revolution, Augustgrad and Banshee lurched onward toward quadrant two, slowly charging their primary cannons. The Commander patiently watched his screen, seeing the battlecruisers approach firing range as the pulsing red mass spread into a virtual living wall.

"Fire at will." On those words, the great ships deployed their giant lasers in perfect unison. Each blast sliced through the mass, scattering the ocean of Scourge into isolated clusters with relative ease. "Hmmm...Friedman, status," ordered the Commander in a quizzical tone.

"First wave is approximately sixty-four percent of initial strength. But, sir I'm not detecting any wounded biological tissue."

"I was thinking the same thing, Friedman. All vaporized. The entire fleet recently recharged all batteries. Too much heat. Where are my goddamned Valkyries?"

"En route now, Commander."

Hargrove had regrouped with the rest of the scouts in quadrant one. Though he technically led the patrol, it didn't make much difference. "Bravo Squadron leader, awaiting your command. Eagle patrol company, initiate cloaking field and prepare to engage." The Bravo Captain hadn't bothered to respond. Sixty-four Valkyrie frigates screamed directly overhead Hargrove's ship, and when the last of them passed the twenty-four Wraiths comprising the Eagle patrol company followed. The trip would be another thirty seconds, and the Captain knew these would be the longest thirty seconds of his life.

"Bravo has engaged the enemy, Commander. First wave is fifty one percent of initial strength."

The battle was going well even if they were dealing with a comparably low number of Scourge. When the first salvo of the entire Squadron had been released, Hargrove ordered intervention. The Wraiths bolted into the few gaps between Valkyries and fired several Gemini missile packs. But as Hargrove knew, twice as many Wraiths couldn't have successfully stalled a fraction of this many Scourge. Several hundred broke through and slammed into the broad smooth plating of the frigates, and for a brief instant all he could see was a giant green toxic cloud that so personified the Zerg Scourge.

In the evolutionary process Scourge had traded power for intelligence, and the first wave was momentarily stopped, confused by the chaos. Bravo Squadron anticipated this and had held their fire until now. The fifty-five remaining Valkyries unleashed another barrage of concussive rockets into the shrieking wall. A slight smirk spread across Hargrove's face, but he had to blink three times before realizing what he was seeing was not illusion. To his right, several Valkyries were engulfed in some sort of lightning with a bluish tint. The hulls of the ships shook violently before exploding, but the pilots had died of cardiac arrest several seconds earlier in the extreme pain. Hargrove hadn't seen any Overlords yet, but he knew they would soon come.

"What the fuck is going on up there, Friedman?" shrieked Wilke. "How did we lose twenty-three frigates in ten seconds?"

"I don't know sir, but I'm reading unbelievably high psionic activity."

"W-what did you just say?" stammered the flabbergasted Commander.

"Very high psionic activ - - - sir, first wave is at two hundred thirty-six percent of initial strength with no warp fields active!"

Wilke nearly stumbled to the floor, but regained his composure. "God forgive me. Patch me through to the fleet."

"Done, sir."

"Admirals, as soon as you reach adequate range I want all available tactical nuclear warheads deployed. Let nothing escape quadrant two alive. I don't expect a second wave, but stay on your toes. Gentlemen, we're about to lose a lot of good men up there. Throw everything you have at the bastards."

Eleven of the Admirals ended the transmission to begin the launch sequence, but one remained. "Mike. There's 'Toss up there, ain't there?"

"Yeah, Hawkins. I don't know what the hell they're doing with the Zerg, but see to it none of them escape alive."

"Mike, there are still a lot of guys up there. Maybe you should reconsider this --- "

Wilke cut him off. "Jeff, I don't need to hear this shit right now! Just do it! Friedman, give me a status report and patch me through to Jimmy."

"Zerg forces remain at two hundred thirty-six percent. Twenty-three Bravo Squadron ships are still functional, and all twenty-four Eagle patrol ships are accounted for. Opening transmission to James Hargrove."

"Jimmy, hold your position." Wilke's face fell into his hands. "I know you're surrounded, but reinforcements are en route now."

"Haha, Mike you always were a shitty liar. At least make sure all these fuckers burn. Hey…take good care of her."

Before Commander Michael Wilke could respond, Hargrove's transmission was abruptly cut. Missile after missile careened into the Zerg forces until all that was visible was an enormous sphere of blinding light. The bombing went on for what seemed like an eternity. Not a speck of matter, carapace or steel, could survive the wrath of forty-six nuclear warheads.

Wilke slowly trudged out of the control room when it was all over, hearing Friedman mutter something about zero percent survival. He hated when Friedman stated the obvious.

"What the hell have I just done?"