Chapter 5: The Art of Diplomacy
A patrol of Wraith Superiority fighters forayed the empty space between the Koprulu and the void of a vacuum, the black depth captivating the twinkling stars and lone planets of the universe. The pilots thrusted their blue tipped, t-shaped fighters into this dark depression, each of the four silent mechanical warriors flying perfectly in a box formation.
"Thunder-Captain, Thunder-Captain, this is Thunder-2. My HUD display shows a few anomalies heading towards us two klicks on your twelve. We'll get their transponder information in moment."
"Roger Thunder-2." The Captain of 76th Squadron, nicknamed the "Thunders," pulled his fighter gently to a moderate speed, flicking on a switch to arm his Gemini air-to-air missiles under the tips of his bird's wings, bent at a permanent ninety-degree angle. His HUD showed at least twelve objects heading rapidly towards him. Asteroids can't move that fast, the Captain thought.
"Thunders, arm your missiles, arm your missiles. We have twelve unidentified objects coming this way, proceed with caution and treat with hostility, I repeat-"
Thunder-1 was cut off as one of his wingmates suddenly exploded in a blossom of purple flames, fuel and incendiary ammunition bursting and collapsing into airless space, as another salvo of missiles hit, vanishing any remains of the starfighter.
"Thunder squadron, disengage, disengage and pull up," the Captain said, in a calm voice. He was feeling anything but calm, watching random body parts of his wingmate floating around in space. Shit. What the hell were those things that were coming out them? The ships, black and a dull gray, were similar to the Wraiths. The delta wings, forming the frame of the ship, made it look like sharp triangles coming at them. The distinctive t-shaped design of the Wraith was there too, but instead of a burst laser hanging down on the belly of the crafts, they were replaced by insidious missile launchers, each sporting a wicked point of a missile.
But it was what lurked behind the ships that shocked Thunder-Captain into transmitting his last message to the Umojan outpost hundreds of leagues away. A battle fleet: dozens of sinister vessels that spawned hundreds of light ships and fighters. Holy mother of...
"Outpost-Alpha, Alpha, we're spotting a massive number of ships near the Umojan border. Behemoth-II battlecruisers and carriers of the-"
The transmission cut off.
Aboard the Hyperion, Low Orbit over Umoja
"I'm not going to form a special operations team with you."
"Are you betting your ass on it?"
Raynor, worn out and tired as he sipped a brew in a styrofoam cup, looked Emperor Mengsk in the eye, without any emotion, only a dull, straight look. Mengsk had never been easy to agree with, but why did the bastard have to be so stubborn even as terrorists threatened to end everything with nukes and a virus?
The leader of Raynor's Raiders looked through the lone porthole in the interrogation room, as the blank, emptiness of space depressed him. The black light was only illuminated by a sprinkling of star dust, planets in the oblivion of the universe. And somewhere was a deranged madman who might wipe out the whole cosmos. And below him, the barren wasteworld of Mar Sara floated: a reminder of what weapons of mass destruction could do.
A young officer knocked, then entered the gray room without permission. He greeted the two men with a sharp salute, fist to heart. We still need to work on the discipline issues, Raynor thought.
"Report."
"Commander, the city of Trowitch, Moria has been destroyed by an Apocalypse-class missile."
"What!"
Mengsk's wandering eyes flashed to the officer. "When?"
"Only a few standard hours ago," the man said, throwing Mengsk a distasteful look, "but there's more."
Raynor frowned. "Yes?"
"Moria and Kelanis are both claiming the Dominion was the one who launched it. Apparently, a Morian compound was raided a few hours before the nuclear fallout, with the only evidence left behind a message signed in blood by a 'Fists of Korhal' and also a few dead Korhalian Ghost Agents, but they could have been planted there." The officer stopped, remembering his memorized information. "Moria claims that this was a precursor to the attack. Kelanis is temporarily signing a truce with Moria and is now supporting its claim. Apparently, Trowitch was an important city for both of them, and with it destroyed, they are forming an alliance and looking for blood. Apparently, the signatures on the nuke identified it as Dominion, right before it exploded."
The Emperor of the Dominion muttered an almost silent curse, but Raynor's ears picked it out. Sharply, he turned to him, grabbing the rich collar of the man's suit. "You knew all along about this shit, didn't you?"
Mengsk grinned awkwardly. "Not all of it."
Raynor let go of the collar, and looked again at the officer. Dealing with Mengsk would come later. "Anything else?"
"Yes. An Umojan patrol guarding the deep space border of Umojan encountered a scout force from Earth. They were completely annihilated."
"The UED or the Umojan patrol?"
"The Umojan patrol. Their captain's last transmission regarded something about nuclear missiles and a new Behemoth II-class battlecruiser."
Mengsk frowned. "How many ships in the patrol?"
"At least twelve."
"Why does that matter to you?" Raynor asked, suspiciously. Mengsk looked back at him unflinchingly. His aloofness was returning.
"The UED has a good tactic of gathering as much intel on the enemy as possible before attacking it. Just before attacking Braxis, we noticed groups of patrol vessels, mostly some of variant of the Iroquois-class scout-fighters, flying low and evading our anti-aircraft fire to take detailed pictures of our positions. Their intel, along with Duran, allowed them to sufficiently calculated enough men and armor to take Boralis."
"You're thinking that the UED Remnant is going to launch another attack?"
The young officer cleared his throat. "Sir, we haven't seen these types of vessels before. They are totally new and distinct, and they completely wiped out our ships. What scant information we have concerning them labels their ships not as UED Remnant, but some other Earth fleet."
The commander gave a puzzled, then alarmed look, his unibrow moving comically on his forehead. "Shit, did you say Behemoth or Behemoth-II battlecruisers?"
The officer nodded. "Behemoth-II." An unnatural silence gripped all of them, as a thought entered their minds: the new Behemoth-II was designed to carry large, tactical nuclear missiles.
Mengsk voiced a thought. "I guess Earth is trying to finish the job the first UED invasion fleet started."
Aboard the Avengerfour days from the Koprulu Sector
"First blood."
Fleet Commander Conrad sat rigidly in his plush chair, in his personal cabin aboard the Avenger. As he skimmed through the initial battle reports between fifteen F-121 Specter Interceptor Fighters and a few Wraith vessels of a warring Koprulu Sector faction, he wondered how DuGalle and Stukov, with hundreds of thousands of the best pilots, millions of the most devout and well-trained infantry, and thousands of the finest-crafted ships could lose to such a force of rag-tag humans, Protoss, and Zerg.
"Of course, Commander Conrad." The young woman said, in a standard, white UED Captain's uniform, consisting of a pressed, formal blouse matching her equally white skirt. The UED military's uniforms were designed for formality and practicality, not the flamboyance of the Terran factions. But then again, something a little more comfortable would be nice, she thought, wishing her heels weren't so high. They were killing her feet.
"What do you think our next step is, Rosemarie?" Conrad sighed, rubbing his temples before he swallowed two bitter pills. Tensions were building as they inched closer to the wretched system, and the chief medical analyst aboard the ship suggested Conrad take some hypoactive medication before commencing with the bombardment. Yet the only calm I am getting is from seeing Rosemarie alive and well.
Rosemarie Desman smiled with a knowing empathy at her old classmate from the Annapolis Naval Academy. How much James had changed after graduating! She had known him for twenty years now, but his appearance and demeanor were much different than the boisterous teenager when they arrived at the Academy.
At forty, Desman was still attractive, age not taking affect on the lineless, tanned face and brown hair. The native from the sunny, country formally known as the Bahamas had gotten the command of a full Behemoth-class battlecruiser at the age of twenty-seven, younger than any women or men from the ANA. Now, she was commanding a brand new Icon-class carrier, the Jewel of Space.
The third person in the room, pouring himself a glass of Chardonnay, clearing his throat to answer Rosemarie's question.
"Our duty, commander." Political Commissionar Andrew Bertelli looked at the two naval officers with only a slight interest before sniffing the wine, and then taking a delicate sip. "May I remind you our orders from President Stukov? 'Exterminate all life in the Koprulu Sector. All priorities are second to victory.' Does that ring a bell?"
Desman grimaced. After the blunder of having the UED Expeditionary Force wiped out by the Zerg, Terran, and Protoss, there had been a call to make the military more centralized to the government. Stukov implemented the plan by having every military officer in command of more than a hundred men or a capital ship watched by a loyal "Political Commissionar" that reported directly back to Stukov, the Central Government Intelligence, and other groups loyal to the UED government. Even more distressing was that the Commissionar had the right to overturn any officer's orders if he or she did not agree it would contribute to the success of the operation. Several high ranking military officers, including the head of the Defense of Earth and her Colonies, Field Marshal Edward Feydor, had disappeared. The military was no longer a fighting machine, only a center for mindless bureaucrats and politicians.
"We know our duties, Bertelli. Our duties are to the race of Humanity. To preserving our way of life," Conrad said, sighing. His fatigued mind was showing in his speech.
"We cannot blunder forward after the skirmish, Commissionar. The Wraith patrol, although wiped out, was determined to get out their transmission that they undoubtly saw our Behemoth-II battlecruisers, as well as the Specter fighters," Desman said, firmly. "If we are to encounter such determined and stubborn resistance during our entrance to the Sector, our mission might not succeed."
"What fighting is to take place there, Captain, if all we do is launch our nukes at every major installation and city the Terran, Protoss, and Zerg inhabit in that damned placed?" Bertelli's brows curled in rage, and his glass of wine slopped on the metallic floor.
"We cannot fire every missile at once, Political Commissionar. Such action would not only result in the destruction of every Behemoth-II we have, all the missiles are not guaranteed to hit a target. This operation more than a week. This, however, leads me to bring up this point- We have seen them fight. If pushed, these Terrans will fight for every centimeter of soil, every house and street. Such determination might lead them to send a force of ships to destroy our fleet if they feel threatened. We need more ships. A substantial force of starships can arrive, in one or two-"
"We cannot," Bertelli bluntly said, interrupting Desman. "This mission must be carried out in rapid succession to succeed. Requesting reinforcements will delay our operation, and the Terrans might strike with us."
"Exactly my point," Desman said.
"Exactly our point," Conrad exclaimed, looking at Desman. His eyes were unconfident that Bertelli was going to accept their idea.
"Bertelli, our fleet, though powerful, could be easily destroyed. We are not even alerting the Occupation Forces, now known as the UED Remnant in Koprulu, that we are coming. Our best estimate is to support us with a substantial battle fleet- Earth can spare them."
The Commissionar shook, his face turning an acidic purple. "The UED Remnant will do their duties. You have not the authority to override me, Conrad. Only Stukov does- the man who ordered the operation. So are you defying orders from your superior?"
Desman wanted to laugh, watching the two men staring at each other, but refrained. Such would destroy the humorous mood at the moment, even though the Commissionar thought it was tense. Bertelli was a fool, and both UED officers knew it. Will he lead us into a trap? Perhaps...
Unknown to all them, Protoss Observers were already being sent to the task of watching over their fleet.
Aboard the crashed Bloodwrath
Well?
"Well what, Aragas?"
What is it that you wish to do about this problem, Jayce?
The Templar's massive hands, psi-blades off, were gingerly cradling the head of the unconscious Ghost, while Jayce, cradling his gun, raced around and around in his mind, without a solution. A Lurker might not damage the crashed ship very much, but the three of them couldn't get out of it either.
Jayce poked his head outside again. The Lurker was still burrowed, evident by the clods of dirt that were randomly displaced, through the Zerg's hurried digging. As he reached for his gun to aim a shot at the thing, an explosion ripped through the ground, as blood stained dirt mixed with flesh. Filtering out of the ground was a gory mix of organic earth and flesh from the dead Lurker. What the hell is going on?
A psionic message immediately came into his mind. Don't move. A bore of a sniper rifle, once invisible, filtered before Jayce's eyes as a Ghost, an odd contraption masking his face, decloak. Another Ghost came into view, standing on the bloody stains of the Lurker and raising a heavy gun with a miniature spider mine implanter as its bore. Hell, what an ingenious way to kill...
Jayce slowly raised his hands up, as his head pointed downward towards the dark interior of the ship. Aragas and Jayce's eyes met: communication filtered immediately between the two, and Aragas knew what was going wrong. He gently placed the head of the girl on the deck of the lopsided ship, and cloaked, blades extended. The Ghost with the rifle on the head of Jayce looked inside, suspicious. A psionic energy blade sliced his rifle in half, while another penetrated through the soft flesh on the neck of the Agent. He toppled inside.
The other Agent on the ground looked at Jayce, alarmed. Psionically gifted people had a nasty way of alerting others of the same special talent when he or she died by giving off one massive psionic pulse. The other Ghost must have felt it distinctly as Jayce and Aragas had.
A sudden burst of noise erupted. Cloak flapping, the Dark Templar leapt of the hole, as the body of the Ghost fell silently on the ground. The other Ghost yelled, screaming profanities as he raised a pistol, pointed at the invisible enemy. A single shot rang out, echoing through the silent landscape. The Ghost fell, bullet implanted in the middle of his head. Jayce lowered his own sniper rifle, as it let out an exhale of long, sinuous smoke.
Aragas' cloak whirled around.
You are quick.
Grimly, Jayce answered. "I had to be." He shivered. He had killed men before, no doubt, always in his best interest and never in the best circumstances, but this was the first time he had killed a human that had their own psionic emanations. One quick blast of psionic feedback from the dead Ghost, making his insides gelatinous and his mind wavery. Didn't the Templar feel that?
Reading his thoughts, Aragas nodded. You have never been to Aiur, Commander Jayce. There, the dead wail at us with their psionic emanations. He turned, looking at the bleak landscape. We must leave this place. In a short time.
Jayce agreed, jumping back into the ship and grabbing the wounded Ghost. Easily, he removed the metal that was squeezing her legs, and cradled her in his arms. Damn, she's nice looking...
Commander!
"Yeah Aragas, I'm coming," Jayce yelled, struggling to get up the hull of the frigate. Concentrate, he thought, closing his eyes. Jump! A sudden boost of energy suddenly seemed to strike him as he went up, out of the hole, psionic energy swirls seeming to whirl around him, propelling him out of the hole. Aragas was nowhere to be seen.
Silently, he put the Ghost on the ground, and called out. Aragas, where are you?
Overhead.
He looked up, and saw a small craft hovering in the air. It is the Ghosts'. Apparently, they were to investigate the frigate and they ran upon us.
Jayce responded. Good, let's get hell out of here then. Land the thing, will ya?
And our mission, what of it? We have not found any of the evidence Commander Cameron ordered us to find.
Jakk walked over to one of the Ghosts, and ripped his shirt open. We've found plenty of evidence. Tattooed to the corpse was a large, blue "K," with a fist in the background. Fists of Korhal, Strom's very own posse. He looked at the craft. We'll mark this place; that craft has a range of only a few hundred kilometers, so his base can't be far.
The ship landed, an oddly cylindrical shaped craft with long wings; a civilian five seater that was used for commercial/tourist transport. There is not enough of that infernal fuel that you Terrans rely upon to send us to any friendly planet, Commander.
Jayce put the girl in the ship as soon as the cockpit opened, and then nodded to the Hunter. "I know, man, but there's been a patrol scouting for us; the Vulture bike the Lurker destroyed had a transmitter that sets off an alarm once it's destroyed. They know where to look. All the hell we have to do is get the hell outta here before more of Strom's Ghosts show up."
Affirmative. Do you want to pilot?
"Nah, I stick with your Protoss instincts to pilot." Jayce smiled, as he got into the ship, cockpit gently closing.
Repulsors thrusted the ship into flight, flushing the pebbles and dirt beneath into infinity. Slowly, the ship pulled up, and into the air.
Jayce looked back at the barren world, feeling both a comfort and unnatural danger by leaving it. He scanned the ground through his digitized right eye, looking at the surface for any irregularities. He found it, just as Aragas' message echoed into his mind. Do you see it? Aragas called, from the front of the cockpit.
Jayce nodded. One crucial bit of evidence for the weapons of mass destruction they were looking for: an ion cannon, hidden a mound of gravel and dirt; the only thing showing was the bald, gray head of the cannon's top, only thirty miles away from the ship. Will they fire at us? I can see the turret of the machine sticking out of the dirt. Aragas said, looking, for the first time, perplexed.
"No. They think we're the two dead Ghosts on the ground. At least, I hope they won't," Jayce whispered. "Jesus, let's get back to Umoja. Intel's going to want to see this." He took several snapshots with the camera inside his eye, concentrating to get the right image to develop for UMI.
An hour later, the Dauntless, a Necromancer-class light cruiser picked up the small ship.
Aboard the Hyperion
"Do you see why we need a SPEC-OPS team to do our work now? Armies and fleets can't do the job if we don't know where the baddies are hiding. And armies and fleets are going to get ripped apart if all you need is a few Zerg and a nuke or two to massacre. And besides, you need to clear up this mess with Moria and Kelanis allied against you, to prove you didn't launch that nuke."
Mengsk nodded. The appearance of a second UED fleet, Strom's Fists of Korhal, the recent alliance between Moria and Kelanis, as well as fatigue were all building up on him.
"I see, Jim, but I need to get back to Korhal to organize this. I'll send my best agents for this group you're forming with the Protoss. Wait, the name of the counter-insurgency team, Chimaera. Why is it called that?"
Raynor smiled. "A Chimaera was a fictional ancient Earth beast that was made up of a body of a goat, head of a lion, and the ass of a dragon. Our Chimaera mixes the best agents and special forces of Umoja, Korhal, and the Protoss. All in one team. Umoja's the body, the Protoss are the head, and you're the ass. Get it?"
Mengsk nodded.
So long as to get you off my back, Raynor.