It's been a couple of years since I sat down and started writing this story, with no idea where it was going. It was my first story, and its success helped me to continue writing fanfiction. I could say I'm reissuing this, but I'm not. I chose quantity over quality in the initial phase, and now a little part of me nags to fix the mistakes in this story. The plot has been expanded (a tiny bit), so I hope any confusion is partially erased.
Some major changes:
"Tassandar" has been changed to "Tassadar."
Dramatis Personae has been eliminated; a glossary as the last chapter has been added.
Major rewrites occur in most chapters, minor fixer-uppers occur in all chapters.
Once again, enjoy.
Starcraft: Band of Brothers
By: Smurfkiller
Author's Note: This story started as a writing experiment, inspired by Stephen Ambrose's book Band of Brothers. The group of soldiers he wrote about were World War II paratroopers, who landed in Normandy and fought to the heart of Nazi Germany.
This story is the Starcraft version, though the idea came from the famous quote in Shakespeare's Henry V.
After scrapping the first plot, the novel became a tale about a futuristic band of brothers who fight against the Overmind. But not only does humanity unite as brothers-in-arms in this tale, but Protoss and humans fight as brothers too. Check the levels "The Shadow Hunters" and "The Eye of the Storm" on Starcraft for more details concerning the background of this tale.
Disclaimer: In no way do I own Starcraft's characters, I just have the game and love it. Starcraft belongs to Blizzard, not me. Also, this novel is modeled after Stephen Ambrose's Band of Brothers, Mark Bowden's Black Hawk Down, and Steven Spielberg's Saving Private Ryan to give the reader a vivid sense of combat.
Etc: There is a lot of violence and language in this book, so don't say I didn't warn you. This is my first major attempt to write a fanfiction novel as well. This story has been REVAMPED and edited.
"...we few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother."
Excerpt from the Saint Crispian Day's Speech, Henry V, Shakespeare
Prologue: Before the Storm
High orbit, above Aiur
It is said that history is written by the winners. If the Zerg win, there will be no history left to write. Nor people to read about it.
James Raynor stood at the bridge of the battlecruiser Hyperion. He wished he brought more of the Behemoth-class battlecruisers with him, as he surveyed the fleet through the thick glass that separated the heat of the bridge from the cold void of space.
In one massive ring, a few dozen battlecruisers, gray armor blending into the dark horizon behind them, orbited, juxtaposing the glowing and proud ships of the Protoss fleets, dozens of sausage shaped carriers. In between these leviathans were smaller vessels of every type, and space, the inconceivable idea of an infinite mass, was being filled by these somber gray and radiant yellow vessels.
All looking down at the world.
The Protoss homeworld of Aiur floated in the darkness of space, where the gods of the Protoss left them in their Garden of Eden. Large bodies of water surrounded the dark, green landmasses of Aiur, still largely uninhabited, preserving the sanctuaries the gods left the Firstborn. The lush green scenery fit in well with Aiur's green-blue seas, an ideal home for the ideal race.
But there, in the middle of everything, a cancer grew wildly out of control, a solid mass purple extending from the fringes of land to the interior of the huge landmass. It was an infestation: Zerg. They were choking the planet, slowly swallowing the world in an endless mass of the Horde. To attack such a place was suicidal. But attack it we will, Raynor thought, gulping down any fear.
"Sir, the Protoss carrier Gantrithor is signaling. Executor Tassadar reports it's time to for all transports to descend," the ship's communications officer said.
"Are the dropships in place, Jackie?"
"Yessir."
Their mission was on the brink of suicidal. There was simply no way to attack the broods that were surrounding the Overmind head-on; that would be suicide. After meeting with Tassadar, Raynor had agreed that something more than a just brunt, head-on battle would be in play. Something more covert and clandestine, an operation that would require skillful maneuvering of troops.
Under air support from the remnants of the Protoss Homefleet and the ships under Raynor's command, hundreds of companies of Terran marines and firebats, along with their counterpart, Zealots, would descend on strategic Zerg establishments, taking them out as warships continued a fierce bombardment damaging anything they could. A small fleet would also lure most Zerg flyers out into space, so air assaults would be minimal to the ground troops. And finally, another more heavily armored assault would wait until the infantry companies accomplished their task, and then begin landing to pacify whatever remained of the peripheral Zerg forces.
Then, the combined Protoss and Terran forces would begin the final assault against the Overmind, surrounding it with the goal of vaporizing every trace of Zerg on Aiur.
The operation required thousands of men willing to take the risk and be dropped from transports into Zerg terrain, known as the "Creep" to the troops. Not only was it alive, the Creep was unpredictable, scaring even veteran troops. A blind man could walk on the Creep and feel the ground was perfectly normal until it started to ooze and feel like jelly, then trap him like quicksand, clinging on and unwilling to let go. And that wasn't the worst part.
The Zerg were cunning, coordinated by the massive "Overlords" that were so hard to bring down. They would rip off the flanks of a squadron, then attack with skirmishers, the little "Zerglings," as more Zerg would erupt from underground, using a pincer movement to trap and encircle remaining troops.
Many of Raynor's Raiders, the name they called the men that were still loyal to him after he broke off from the Sons of Korhal, were Sarian, from the planet of Mar Sara. They were willing to fight and die for their homeworld, realizing if the Protoss who blew their planet to smithereens couldn't stop the Zerg, no one could. Many of the men joked and smiled at the irony about saving the homeworld of a race that destroyed their own.
The other men who were willing to go were mercenaries. From all over the Koprulu Sector they came, some former marines from the Confederate Marine Corp, others from the blasted worlds of Tarsonis, Chau Sara, Antiga Prime, and so on. As long as there was a flow of money into their pockets, they would fight.
And the Zealots? They would fight to the death. It was for Aiur, and that was all that needed to be said.
Raynor watched the fleet orbiting above the planet, knowing that the fate of Humanity laid in the hands of a dedicated few.
"Well, boys and girls," Raynor said, shuffling his feet away from the head of the bridge, "you know I don't like making big speeches before a thing like this occurs." Silence greeted his sentence. His crew looked up at him. "But if you all give the Zerg a piece of hell out there, we won't have a thing to worry about after this. Good luck."
The former marshal wasn't a fan of long speeches. Keep it short, keep it to the point.
His crew nodded, exchanging looks as smiles crept on their faces. He was their icon, their superman who could do no wrong. He was their commander, and they had been through hell and back with him, still hanging on to the sense of loyalty and duty.
They were ready to fight.
"Andersen, signal all dropships and shuttles to start descending. Battlecruisers and wraith escorts, follow me."
The silence and thoughts evaporated as the bridge of the Hyperion began to move as one massive machine. Outside, in the array of capital ships, dozens of smaller dropships suddenly took a synchronized dive into the world, descending as rapidly as they could. They were heading for the eye of the storm.