Chapter Ten: Weathering the Storm
STO Walker watched from the battle station of the Hyperion, as the situation turned from good to bad to worse. The tide was turning rapidly, and the Terran/Protoss troops were being drowned in the storm of Zerg. From the south, fresh Zerg units from Antioch province were inundating the Overmind plateau with blood; Protoss and Terran troops were desperately trying to set up a siege line, defending from both the Tiamat Brood and the fresh Zerg from Antioch. But they were caught in a massive trap, pounded by both sides. From the roadways, Terran troops were bogged down by Zerg forays with the successful Overlord drop; and the Protoss were having the same trouble. And then there were the fleets of ships. Terran and Protoss starfighters and ships experienced a surprising heavier than expected losses. Spore colonies had seemed more than enough to contend with battlecruisers and carriers, Science Vessels had reported the colonies had been intoxicated with a more corrosive acid and upgraded with range. The A-3s also had been severely depleted of the bombs and missiles needed to do concussive damage to the Zerg defenses. Battlecruisers too, were also lacking in their armory of plasma based explosive charges and anti-matter bombs, due to the explosion at the armories at base camp, when the Zerg attacked.
Raynor shook his head as he downed another cup of Khaf from the bridge. He had ordered a retreat for battlecruisers and starfighters, ordering them to split and help the forces on the plateau and the ramps. He knew this action would severely weaken the Terran forces and leave the Protoss fleets to carry-on the harrying operations on the Overmind themselves, but he had to give most of these ships back to Umoja when he was done. He knew the attacks today were a failure; they would not penetrate the Zerg bastion, nor would they help in significantly weakening the Overmind. But he wanted to capture all the ramps before retiring; this way the Overmind's control was limited.
"Walker, how many dropships do we still got operational?"
"About twenty or so, sir. You want to do something with them?
"Get those special operations teams out in the dropships, along with some heavy armor. I want-" Raynor walked to the holomap displaying the criss-cross of forces on Aiur. "-that and that ramp on ALFA road captured immediately. BETA road ramps will have to wait for some Gravediggers to come with out and carpet bomb the place before the task force can get enough troops to clear the ramps out."
"Yes sir! Who do you want in charge of the ALFA operation?"
"Get McAllen out there. He blew up the Cerebrates, and hopefully he can do something equally creative with taking out the ramp defenses."
On Overmind-held plateau
Hancock and his firebats, along with a mixture of Zealots and Dragoons, were stubbornly holding out against a wave of Zerg that was beating down upon them. Torrential, violent rain and blood splashed down upon the troops as they re-enacted the bloody ancient-Earth battles of soldiers slaughtering each other in a pure, wild, carnage. Zerglings evaporated and firebats exploded in bloody wrecks of humans, and Zealots died with a final swing of their psionic blades. Never had there been so much death.
Hancock nodded in thanks to a Zealot as it carved up a Zergling sneaking up on his rear. The Zealot then glowed a bright blue once, signaling his shields were down, and then died, spines encrusting the warrior's golden armor. Hancock caught sight of Hydralisk's being dropped down by those Godforsaken Overlords, and onto the plateau.
"Ok Yankees, get the hell back to the craters, we've got Hydralisks!"
A mad scramble of boots greeted his announcement, and Hancock rushed back to the craters with his men. A foosh of a thousand spines rushed past them, just as the men ducked under the cover of crater walls, made by the Gravediggers errant bombing runs. Another volley of the spikes, and then another, and another. Firebats were good at massacring melee units like Zerglings, but against the range-superior Hydras, they had no choice but to retreat.
Hancock looked at one of his men, straining to push his whole body into the earth, into his grave. Another bat spoke up.
"Sir, I've got one question: What happens after these bitches run out of spines to shoot at us?"
Almost miraculously the spines stopped.
"Then they rush us with their sickles. Alright, you lazy, no good whelks! Up to your feet!"
Hancock got up with the rest of his company, as other company commanders echoed the call. He looked out at the plateau, seeing Zealots and Dragoons still fighting against the Hydras; they had not retreated like the Terran troops. Musta have something to do with the honor thing in their culture...
The firebat lifted up his Perdition flamethrowers, smoking the first Hydra coming up at him, as it lifted his sickle. Others did the same, impaling firebats with their sickles, smashing helmet, skin, bone and flesh from the head up in a grotesque display of violence. Slowly, the Zerg began to push the bats and Protoss back, back into a waiting mass of Zerglings fresh from the Overmind's lairs.
Like a ghost, a phantomly apparition appeared overhead, creating a swirling vortex. A Protoss ship...
Out of the vortex, a detachment of Zealots, Dragoons, and other Protoss stepped out, and then suddenly the battle was turned. Zerg shrieked as they began pounding their heads to the ground, as if all of them were affected by something in their mind. Hancock looked in the middle of the detachment of fresh Protoss troops as his men cheered. A glowing entity almost floating off the ground, with several of its exact profiles, like ghosts, trailing it. Hancock knew what these things were: High Templars, the veteran of the Protoss Forces, who could literally bend another's mind at will. It must have ripped the minds' of those Zerg apart. Wouldn't like to be facing one of those things, Hancock thought. Overhead, Hancock noticed one lone, giant of a carrier lumbering directly at the Overmind, a few escorts trailing its wake.
Then a sudden firestorm hit the plateau.
Three successive waves of shells, delivered by the Arclite tanks from some god-know-where place, hit the remaining Protoss and Terran troops on the plateau. Men screamed as their armor peeled off their body, as skin was melted and encrusted on their muscles. Protoss High Templar and Zealots vanished in an aura of blue, joining their ancestors.
Hancock was thrown off his feet, and then quickly scrambled back into a hole. Why the hell are our own tanks shelling us?
"HQ, HQ, this is Y Company at plateau OMEGA. You are shelling your own troops. I repeat, you are shelling your own troops," Hancock said, as calmly as he could.
"Roger Yankee." A small holo of some communications officer popped up in Hancock's helmet. "Our sensors indicate massive amounts of Zerg engulfing your position."
"Well you're wrong! There's nothing. Now stop shelling us, goddamnit!"
"Roger." The holo disappeared, and the thunder from the tanks became silent.
Zerg erupted from the ground, unburrowing and attacking whatever remnants of the Terran and Protoss forces.
Hancock watched as a Zergling clawed open a napalm fuel tank of one of his men, exploding it and the Zergling. Zealots fought furiously, but they died under the claws of dozens of Hydralisks and Zerglings.
Oh god...that officer was right. He smiled. Clever buggers. Too bad they don't know we're clever too.
"HQ, HQ, come in."
"Roger, Yankee."
"Shell our position."
"What?"
"Shell our fucking position." A roar of men and Zerg dying filled the silence.
"Roger Yankee." A pause. "Godspeed, and good luck."
As the shells came down to obliterate Protoss, Terran, and Zerg, Hancock's only regret was he couldn't have one last beer with his buddy Raynor.
ALFA Road, following Zulu Company
Nacdle paced his company to the next ramp, eighty-five troops that were left out of the one-hundred and twenty men. And only forty troops remained from the original one hundred twenty that survived the multiple Zerg attacks against their dropship.
"Stop," he ordered through his ICD, and his company followed his suit, as they reached the ramp.
"What's up, Captain?" Nacdle turned around to see Jones waiting there, impatient. The man had been getting on his nerves ever since he had been promoted captain.
"Something's wrong," Nacdle responded, flatly.
"Everything's fucking wrong when you're around, Captain." Jones wasn't being sarcastic.
Above the ramp, smoldering, blasted remains of colonies intermingled with the stench of blood. Embedded with what was left of the Zerg garrison assigned to the ramp was a Defiler. Insectoid-like and deadly, the Zerg creation specialized in biological and chemical warfare, through the clever use of chemicals in its body that made up every Zerg strain. The glowing red eyes watched Zulu creep across the canyon's floor to the ramp. From its body's spores, it emitted a orange haze of fog, which slowly covered an entire proportion of the battlefield. Orange gas was not the right term to describe it. The gas was composed of trillions of minute insects, so small that they could, collectively, block out molecules in the air, and disrupt even sound waves that traveled in the damp currents. The tiny creatures worked well in the dampness of the rain, and slowly it creeped up on Zulu, a massive, expanding cloud of gas.
Aboard the Hyperion
STO Walker couldn't believe it. It seemed as if a whole section of the battleground was covered by a dense, expanding fog...he looked at the disappearing unit that was heading towards the second to last ramp on ALFA road. Zulu. Hadn't he heard of that unit somewhere? He poked a fellow tactician officer in the back, and pointed to the holomap.
"What the hell's going on?"
The tactician looked at it, as the fog increased its volume, blocking out the terrain and troops displayed on the map.
"Dark Swarm," he said, flatly. The officer was too tired to even begin to comprehend what it was. All he knew was, that another company was about to get slaughtered.
On the map, another dozen dropships, from the Hyperion, moved into the blanket of fog, and then disappeared before anyone could see it.
Aboard the dropship T-43
The elite strike teams that Raynor "borrowed" from the Umojan Protectorate were nicknamed MINOTAUR for an Earth beast-like creature, taken from their mythology. One by one, the teams dropped from dropships straight onto the two remaining ramps on ALFA that the task force had not captured. McAllen was straining his eyes to see through the dense, heavy, orange fog hiding the ramp. It was going to be nasty landing on it, and not even his MECH-OP was able to penetrate to gaseous mass of orange. He jumped, gun in hand.
With Zulu Company
Slaughter. As they died, the men raised silent, expanding shrieks through their helmets as Zerglings tore them apart through the cover of orange gas. Screams that were not heard, not even through the ICD. The tiny, invisible insects that collectively made up a Dark Swarm blocked out the sound waves traveling through the damp air, scattering the waves like sand in wind.
Jones had a nightmare on his hands as his men signaled with hands, expressions, and naked looks of fear on their faces, unable to comprehend what was going on. Any scrap of courage, any vestige of the pride the Raiders had drowned in an flood of despair. Using his hands, Jones signaled his troops to group around him, so the chance of being caught unexpected by a voracious Zergling was reduced.
But Jones was lost himself. His men disappeared in the shadows of the fog, as visibility was so bad that Jones couldn't even see where he was pointing his gun in front of him. He bumped into something, and his automatic, panicked senses shot at it, pumping three bullets into the decapitated form of a marine. He screamed.
He heard something echoing through his mind; at first he thought it was his own brain telling him to stay put. But another man's voice was in his head. Jesus, am I going crazy?
No, stay put. I'm coming.
Who the hell are you?
Nacdle.
What the hell? Why...oh god...
Yes, I'm a Ghost.
Serenely, the orange fog hid the Captain of Zulu as he appeared, almost out of nowhere from the carnage. Jones could barely see him, but his mouth was wide open. Who the hell was the guy?
Above Zulu
The orange gas did not seriously interfere with the special ops teams from operating. Most of them were Ghosts, trained to be blind and still be able to fire a gun straight through a wall and kill a man on the other side. They dropped, some elite marines providing cover as other Ghosts, suited in standard CMC-400 armor, fired special C-21 "Cutter" heavy machine guns into unwary Zerg. The fog thinned out, turning a diluted, red-orange color.
A marine commander, one of the few not a psionically gifted humans on the teams, stood as a rear guard with his men, right beside the ramp. Below them, only a few hundred meters away, were Nacdle and Jones. Around them were the remnants of Zulu as they waited for the fog to lift. The marine commander on top of the ridge squinted, unable to make out the dark forms. Zerg? Human? Protoss? He didn't know, but suddenly one of the creatures made a quick move towards the ramp. The marine, startled, shot wildly at the moving figures.
McAllen turned around, surprised as his gun toasted the Zergling. He felt the unmistakable noise of a Ghost's psionic energy pulse with pain. McAllen suddenly knew what was going on. He raced down the ramp.
With Zulu Company
Jones could suddenly hear his own voice screaming as the fog began to disappear. "-edic! Medic! MEDIC!"
One hand felt around for the bullet, another was on the trigger of his gun. What fool would shoot at his own guys! How the hell did marines get on the ramp in this shit! Random pieces of thoughts floated around in his mind. Nacdle gasped for breath.
Jones had panicked when Nacdle arrived, thinking that the Ghost would do something to him. It was not uncommon to have moles inside ordinary units in the Umojan Corps, factions constantly irritated each other by sending in their agents to infiltrate the other's army. But Nacdle had just stood there as Jones turned around to run, and then he caught the back of Jones' armor and heaved him down. Blurs of bullets flew past him, and Nacdle suddenly winced in pain as a spike hit the back of his armor.
Blood seeped out into the ground from the exit wound on Nacdle, as Jones called for help. Jesus, this guy just saved me, what the hell he's a Ghost, why did he do that-
"Get up."
McAllen, his head partially covered with a Ghost's complicated headgear, pointed the barrel of his C-10 at Nacdle. Obediently, Jones did. The two Ghosts looked at each other, one laying, back on the ground, breathing heavily and staring at the Ghost pointed a weapon at him.
McAllen smiled grimly. "We thought the mole was in one of the crack units."
Nacdle smiled, blood gurgling from his mouth. "No, you're bloody wrong. I was here all along. Why didn't you shoot me when you figured I had psionic capabilities?" The man had a strange, odd accent Jones had never heard before. McAllen didn't look surprised.
"I only suspected. And I was too busy." Jones looked from one man to the other, trying to comprehend what the hell was going on.
"How long have you been here?"
"Two years."
"Jesus."
"Sir, what the hell is going on? Who the hell is this man?" Jones pointed at Nacdle with a half accusing, half curious tone.
McAllen looked at the lieutenant, nodding. "He's an agent. They call them 'Infiltraitors,' or 'traitors for short. He's was sent here by..." McAllen looked at Nacdle. "the UED?"
Nacdle nodded. "Earth."
Aboard the carrier Gantrithor
Tassadar looked through a porthole of the carrier. On the plateau, the Overmind seemed to be bellowing with laughter as swarms overran the meager Terran and Protoss forces caught in a pincer trap; masses of red, not of blood, but of Zerg, filled the entire land, inundating the forms in dark blue and yellow armor. It was time.
Centurion, Tassadar echoed in his mind, to the Protoss standing next to him, prepare an evacuation of the ship.
Of course, High Templar Tassadar, the commander of the ship curtly replied, though a faint curiosity lingered in the dark yellow hues of her eyes. The ship had not been badly damaged, and was punching a hole through the Zerg, inching closer to the Zerg entity. The Protoss were paying in the blood of their best pilots and navigators though, as fighters and capital ships escorting the massive carrier pummeled along the way.
Prelate Artanis lingered in the fighter bay of the Gantrithor, and then feel something faintly odd as a Protoss reached into the depths of the psionic energies to communicate with a tainted psionic sense. Tassadar was communicating with one of the Dark Templar, Artanis mused. Probably Zeratul. The psionic sense that the ambassador of the Jashas had was slightly tainted, as if something was not right, unlike the pure psionic energies the Khala Protoss embraced. The Prelate felt something was wrong...Tassadar did not usually communicate with anyone during the battle. Artanis raced to the bridge, noting the strained tranquility each Protoss had as they moved to the escape pods...something was very, very wrong.
You are sure you want to do this, Tassadar? Zeratul's leathery face floated into Tassadar's mind as they communicated.
It is the only thing we can do. We are too close for anything else but this.
Then may you find peace with the gods, brave son of Aiur. My brethren and I will link to your psionic power and channel enough of it to destroy the Overmind.
Look after our people, Zeratul.
It shall be done.
Artanis stopped as he heard these words. Standing not twenty paces away from him was the greatest Templar since Adun, and here he was, about to sacrifice himself for the good of his people. But Tassadar was the only link between the Dark Templar and the Khala Protoss, the only bright glimmer for the their dark future.
You cannot do this, Executor!
Tassadar turned around, looking surprised. Prelate Artanis. You are to go on a escape craft like the rest of the crew.
There are other ways to rid us this infestation. You cannot leave us. The Protoss, the Terran, the universe, needs you! To lead us to Shakuras and back to Aiur.
Nonsense, Artanis. You are now the Praetor of the Protoss. You are now our leader. Zeratul, Aldaris, the rest of the Protoss need you as a link between our cousins. Between the humans. It is you who will lead our people to safety and the future.
Then this is the end, Executor? Does it end now?
Tassadar smiled.
My part of this story is over. Yours is just beginning. The Zerg is just the beginning of the conflict, but it is time for the Overmind to die. Tassadar took his seat at the bridge of the ship, as Zerg flyers rocked it around, sparks flying as the craft strained to reach its destination. Keep you honor and the honor of your people. En taro Adun, Prelate Artanis!
Artanis took two steps back, towards the escape pod. Then, in his mind he whispered his last thought to Tassadar.
No Executor. En taro Tassadar. For it is you who will be sung about generations from now.
And with that the young Protoss left. The Overmind silently screamed through the cosmos. The time had come.
With Zulu Company
"First Infiltraitor we've caught."
"Good, we're doing well in covering ourselves." The man chuckled, dripping blood over his mouth.
"You're name isn't Nacdle, I'm guessing?" McAllen still had his sniper rifle pointed at the heart. The other Ghost shook his head.
"My operative instructions was titled 'Operation CANDLE.' My objective was to inspire mercenaries to fight for someone that would benefit them, namely, the UED fleet that is coming, without specifying who they would fight for. From CANDLE I devised the name Nacdle."
"Clever."
"Wait-Earth? Jesus, what the hell is going on, sir?" Jones was almost bursting with curiosity. None of this made sense. None! What the hell was Earthling doing here, millions of leagues from Earth?
McAllen looked at the lieutenant, debating whether he should release some classified Umojan Intelligence material. Then he turned to the other Ghost Agent lying on the ground. "How long have you been here and when is the UED Expeditionary Fleet coming?"
"Two years for your first answer. Two months for your second." McAllen nodded. Doesn't matter if I tell him or not. The commando sighed.
"Few years back, we noticed some irregularities in the Koprulu Sector. There were ships, small ones, which were coming from some unknown source that we haven't found. This system is goddamn massive, so we thought some ex-cons had started a colony on some unknown planet in this system and were smuggling whatever exotic animals or other crap they could find into Umojan, the Fed-controlled planets, and Moria."
"You guys were wrong," Nacdle exclaimed, removing an armored plate from his chest. Underneath his CMC armor was a uniform with an army patch. On it was an black eagle gripping bolts of lightning, with the words stamped clearly on the bottom. UED: UNITED EARTH DIRECTORATE- INTELLIGENCE OPERATIVE, it read.
"My god..." Jones exclaimed, mouth gaping. All this time, a fucking Agent under his nose! He thought about all the times Nacdle's odd sounding accents were pronounced differently, how he knew too much to be a goddamn merc, how he had read his mind dozens of times. He was a spy.
McAllen stared at the insignia patch with a dull expression. "Our first clue was when one of our Wraith patrols chased one of the ships that was dropping agents in our world. It crashed on Tibulus, but we looked at the damage. The only thing that identified the ship was that all the dead crewmembers had uniforms with your kind of insignia. That's when we knew something was up." Nacdle said nothing.
"My unit, SI-8, the counterintelligence of the Umojan Military Intelligence, was assigned our group to sniff out any 'Infiltraitors,' as they were called. We suspected there were moles in our own intelligence and armed services, but not in a damn mercenary division."
"But I suspected you because you blocked off any access to you mind when I tried to read it. Remember, when we first met? You had a psionic power that you were obviously hiding from your unit."
"Why didn't you do anything about it?" Nacdle asked. McAllen reached out with his psionic power and felt the energy from the other man. It was getting weaker. "Why didn't I? Because I wasn't sure. That's it. I couldn't imagine a spy in a merc division." McAllen still looked somewhat surprised. "But now, since you are what you are, we'll need you for an interrogation." McAllen turned to his ICD. "Medic! We need a medic over here!"
Nacdle shook his head. "Look, I'm going to die. I know it. Give me my bloody peace for five minutes."
McAllen looked dumbfounded. "We still need you for intelligence. You're an asset of UMI."
"Commander, my planet's whole armada is heading this way to the Koprulu Sector. It's over, you hear? My fellow Earthlings have got everything under control once we arrive here. No more Zerg. You'll be part of our colonies. We're here to save you. It's over." Nacdle turned around to Jones.
"My apologies, lieutenant, for behaving the way I did towards you. You thought I was some bloody merc? I thought you were some beer-bellied, ugly backwater hick." More blood poured down as he smiled. "We fought well, lieutenant. You fought well. Zulu fought well. We were a good company, weren't we?"
Jones nodded, still unable to comprehend what was going on.
McAllen looked on, and then he saw it a massive Protoss carrier, dark blue energies spiraling around it, with a sense of a dark taint in the psionic energy, crashing directly into the Overmind. In an instant, all of the tainted psionic weight that was in both Ghosts' minds disappeared, like an infestation being removed from their psi energies. The Zerg entity was no more.
A medic, newly arrived from the ALFA task force that was streaming further into the canyon, ran breathlessly to the three men on the ramp. "You called for a medic, sir?"
McAllen was about to respond when Jones interrupted him. "No. We don't need anyone here." He was looking down at the man, a bullet ridged into his lungs, eyes staring, emotionless in the damp sky. Jesus. Him, of all soldiers.
Jones turned to the Ghost.
"What now, Commander. Is Nacdle right? Is it all over when Earth comes back?"
McAllen was still looking at the tattered remains of Zerg, Terran, and Protoss forces, stretching out for kilometers. The Terrans and Protoss were here to preserve the balance of power in the galaxy. But Earth was coming over here to control it. "Directorate" sounded ill-omened.
"No, lieutenant. This is only the beginning."
The rains began to falter, as if the land was quenched of its thirst of blood and water, and asked for no more. The Aiuran sun rose behind the ruined form of the Overmind, and with it rose the dim hopes of the Terran and Protoss.
FIN