I do not own, in any aspect that entitles dominion (not the Mengsk kind at least) of any variation, Naruto nor Starcraft.
Wish I did though...
Warning: Contains swearing.
They call me a Spectre
Chapter 2: Working with Tychus Findlay
(Flashback!)
Barrack Bunker: Growler, Mina de oro
A mining world rich in underground minerals and gasses, yet nothing came without some form of price. The air was as friendly as acrid smoke when left on its own though not lethal to a healthy set of lungs, natural predators that made rabid grizzly bears of the Terran's ancient home of old look like house pets through temperament alone, and ghost stories always born from miners working too long that no one has been able to disprove.
Not even the Ghosts when someone complained enough to have a team investigate the matter.
Yet the greatest danger at any given time were the predators of Mina: giant scorpions with shells as hard as the rock, spiders that dripped acidic ooze when on the attack, and the equivalent of wasps with replaceable projectile stingers just to name but a few. Interfectorem Bestiæ(*) Company, the Confederate answer to animalistic problems that range from simple critter kills with a sledgehammer to calling in the tanks for worlds such as Mina; who decided the name and how it got passed remained a mystery to all. The only times this specialized unit had ever been known to engaged human, or otherwise, combatants when either the animals they face have a means of, for lack of a better word, mind control or on par with a sacred and/or endangered species by the community or in all likelihood the Protoss and are guarded as such.
Surprisingly, few ever volunteered to join these brand of soldiers. Himself included, though out of ignorance rather than choice.
"Hm? Who's the kid?" The blue eyed, dark skinned man mindlessly adjusted the lit cigar entrapped in his lips with the ease of years of practice as he curiously eyed the silent kid barely reaching past the waist of a Confederate officer dressed in the gear of a Ghost, jade tri-lens mask and all, with a C-Ten strapped to his back. He, the smoker, was a bald man though by shaven means as a new crop of black hair started to emerge. He was clean shaven, and had a body built as a soldier with dedication to a regular regime of exercising and weight lifting. His clothing however held not the same care as his sleeveless shirt held many a sweat stain, some even fresh, and his pants, though commonplace of the infantry of the Confederacy, were frayed along the edges and torn in some places. In all fairness, they could've stumbled upon him just as he was returning from his daily regime which would help explain the smell.
The officer, in contrast, was typical as far the military was concerned. Properly groomed, clean shaven, clothes that looked fresh from the cleaners, and boots that shined brilliantly enough to blind passing space freighters if someone used a strong enough light; chances were he got his position from a relative in the military or at the very least he only knew the text book definition of combat.
If there was any telling as to how he got or position, or at minimum his actual military experience, it was given with the scrunched up nose and scowl that could only be mistaken as an offense to his nose brought on only by the sweaty, cigar smoking man in front of him.
"Your new squad mate, Sergeant," the officer tersely responded before turning on his heel and marched out with no care of the attention he earned.
"Ass," the sergeant muttered before turning to the kid to give him another look-over before becoming satisfied with whatever query he had as marked with a broad smile.
"Well kid, welcome to Omega squad!" he announced, and with startling speed managed to take one step forward to lean down to a degree and slap a hand on the Ghost's shoulder in one fluid action. He didn't even await some kind of reply, retort, or otherwise as he dragged the kid through the corridors of the specialized bunker long before the latter could form some kind of objection to it.
"Frankly when I heard we were getting a new guy here, I was expecting someone a lot older than you ya know? How old are you anyway?"
At last, a sound escaped the young Ghost... unfortunately it wasn't even a fraction of eloquent. "Uh-"
"Ah never mind. Curious though, experimental Ghost program?"
"Huh?"
"The only thing I can think of to send a kid out in the field... granted, the Interfect company doesn't do a lot of front line stuff but we do kill things-"
"YOU BASTARD!"
"EN GARDE!"
"BRING IT ON!"
To anyone else, namely the Ghost, it actually sounded like one person was having an argument with himself and had a scuffle with said self through an open doorway of the underground structure.
"Prepare to meet your first squad shrimp," the man grumbled as he abandoned the diminutive Ghost and stormed through the door in a heartbeat. It took only the length of ten seconds to effectively break up whatever fight that had broken out in the room. It wasn't without complaint however.
"Oh dear god! The smell!"
"The deodorant, it does nothing!"
"Take a bath, boss! For the sake of all that is holy, take a bath!"
"Shud up ya idiots!"
The Ghost crept up to the portal and silently peered past the steel frame to peek on the happenings of the room: The sergeant had three identical men captive under each arm, two under one and a single one trapped by the spare respectively. Though they were struggling, even in the midst of being forcefully turned around without a jolt to either side, the Ghost was able to capture the details of the men even if it was redundant when dealing with triplets or twins in general: Shaggy brown hair, hazel eyes, tapered noses, and dressed in the more casual wear of soldiers not expecting active duty anytime soon be it war or patrol. Off to the side stood a woman shaking her head as she tugged along a cart laden with tools and cables.
The woman stopped upon noticing a glint of something white coming from the doorway and turned to take in what features she could from their unexpected guest. The woman herself was tanned with bronzed skin. She too wore the regalia of the soldier not on duty, yet she shirt was short sleeved and held a medic's cross on both sleeve. Her hair was of a dark mahogany that only seemed to serve to enhance the near brilliant hazel eyes that seemed to have a topaz quality to them in the light.
"Right, if you guys are done complainin'!" the sergeant gave a hurtful squeeze on his captives who yelped in agony, all the while eliciting the attention of the only woman in the room. "Then it's time we met our newest squad member!" he announced as he managed to jerk the trio's heads to gaze on the half hidden Ghost at the doorway.
"Damn he's short."
"Did he bribe a recruiter to get here?"
"Bet he won't last a week here."
A mere flex painfully silenced the triplets, much to the sergeant's pleasure of course.
"Right, sound off shrimp!" he commanded as he threatened the trio with more pain with the tightening of his grip on them.
The Ghost reluctantly left the cover of his spot and gave off a salute in the same fashion. "I-"
(End Flashback!)
XVX
Mar Sara
BUMP! SCREECH!
That would teach him to drift off while riding a... 'borrowed' Vulture in the heat of a chase. His grip at the back handle that made up a part of the backseat belonging to the one and only recognized seat of the vehicle was as sturdy as ever even in a lapse of judgment, but that didn't mean he wasn't capable of being tossed off if whatever occurred had happened again.
"Heh, thought you were a goner there kid!" The Ghost narrowed his eyes under the mask but did nothing regarding the snarky attitude underlining the comment aimed at him.
But less than twenty minutes ago a railroad station that the Dominion confiscated as an evacuation point for nearby surveillance outposts within radio contact of a excavation site, both of which (excavation and railroad station) have been ransacked by the Raiders. Now what was left of the Dominion as far as the region went was escaping by train with a small escort of four Hellions guarding the sides.
There were only two reasons that it was now being pursued by the Raiders, even if it was only a token force of two with every other means of transportation wasn't either fast enough nor big enough for those that worn the Hardskins (Power armor of the Marines): One, to ensure the Raiders had the element of surprise on their side despite the world wide jamming of Dominion communications using their own equipment; the Dominion's presence, though small in relative number on the planet of Mar Sara, could still turn the tide on the newfound planetary rebellion starting in liberated zones. And two, the fleeing Dominion personnel took hostages onboard with them to help ensure their escape from the station.
So with the only vehicle they could find on short notice by Raynor's heated request, the duo took off in hot pursuit despite the inherent risks of an armored marine and a ghost riding what was meant to be a one, light passenger vehicle...
It would've been much more convenient, if not nicer, if it wasn't deprived of the fearsome fangs that was the grenade launchers to begin with as they rudely found out when a stray Hellion snuck up on them, only to be taken down with the combined efforts of expert driving and sharpshooting. Same could be said for the company the Ghost had for this mission was someone familiar to him...
"You don't talk much do ya kid?" Tychus Findlay was not familiar to him by any means.
If Tychus took offense or heard the grunt from his only companion in this then he didn't give it as he drew closer to the very back of the mag-lev train, a hovering train that ran along a magnetized rail road at speeds dependant on both size and cargo. A pair of hellions broke off from their moving stations and moved to engage the 'bikers,' during which the backdoor of the equivalent of a caboose opened for a trio of Dominion marines to dominate the balcony with their guess rifles primed.
"Oh that's just lovely..." Tychus rumbled as he veered to the right to avoid the first volley of gunfire, only to be chased by the marines while his riding partner busied himself with a rifle attachment. The convict swaggered behind one of the hellion escorts and stayed at a comfortable pace behind it even as its pilot swerved his vehicles flame hurling turret to face them. Its flames, used despite regulations regarding driving armed vehicles, missed from fractions to several feet in seconds flat when the vulture came to a sudden stop and let its nemesis gain the distance before Tychus gunned it. The surprise, both ends of it, was enough to startle the driver into a full skidding stop and let the duo pass with a parting gift of two grenades tied together in a bola fashion.
The Ghost prepped his own aim at the other hellion that tried to close the distance between them, undisturbed by the combination another swerve by the armored vulture driver as he evaded another volley from the marines and the previous hellion driver's early 'retirement.' From the attachment made moments ago, a miniature missile screamed out of what appeared to be a grenade launcher. It took a full second for the projectile to hit its target and shock the vehicle with an EMP (Electro Magnetic Pulse) upon impact, forcing the second hellion to back off at least for a time as the driver was left to deal with the repercussions of the blast.
Now all that was left was the marines... with only a C-Ten rifle... and no fragmentation grenade launchers...
Beats trying to kill a Hydralisk with a pair of dinner knives by a mile and a half.
The visor of a marine failed to save him from a well placed round and sequentially crumpled into a motionless heap; a fairly impressed whistle escaped Tychus despite the chase.
The remaining marines spread themselves out without letting their weapons rest with a newfound vigor that managed to nick at the front hood of the hovering bike, thus forcing a more savage veering of the vehicle in question; another shot rang out above the collective din of rushing air, gunfire, and the roar of the engine.
A psionically enhanced bullet ripped through armor and flesh alike, and another marine was downed though still alive as he dropped to nurse a shocking injury sitting beneath his knee. The only other marine stopped firing to glance over to learn of the sudden ceasefire of his companion till he jerked back to action to correct his lapse of judgment.
He was too late to close that window of opportunity.
Bullet upon bullet ripped into the marine with disturbing ease much to the terror of the downed marine, (un)fortunately it was only a passing terror when it came to his turn.
"Ha! If it wasn't for that academy and psychic business then I'd reckin' I'd be a little jealous about that," Tychus remarked as he caught up with the train once more. "Now how are we goin' to do this?" he mused aloud as his brain wracked itself to find a way to get himself off that bike and on that train. Granted, he had a Ghost, the modern day stealth force commando, with him who could in all likelihood do this mission by himself... but where was the fun in that?
A sharp slap to his shoulder brought the 'marine' out of his thoughts while he turned to the assaulted side to the best of his ability under the circumstances to find his partner in this... hand signing to him?
A finger point to the hood of the vulture... a slanted hand acting as a walkway for a walking pair of fingers... and what could be considered leaping from the walkway to...
"I sense you're trying to tell me something," he rumbled half seriously while a mocking grin slowly crept on him.
The Ghost stood stock still, as if glaring at the convict from behind his visor, till he grabbed at his rifle, yanked it from its harness, flipped it and let it drop slightly till his grasp was on the barrel, and jabbed at the pedestal that was the accelerator for the vulture.
"WHAT THE HELL!" Tychus near screamed as the vulture lurched passed its current position till it nearly head butted the end of the train before easing off by a few inches. "You can't be serious!" The vulture lurch forward again, though not as violently as the first time. "You're insane, aren't you?!" A strange disconcerting sense of comfort washed over the man when the Ghost raised his spare hand into the convict's view and shook it in the nonverbal equivalent of "so-so..."
"Leave it to little Jimmy to stick me with the crazy guy..." the ex-prisoner grouched as he unsteadily climbed over the vulture's cockpit to the hood, his spot quickly occupied by the... 'questionable' Ghost to ensure he didn't fall off. Shakily he got up and took one baby step at a time, going slow as possibly to not risk whatever luck that got him so far already when it came to staying 'onboard' the vulture even as he passed the halfway point of the hover-bike, during which the bike itself shortened the gap between the 'marine' and the train for a short jump.
Taking a deep breath, Tychus pushed his suit to the limits leapt onto the train and snagged the guard rail with both hands that dared not let go as the metal screeched in protest to the desperate and sudden assault on it. The bike, meanwhile, shuddered roughly with its use as a bastardized springboard to which force the Ghost to manhandle the controls lest the vehicle crashed and possibly take him down with it. Regaining some amount of control, the Ghost brought the less burdened hover-bike to chase down on the train once more even with Tychus, having hauled himself over the guard rail, arming himself and bringing his newfound weapon to bear...
Masked narrowed eyes squinted a bit further when they noticed the angle of the guess rifle...
The burst of gunfire, and its deadly projectiles, soared above the driver and his 'ride' to assault something which the combined roar of the engine and the scream of onrushing air from the mag-lev train hidden. Even the Ghost couldn't help but snarl as to what he let sneak up on him, the spare rearguard hellion had caught up with its turret primed. With sudden cover fire for the vulture, the hellion turned sharply to get behind the hover-bike at the cost of the explosive growth of distance between the two. Unfortunately it also came at the cost of Tychu's support when the door opened once more for more Dominion marines.
A mechanical hand of the power armor immediately wrapped itself on the first available joint on a hapless marine and lobbed the soldier against the rail, stunning him, while the other pulled the trigger on another that dared to approach with his own rifle at the ready. Meanwhile a button was repeatedly mashed on a crude painting of a spider only for the Ghost to mash his teeth to find it didn't work just like its primary means of attack. With a shine as his warning, the biker swerved in time for a pair of red coated marines coming to meet the dirt alongside the savagely abused railing, unfortunately the hellion, either by keen eye or acting on a hunch, did the exact same thing and bypassed his now abandoned, if not dead, allies as he closed the distance.
Affording another look, the driver spotted Tychus retreating from the door to pick up the corpse of a fallen marine only to use it as a shield as he returned in kind the same trained gunfire that sought his end. A growl emanated from the Ghost as he dug into a small leg strapped container and produced a small black box of an object that shined with a blinking red dot upon being squeezed between the driver's palm and the floorboard of the vulture. Angling himself with the side of the balcony that still had a guard rail to speak off, the man grimaced under his helmet as he prepared to chance his own luck in a one shot endeavor.
His foot slammed into the accelerator one last time and bolted from his seat with a slight scramble as he climbed over the dash board and ran along the hood. Feet left the only substitute for safe ground at the speeds they were going, and a pair of outstretched hands latched into the railing that clung ever so tightly even with the daredevil slammed against the locomotive with his feet but inches from behind swept out from under him.
As for the hellion, it had crashed into the now wayward transport due to the driver's inability to deviate from the surprise garnered from the vulture's occupant abandoning the vehicle to its fate; between the crash that jostled loose the screws to fuels meant to be closed from the world at large and its recent add-on, the hellion driver wasn't able to recover from his mistake.
With a mobile threat out of the way, the Ghost climbed up from his ledge with his hand soon finding its way into his bomb holster and fished out a grenade. Tychus couldn't help but smirk as he spotted the device and its wielder as the latter unpinned it, hugged the wall, and let the devious device go inside the caboose with a quick blind toss.
XVX
"Command (lead train car)"
"Rear guard is down sir, both intruders are now inside."
"Damn it," an officer snarled as he rounded on the technician. "Tell all marines that they have a green light, don't let them even near the engine room!" With the communications officer busied with the command, the current commander of the regional Dominion forces round on a different technician as he tinkered with a electronic booth. "Doesn't this thing have any surveillance?"
"Sorry sir. Older mag-lev models don't have cameras installed in them."
"Turrets?!"
"Older model."
The man pinched the bridge of his nose and clenched his eyes. "ETA to the nearest command post?"
"Thirty minutes and counting sir."
"We just lost communications with car seven! Gunfire has been reported!"
He officer paced about the cabin while retaining his pose, his stress made more evident when he began to mutter on what to do. Snapping both eyes open and dropping his hand, he barked, "Congregate all the civilians to car two. Make a wall out of them!"
XVX
Car Six, two minutes later
"SMOKE 'EM!" a marine bellowed as he charged in to reinforce the faltering Dominion barricade of overturned boxes and piled bodies of the fallen. Two more joined in the fray to add to the group of three; five became four as another one was disposed of by a headshot.
"Surprise!" The bursts of gunfire died in mild confusion at the sudden declaration from their blue counterpart even as he lobbed a canister from his own respective cover.
"Oh shit-"
BOOM!
"The Dominion sure has a knack for sending in the dumb grunts," Tychus started with a "tsk" while marching to the door with the Ghost a step behind him. "Got to say though, they make good test subjects for them shredder grenades," he man drawled with a chuckle as he stepped over the remains of the Dominion soldiers and their impromptu fortifications to reach the threshold of the car.
As he neared it, he inched closer to the side of the door rather than cross the doorway, an action that the Ghost had taken as well. Both dared to peek from their respective cover for any dangers that awaited them.
XVX
"Command"
"All prisoners have been loaded into the second car sir."
"Good, the guards?"
"Guns primed and targets are in the kill zone sir."
"Good." The officer scowled as a thought struck him. "Any news as to how many intruders are, their armament, and projected abilities?"
"None sir..."
The man pursed his lips, coupled with a folded finger laying on top of them in thought.
"Have the escorts patrol cars two and three. I don't want to find some marine climbing along the rooftops on a hunch. Kill on sight, don't try to stop."
XVX
Outside
"Copy that, hellions out!" Twin flamethrower mounted cars eased off of their lead till they came within range of their targets in both sight and actual firing range.
"Think it's a bunch of marines, Chuck?"
"Probably, Roast. Though it had to be 'ard as hell to get onto the train outside of jumpin' off a passin' bridge."
"Either way, they're kindling to the fire if they dare step outside."
A bark of laughter rattle the intercom of Roast's headset. "Yep!"
Neither noticed the minute shimmer slowly making its way along the rooftops that only rushed forward to clear a gap. Of course few people ever notice a stealth operative when they're using their synonymous equipment.
Even if either of the Raider's were fresh from a boot camp, or worse never received any form (outside of experience set standards) of training at all, both would've found the distinct lack of guards and reputed hostages a tads disturbing and suspicious all the same. Given what they had learned over the years, there was only one plausible conclusion for the lack of bodies, living or otherwise: they were holed up in the back and awaiting to gun them down while using the civilians as shields.
If they were correct, and they most likely were, then there was only one solution... and it was a one man job given Tychus' current armament. Padding his way to an emergency escape hatch of the second to last car, the operative nudged it loose enough for him to peek through a crack to be treated to the back of a Dominion marine languidly facing a seat circle of defeated and scared colonists huddled together in a circle.
With a narrowing of the eyes, the Ghost pushed his senses to a higher degree as a mentally activated circuit switch on. "Eight marines circling twenty civvies," he finally croaked out as he sealed the hatch shut.
"What the... is that you kid?" Tychus rumbled. He received no response.
"Hello?" No response.
"Oly Oly Oxen free!" Again... no response as the Ghost hopped onto the next car.
"Ah screw it..."
"Flushing them out," the Ghost whispered as he edged another emergency hatch open to find less armored Dominion members milling about in the improvised command center. "Whatever kid..." From the leg-container, a concussive grenade was produced...
XVX
Car Two
Boom!
"What the-"
Boom! Boom! Zzzt!
All guns were trained on the portal leading to the first car as it opened, permitting smoke to belch out, for their commanding officer to burst through hacking, coughing, and staggering... with an odd look in his eye if the marines took time to notice it; his gaze appeared to be glazed over slightly.
"The computers went nuts and are messing with the engine!" he snarled as he ran past the guards to the other end. "You want to stick around for a train to crash or would you rather overpower some bumpkins with guns?!" he barked before disappearing behind the automatic door.
There was no deliberation, two of the guards menaced the colonists into staying put while their comrades rushed passed them in a bum rush to the door.
Calmly clicking boots drew their attention to the lead car's doorway, and many gasped in fearful shock to find a ghost leisurely walking out... and heading towards the nearest fire extinguisher.
XVX
Car Four
"Go! Go! Go!"
The retreat of the Dominion soldiers were cut short when the car door opened to let a blue marine in, his visor up to allow the world see him smoking a cigar and armed with a minigun.
"Bad idea to leave your toys where someone can just get 'em," he grunted with a devilish grin as the muzzle began to spin...
XVX
Engine Room
Several colonists swarmed the otherwise empty room, its course having been set and maintained solely by a computer while its now former owners dealt with the intrusion of their claimed transported; it didn't take a genius to override the unprotected hardware to reverse their course.
"Train cleaned and en route to the station. Pair of wheeled burners going to nip us along the way."
"Got that, some of the locals are heading out with our boys manning the guns. Where's Tychus though?"
"... having fun."
A groan escaped the Ghost's personal intercom. "Just don't let him blow up the train before you guys get back."
"Will do."
"That only happened once and you know it was an accident!" Tychus suddenly defended himself over the frequency.
"Still happened," Jim Raynor growled.
"Well at least I didn't plant a bomb on the vulture before abandoning it," Tychus half growled.
"You know I never-" Jim stopped as he took sudden consideration of the... comment and the chase that had long since occurred before it. "You sided with Rory when it comes to vultures, didn't ya kid?"
There was no response from the Ghost for that.
"They're classic pieces of engineering!"
A/N: (*) Latin for "Slayer of Beasts."
I use Google translators, I do not claim to have a lucid understand of any languages outside of English!
Monkeybandit2, making off with your attention! No refunds.
Extra! Getting down with bunkers with Rory Swann!
Armory, Hyperion
"Alright boys and girls, who can tell me how many bunker types there are?" the stout man near bellowed at his roost.
"Huh... one? GAH!" Over the years, Swann's aim with wrenches has only improved.
"Wrong!"
"Huh-" another engineering only gulped as the eyes of the one armed man turned to him. "How many are there?" He sighed in relief when the man turned away to man his console to activate a small screen sitting on the platform's wall.
"As you are all aware, bunkers in general are meant to be protective gun posts for the troops that garrison them and are as easy to make in a sitch on the battlefield." Several images found themselves a home on the screen as the man once again assumed the position.
"But the common you all know isn't the only one ever built. Hell, the Confederacy spent millions into making more elaborate bunkers than the battlefield type."
"The purpose of the bunker in question is usually promptly explained in its name," the man explained as he flicked a small remote attached to his belt to let one of the images enlarge.
"Barrack bunkers, as you can imagine, are meant to house a squad's worth of troops for a time and were typically used when the environment requires a bit of tact to keep that squad from constantly being attacked."
The flicked another switch to allow an image containing a small installation, presumably underground, giving the audience a rough three dimensional sketch of a barracks with a small kitchen and armory to be easily replaced with a larger version of the base with what appeared to be a docking area. "Hanger bunkers were primarily used to house and repair damaged vehicles ranging from a small pack of vultures," the chief engineer gave out a quiet "bleh" before continuing, "to tanks. Some designs even allow small craft like a Wraith or a Dropship at the most fit inside them if they catered to ships."
The image was replaced once more with an even larger image consisting of a small port for vehicles, though not large enough for a tank, and numerous rooms including, but not limited to, rooms such as sleeping quarters, kitchens, and what appeared to be a command center near the exact center of the complex. "Command bunkers are basically underground versions of the kind you see every day in a Terran operation only bigger and lacking the flying capability of above ground structures."
"Any questions?"
"Why did you gather us for something we're not going to use?"
The engineer could only jump before he was pelted by a wrench like his comrade. "OH THAT HURTS!" he screamed as he clutched his face.
"Any other questions?"
"OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT BEHIND YOU?!" The robotic armed engineer swerved around with a wrench at the ready only to find that he had been duped! Worst of all, for him at least, his crew had taken to hiding in the small window that Rory gave them by turning around!
"This is the thanks I get for trying to enlighten people," the man grumbled as he returned to his console.
"Not going to use," he grumbles once more with a snort as he cleared away the bottom screen. "Is it wrong to teach people something now and then?"