"The city of Los Andares has fallen under attack by a large force of the xenomorphs. Colonel Duke himself has volunteered to aid you in retaking the city. Good luck, men. Los Andares and the Confederacy are counting on you."

Dispatch to all Alpha Squadron troops on Chau Sara from Magistrate Edwin Collins, 11/12/99

StarCraft: Loomings

Chapter 9: Force of Arms

0601 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)

Sara System, Chau Sara

M1 Highway (main road to Los Andares)

It was funny how pieces of bullshit stuck in your mind. And marching down the M1 Highway with about a thousand other Alpha Squadron troops, plus the remaining Hellbringers, Robert Perry's mind was full of it. Admittedly it had built up over the years, red tape and the destruction of Korhal IV having made the entire Koprulu Sector FUBAR, but the message he and the rest of the Blood Hawks had received a few hours ago from Magistrate Collins had really taken the cake.

"Dear Alpha Squadron, the capital of this planet is under attack and you're being thrown right into the meat grinder," he murmured bitterly, not knowing nor caring whether anyone else heard him. "Never mind that we haven't had time to gather intelligence. Never mind that we have no idea of the size of the xenomorph force. Never mind that we haven't been given any directives apart from entering the city and shooting anything that isn't human. Jesus Christ what the flick are those flicking sons of motherflickers thinking in their flicked up-…"

"Perry, even NCOs have to know when to keep their mouths shut."

Grimacing, the staff sergeant glanced at his superior, who was currently marching alongside him. There was a time when he wouldn't have cared what the lieutenant heard him say and although that status quo was maintained, the reasons had changed to an extent-more personal, less professional. Still, the Alphas around him were a different story, at least the ones who weren't neurally resocialized. However, that percentage was much lower than many other Confederate units and it wouldn't do morale any good for a superior to be questioning his orders.

"Sorry ma'am," said Perry cordially. "It won't happen again."

"Fair enough," said Wilkes sadly. "But don't hold back too much. I think there's going to be plenty of cursing before this day is out."

Perry averted his gaze. He knew that his co-commander was leaving out that there'd be plenty of death and destruction too. Not because she didn't care, but because it didn't need saying. Even heading along the highway, the signs of destruction were clear. The few civilians who'd made it out of the city alive had passed on tales of the horrors they'd seen, horrors that had pursued them up most of the highway. Others, as the numerous stationary hovercars showed, had not been so lucky. Perry, Wilkes and a few others had peered in to a few on the way. Several prayers, curses and half-digested breakfasts deposited on the highway later, Alpha Squadron had decided to leave well enough alone.

"So," said Wilkes eventually. "You think the xenomorphs are raising the stakes? Or are they just desperate?"

Perry smiled faintly, remembering a time where he would have told the lieutenant to remain focused. Still, after going through seven shades of hell and back over the last few days, he could appreciate the effort she was making to keep them sane, the smoke from the city ahead of them carrying the stench of death with it.

"Can't really say, as their aliens," the NCO said eventually. "But in the end, it probably won't matter."

Not being a telepath, Wilkes, or anyone else for that matter would have likely mistaken Perry's neutral tone as stemming from pessimism. However, the neutral tone instead stemmed from that he was simply making a factual statement. The xenomorphs wouldn't retreat from battle and unless their commanders' personalities did a one-eighty, Alpha Squadron wouldn't either.

Alpha Squadron's response to the attack on Los Andares had been slow…far too slow for there to be any real chance to prevent significant collateral damage or casualties, both in terms of its population and Chau Sara's colonial militia, the capital of their world being the hub of their activity. Then again, as he had come to realize, the Blood Hawks' creed of "first in, first out" was somewhat redundant in this conflict in that the xenomorphs had no identifiable base of operations and operating under what was theorized to be some kind of hive mind, possibly a form of telepathy, the element of surprise was far less valuable than it would have been against human targets, perhaps even pointless.

Then again, most of war is pointless anyway…

Given the situation, Alpha Squadron was operating conventionally. And by "conventionally", that meant the remnants of Echo Company marching towards Los Andares, while the marines of the Dauntless touched down on the outskirts of the city, Echo being absorbed into the E-Company of the Alpha 15th, Fisher being granted command due to his experience over the last few days, while Captain Isabella Rucka remained on the Dauntless to keep the ship in line and co-ordinate supply runs. After, all, with the absence of the colonel, someone had to remain on the only warship in the system.

Perry grimaced. Despite the numerous Goliath armored walkers marching alongside them, despite the heavily armored AAV-5 Arclite siege tanks rolling down the highway at regular intervals, he was still uneasy. Uneasy because the siege tank at the head of the column was being driven by-

"Alright men, form up," came the voice of Colonel Edmund Duke, driving a siege tank at the head of the column. "We've arrived at Hell's Gate."

"Hell's Gate?" asked Wilkes.

Perry sighed. "The bridge that leads over the River Volagius and into the city. The bridge that's actually called Poseidon's Gate but now leads into Hell, so to speak."

Wilkes remained silent for a moment, Perry wondering if he should perhaps elaborate further. But given the look on the lieutenant's face, a visage that mirrored the staff sergeant's own, a visage spurred by everything that they'd seen, smelt and heard on the way here, not to mention the knowledge that things were only going to get worse from here on in, he decided he didn't need to.

And besides, some things were better left unsaid…

0612 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)

Sara System, Chau Sara

Explorer-class science vessel Charon

Kurze was worried.

Not something that he would have freely admitted of course, especially while stationed on the Charon's bridge. Many of those around him had been dragged from their bunks and not fully alert as a result, but through usual Cerberus dedication and a few stimulants, his crew would have likely noticed any unease their commander possessed. Still, they had better things to do and Kurze hoped they would remember that.

Come to think of it, they seem to have the jitters too, thought the Cerberus commander, a degree of satisfaction coursing through him. It wasn't that surprising really. Cerberus required its operatives to be the "best of the best," but the standards were far less stringent for its support staff such as the ones found on science vessels. And as the Charon was currently orbiting Chau Sara alongside the Dauntless in anticipation of another attack similar to the one made on the Vigilance, the prospect of combat didn't seem very appealing for many of its members.

Kurze's worries were different however.

Part of that difference was that they stemmed from pre-existing concerns, specifically ones that had been present ever since the start of the campaign. From the outset, Kurze knew that containing the xenomorph infestation was his top priority, both in terms of the creatures' spread and knowledge of them. But with an attack on a major city, word would spread across Chau Sara, possibly even beyond. Officially the buildup of Alpha Squadron troops was to put down the Sons of Korhal insurgents (ones that technically no longer existed, but the general population didn't need to know that) and a communications lockdown was being maintained, but it was far from foolproof. Propaganda was one of the Confederacy's most effective weapons, but its enemies were also well versed in its use. And linking a race of alien invaders with the Koprulu Sector's greatest power, not to mention that the linkage had existed for over a decade…Kurze shuddered. He didn't want to think about it.

Christ, this place stinks, he thought, the stench of human sweat permeating across the bridge, some of it the commander's own. Sighing, he rose from his chair, making his way towards a holographic display of Los Andares and the surrounding area. His wish for a rapid strike having been denied by Duke, who'd wanted to ship down heavy armor before moving in, Kurze used the inter-bellum period to gather data, coupling together a topographic map via surveillance from the Charon and the CF/A17G Wraith squadrons aboard the Dauntless, now back in their hangers. Wraiths were of limited use in air-to-ground combat in the best of circumstances, let alone in a cityscape. Besides, if the xenomorphs once again made a space attack, fighter support could be invaluable. Not that Kurze had any idea how the creatures were able to make jumps through warp space or even propel themselves through it, but if the creatures chose to demonstrate such an ability, he wanted to be alive to record it.

"Sir, Captain Arlo reports that Alpha Squadron will be entering the city en masse within minutes," came the voice of Lieutenant Idrini, interrupting Kurze's thoughts.

The commander nodded. "Good. Acknowledge transmission, order him to continue sit-reps as time permits.

"Yes sir."

Sighing, Kurze turned his gaze back to the display, wiping a band of sweat from his hair. Any attempt to find out why the hell Duke insisted on leading the attack personally from a siege tank had failed, but at least he could count on Arlo's presence on the surface to keep the general in line. Duke's troops were well trained, but apart from what remained of Fisher's company, none of them had any experience dealing with anything outside terran society. Kind of like how Kurze had never really had much training in diplomacy, demonstrated as he picked up a headset from Petty Officer Michalowski, Collins apparently on the line.

"Collins, what the hell do you want?"

Much to the lieutenant colonel's frustration, a burst of chuckling came down the wire, the magistrate either having laid into distractions from reality or was amused at the Cerberus commander's outburst. Either way, Kurze didn't particularly care.

"Hmm, I see the bee up your rear is drawing blood," said Collins eventually. "Care to share how it got up there?"

Kurze sighed. "No Collins, the inner workings of my body are confidential. And if you don't get to the point now, you'll find blood on my hands as well."

"Far enough," said the magistrate calmly, perhaps reassured by the distance between the two of them. "I'm just curious as to how the reclamation of Los Andares is faring, whether there's been any collateral damage."

Kurze glanced back at the hologram, the Alphas still forming up. "Collins, the attack hasn't even started yet and collateral damage is the least of our worries. And keep in mind that you're not exactly entitled to be kept in the loop."

Static filled the line. A static that Kurze hoped would lead into a terminated transmission. No such luck however.

"What do you mean, the least of our worries!?" Collins yelled. "Los Andares is the capital city of this world and its infrastructure demands respect. And in case you've forgotten commander, if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even know about-…"

"Magistrate, we would have found out about Los Andares with or without your office contacting you! And before you say anything more, keep in mind that you were supposed to terminate any non-controlled communication with your office, a transgression mere days after attempting to contact Duke and that as far as anyone knows you were in your office at the time of the attack and thus likely dead! Now either you shut the hell up and wait for us to reveal your miraculous survival or I swear by the Ruling FathersI will make those rumors true!"

Static filled the line. This time, it was cut.

0617 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)

Sara System, Chau Sara

Poseidon's Gate

Command and control, or C&C as they were often known, were vital to the functioning of any operation. And Edmund Duke prided himself on possessing both.

Forty years of defending the Confederacy and the appeal never left him. That he was serving the most powerful interstellar empire in this region of space was all well and good, but even if the Confederacy had been at the bottom of Koprulu's pecking order, it would have mattered little to him. He was a colonel, and although way overdue for his general's stars (at least in his own mind), he'd still be entitled to command the same amount of personnel.

A thousand grunts… Duke thought, watching from the top of his siege tank as the Blood Hawks took their designated positions, each company having a sector of the city in which to investigate. All of them mine…

Technically it could be more than that, considering that he was well within his rights to give orders to anyone still in the city, colonial militia or otherwise. Not that he particularly cared about any possible survivors. He could easily tell the difference between lives spent and lives wasted, but while such a philosophy led to a sense of morality, it also led to a sense of practicality. And in light of the militia's recent actions, or lack of them, they'd probably end up being more of a hindrance than a help.

Still no sign of them though. No lights, no radio signals, nothing. Maybe the xenomorphs finished them off…

Duke grimaced, wiping a gauntleted hand through his sweaty hair. The morning breeze was cool, but couldn't offset the temperature of a siege tank's interior, which was bad enough even without three people in the vehicle. However, there was more to it than that-the knowledge that within a few minutes, unless the aliens had packed up and left (fat chance), he'd be directing his forces against a foe that was unlike anything he had ever faced, a status quo possessed by almost every soldier here. He'd been in hairy situations before, had stared death in the face and crawled out of hell as he did so, but he'd at least had the comforting knowledge that his foes were human.

But now…

"All companies, report in," said the general into his comm. unit, taking his mind of what was coming.

"A Company, alright to bring it on."

"B Company, bored but alive."

"C Company, ready to roll out."

"D Company, jacked up and good to go."

"E Company, in position."

Duke nodded. "Alright, everyone knows the drill. Now move in."

The plan was executed effortlessly, all five companies spreading out through their designated areas. Then again, it wasn't exactly the most complex plan in the world and had been made up on the spot.

Getting back into his siege tank and rolling forward with A Company, Duke reflected on the irony of the situation, how his siege tanks would prove valuable, but not in the way he expected. Based on the reports he'd gone over the last few days, all evidence pointed to the xenomorphs attacking in swarms, relying on weight of numbers to overwhelm their enemy. True, there was variation in their strains, the "snake things" being far more effective than the "dog things" (Kurze had yet to come up with proper designations for the xenomorph variants, or even a name for their race) in dealing death, albeit far less numerous, but they still conformed to the insect-like swarm mentality. As such, the general had brought every siege tank he could get his hands on, confident that the xenomorphs would attack the Alphas as soon as they neared Los Andares, only to be decimated by mass artillery fire.

But instead they hide like rats, Duke thought, rumbling down Queenswood Street. Guess my reputation has preceded me.

A thought unlikely to be true, but comforting nonetheless. What was somewhat less comforting however, was that the xenomorphs hadn't attacked and Duke had resolved to move into the city, despite the objections of captain Arlo, who'd wanted to send scout teams. His recommendations had been ignored however-Duke hadn't travelled down from his ship to this backwater world to let his men have all the fun. This was a new enemy and despite his unease, he still wanted to see them face to face, regardless of what usual C&C procedures dictated. He could command/navigate a siege tank and the rest of his forces simultaneously, thank you very much, regardless of the lieutenant colonel's misgivings. The Cerberus commander had ruled out using the Dauntless' nuclear warheads or Yamato Cannon to "sterilize" Chau Sara's capital (officially they were still fighting the Sons of Korhal, and in light of the rebels' namesake, the use of WMDs would be highly controversial) so if he was obliged to reclaim it the old fashioned way, so be it. And although the siege tank truly shone as an artillery piece, hence the name, it was still an effective armored vehicle in closer quarters.

But then again, so are the xenomorphs, thought the general, his subordinates still reporting negative contact. Are siege tanks really cut out for this?

Seconds later, with contacts simultaneously becoming positive, xenomorphs crawling out from every building and manhole in sight, Duke supposed he'd find out.

0749 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)

Sara System, Chau Sara

Los Andares

There was an old Morian saying that had originated from the Guild Wars-fight normally, and become a veteran in months. Fight in a city, and become a veteran in hours.

A paraphrased version perhaps, but given that Wilkes was currently in a city, had been fighting for more than an hour against a foe even more dangerous than the Confederacy, the bare bones of literature was all that was required to validate the point. And even if she wanted to go beyond that, circumstances dictated otherwise.

Good thing Perry's not a telepath. Had enough trouble with what I said a few days ago.

Grimacing, the lieutenant ducked behind a burnt out groundcar, slamming home another clip into her rifle. She knew that most people would argue that this wasn't the time to think about literature or the relationship she had with her NCO, but if such thoughts were the price of sanity, so be it. Because while facing the reality of an alien species in "normal conditions" was one thing, the city stereotype was another.

Wonder if the Morians had any prophets during the Guild Wars?

Somehow, she doubted it. But right now, it was time to deal with what was certain. And what was certain was that despite the battle having gone on for more than an hour, the xenomorphs weren't letting up. And propping her rifle against the car's bonnet, Wilkes began her attempt to rectify the situation.

"Yee hah! Just like a shooting gallery!"

"Get some! Come and get some!"

Wilkes glanced at the Alphas to her right, both of them standing in the center of the street, firing wildly. Effective in a sense, considering that the horde of dog creatures allowed for a wild aim, but still risky.

"Jones! McCabe! Get back in cover!" Wilkes yelled, not taking her eye off the horde coming down Florina Avenue.

"Why?" asked one of the greenies. "They're bugs! All you have to do is shoot and-…"

Wilkes didn't hear the rest of that sentence. What she did hear was a wet sound, a series of screams and gunfire and an abrupt halt. And given the hydra creature standing over the pair of bodies, it wasn't that surprising.

"Ah shit," she murmured, diving back behind the groundcar as the hydra let loose a barrage of needle spines. While far less effective than their scythes, the needles had still been reported to occasionally bypass CMC armor and that was enough to prompt the lieutenant to get out of harm's way. Oh, and that fifth platoon gunned down the creature in seconds before turning their attention back to the horde surging up towards them. Well, at least some of them did. Alpha Squadron had pressed deep into the city, but the xenomorphs were still using the same tactics of emerging from every possible opening en masse. And right now, in addition to the critters surging up the street, that included hydra creatures surging out of the Four Seasons hotel. Most of them were at the windows, raining mass needle fire down on 5th platoon's location.

Wilkes wasn't sure whether she screamed "take cover!" or someone else did. Truth be told, given the sudden downpour of poisonous projectiles, such an order probably wasn't required, the marines diving behind every piece of cover they could find. What would require an order however, was a solution for the situation 5th platoon was in. Auto turrets were covering the side alleys and despite being in the thick of battle (presumably), Duke was coordinating his Vulture-class hover bike squads well, ensuring that any group of xenomorphs was reported. However, with one group of xenomorphs giving suppressive fire to another group that Wilkes judged to be between one hundred and two hundred meters away from their makeshift firebase, any Vulture squad would be academic.

We need bigger guns.

"Perry!" yelled Wilkes into her comm. unit. "Respond, over!"

…

"Perry!"

…

"Perry, answer now or I-…"

"Calm down Wilksy, I'm here!"

The lieutenant smiled. Partly out of relief that the staff sergeant hadn't met the same fate as 4th platoon's NCO (apparently pulled down a manhole, according to the hysterical cries of Lieutenant Fowl before meeting a similar fate), partly out of the joy that hearing her old nickname brought. That now, possibly about to be swamped, he could still be a human being.

"Get on the line to Fisher. I need some heavy guns here."

"Weren't we assigned a pair of siege tanks half an hour ago?"

Wilkes grimaced. "We were, but Duke had them redeployed. Other priorities."

Perry let out a curse that was a combination of verbal abuse and questioning the colonel's parentage. Under normal circumstances, Wilkes might have been inclined to discipline him. Still, given their current situation and that he got on the line to Fisher anyway, she decided to let the matter pass.

No need to be a bitch in my final moments, she thought, Perry informing her of two incoming dropships, throwing a flare for good measure.

Admittedly, with the incoming heavy guns, the chances of the xenomorph swarm overwhelming their position were somewhat reduced. 5th Platoon was still able to keep firing and Vultures had deployed a few spider mines up ahead as per Duke's strategy of letting the enemy come to them. Most of the mines had detonated, but a few remained, their sensor net picking up any critter that neared them and thus scuttling over to send said critter to kingdom come. But with the suppressive fire from the hydra creatures, the spider mines running low and their Firebats having been assigned to help protect a group of siege tanks, the Blood Hawks needed more time. They needed to even the odds a little.

"Fifth squad, report in," said Wilkes, a strategy forming in her mind.

"Sergeant Drake, Fifth Squad," came a voice over the comm. unit.

"Sergeant, I need you to get to the highground. Enter the Ritz and pour fire on the Four Seasons."

"But ma'am, your position is vulnerable enough, and it'll take time for us-…"

"That's an order sergeant!"

"But ma'am, you could be overrun by the time we-…"

"Drake, I don't have time for this bullshit!" Wilkes yelled, a few Alphas glancing at her in surprise. "Just get up there and give suppressive fire before I-…"

"Ok, ok, message received," said the sergeant quietly.

Sighing, Wilkes leaned back against the groundcar, uncaring that it left her vulnerable to the elevated hydras. Drake's concern was well founded because it was just that-concern. A fear that the rest of the platoon could be overwhelmed while his squad shifted position.

And I snapped at him, thought Wilkes. What kind of person does that make me?

Less than a week ago, Perry would have probably said something along the lines of "a good officer." Indeed, the ability to give decisive orders was required in this kind of situation. But Perry had changed over the last few days, had changed in a way that made him less judgmental and more relaxed. Wilkes hadn't really dwelled on the change-circumstances didn't give her the time. But now, come to think of it, perhaps Perry had changed because she had changed. He'd relaxed because he knew that his superior could get the job done without him acting like a hawk.

But where does this leave me then? Is this what I've become? No empathy? No understanding? No…conscience?

Sighing, she went back to firing.

The xenomorphs may want to destroy humanity. But even the creatures failed, as far as Wilkes was concerned, they may have done the next best thing…

0802 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)

Sara System, Chau Sara

Los Andares

Hugh Fisher hated flying.

It wasn't as if he wasn't used to it of course. Alpha Squadron was a rapid strike unit and vehicular transport was therefore often required. And even when speed wasn't of the essence, it was common for COs to use mobile command posts, co-coordinating their forces in the field. Not exactly like Duke was currently doing, trying to lead his forces while commanding a siege tank simultaneously, but transport units were ideal conditions.

Except, thought Fisher bitterly as his dropship descended, when you're heading for a warzone from the air.

From what the captain had seen over the past few days, the xenomorphs weren't exactly air savvy. Sure, they'd reportedly taken out a science vessel, but if they had any strains capable of flying within a planet's atmosphere, Alpha Squadron had yet to see them. Still, the hydra-creatures could provide deadly volley fire, hence why the numerous dropships descending from the Dauntless and rerouting to supply depots had been instructed to stay clear of the city, Duke's original plan being to blast the charging aliens from range. But with Alpha Squadron having been forced to venture into the city, Fisher entering a dropship for more efficient C&C and now having to make a milk run to his company, aerial command posts had become far less appealing.

"Approaching drop point captain, ETA thirty seconds," said the voice of the ship's pilot, seated in front of him while Fisher had the navigation seat.

"Status on platoon?"

"Approximately same as reported earlier. Line's holding, but they could probably use the heavy armor."

Fisher nodded, scanning the area for any hostiles apart from the ones that were engaged with Wilkes' force. He was partly tempted to point out that a pilot hardly possessed the knowhow for making such a detailed analysis, but decided against it. He had more important things to worry about.

As it was, Fisher was part of a trio of dropships touching down-one carrying a pair of siege tanks, one carrying a trio of Goliaths and a third dropship bringing a resupply of ammunition. And walking out of the hatch that his dropship's two siege tanks had just rolled out of, Fisher could tell that the Blood Hawks needed it.

"Captain Fisher!" came a voice, Wilkes running over to him. "You came!"

Fisher idly returned the salute she gave him. "Just doing my job lieutenant. If my troops need help, they get it."

If the lieutenant had noticed the undercurrent of resentment in the captain's voice, she gave no indication, instead cheering along with her men as the heavy armor came rolling out. Fisher grimaced-Wilkes may have become more competent in recent times, but he was still wasting his time due to her being unable to hold the line against the horde of critters descending on them. A horde steadily being thinned by the Goliaths' autocannons.

To be fair, she'd at least taken the initiative, gunfire from one of her squads occupying the hydras in the adjacent one, forcing them to spread their needle fire. But she still needed siege tanks to finish them off.

And all the while, I'm standing here at ground zero, thought the captain, walking back to his dropship. Duke would probably be contacting him soon-it was his job to co-ordinate Echo Company and standing around siege tanks playing Flight of the Valkyries on attached loudspeakersas they deployed their Shock Cannons wasn't going to help matters. They could destroy every building in the city for all he cared. He had more important things to worry about.

Like the heavy footsteps…and the roaring…

What in the name of the Ruling Fathers? Fisher stopped where he was, turning around to face the street. So did every other Alpha for that matter. The critters on the ground had been wasted, the hydra things either dead or dying in the ruins of the building that the siege tanks had sent crashing down. For all intents and purposes, all threats in this area had been eliminated.

Roar!

Or not…

The captain listened…listened to the sound of the footsteps closing in, his suit's aural directional enhancers pinpointing it as coming towards the T-junction behind the Blood Hawks position. Subconsciously his hand stretched towards his slugthrower, the marines behind him in turn reaching for their rifles.

"What…is that?" someone asked.

"Something tall, dark and ugly."

"How do you know that?"

"I don't."

Fisher shook his head. Idiots. Something loud and heavy is coming our way and all they can do is make jokes? Hell, they're all as bright as…

The commander never got to finish his train of thought. Not because he couldn't think of a good simile, but because his train of thought went down another line. A line involving the shock of seeing a creature twenty meters long and five meters high. A creature that was reminiscent of the mammoths of prehistoric Earth, or at least if mammoths bore a pair of blades that stretched out akin to pincers and were reptilian. A creature that let out a roar and charged their position.

This isn't right! Thought Fisher. There's no xenomorphs like this! They're all small! A creature of this size shouldn't exist!

Taken up in the monster's scythes and his body separated into two halves, it was clear that the xenomorph thought otherwise.

0807 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)

Sara System, Chau Sara

Los Andares

More than a decade ago, back in the Guild Wars, Robert Perry had come to the conclusion that life was cheap. And although the events of the last few days had shaken that belief, the…thing bearing down on 5th platoon seemed intent on verifying it.

How considerate, the NCO thought bitterly. Not the most useful train of thought, but better than letting fear take over. The same fear that seemed to have paralyzed the entire unit, the resocs freezing up, the volunteers screaming in terror.

In all honesty, Perry couldn't blame them. Taking on alien monsters was bad enough, but the Blood Hawks had the advantage of being briefed about them before heading into the city. However, giant reptilian mammoths weren't among the identified enemies, and combine the unknown with beings of destruction, and you ran into trouble. Oh, and there was also the inconvenient fact that the creature entered the siege tanks' "dead zone" before they could change their configuration, their metal frames torn apart like children's toys.

Guess life is cheap, Perry thought. Guess we're screwed also.

In an instant, the staff sergeant let his body go into autopilot, adrenaline and survival instinct prompting him to get as much distance between himself and the creature as possible. Admittedly Wilkes was giving similar orders over the radio, to fall back and follow her lead, but Perry barely heard. All he cared about was running to…

Crash!

Perry stopped short. One of the Goliaths had landed in front of him, its frame twisted out of proportion and currently pressing several marines into the tarmac.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Ignoring the sound of the other Goliath pilot meeting a similar fate as Fisher, Perry decided to follow the lieutenant's orders rather than falling into survival mode. True, sticking in a group seemed more risky than splitting up and being ordered to gather as many explosive weapons as possible was cutting it a bit fine, but Perry trusted her judgment. She'd recovered quickly back in the Arathi Basin. She could do the same here.

Not that many other Alphas held such faith. Perry didn't glance around much as he followed Wilkes, her position marked on his HUD, but the numerous bodies flying through the air and the screams told him enough. Whether they'd run for their lives or opened fire with their C-14s, the difference in their actions was rendered academic.

"Fifth Squad, this is Wilkes," came the voice of his superior. "Focus suppressive fire on the…thing."

"Suppressive fire!? How the hell are we meant to suppress that monster!?"

Despite the situation, Perry smiled. Fifth Squad may have been caught off guard as much as they were, but at least they were safe in the building. They shouldn't even need prompting.

"Just do it Drake!" yelled Wilkes. "Focus your fire on…oh."

Perry could tell by the tone of her voice that the "oh" in that sentence was the type of oh used in a phrase such as "oh shit!" rather than "oh, this is fantastic!" And glancing back to where Fifth Squad was, he could see why.

With a sickening groan, the Ritz collapsed. And withdrawing its car-sized hoofs back from the building, it was obvious that this new strain of xenomorph was the cause. And although it was dubious whether the xenomorphs were capable of experiencing emotions such as pride, the roar the creature let out that shook both Perry's armor and soul seemed to convey such a feeling, in addition to letting the survivors of fifth platoon know that they were screwed.

Yeah, like we didn't know that already. And…huh?

"Perry, you listening?"

The NCO blinked. "Huh? You were saying something?"

As it turned out, Wilksy had been saying something. Something involving a battle plan compressed to a thirty second briefing. Something that involved her planting an artillery beacon inside the building while the marines ran to an adjacent building, opening fire with the few bazookas they'd salvaged and their RPGs on her command in conjunction with Shock Cannon rounds hitting the structure, hopefully causing it to collapse and burying the creature under it. A solid plan overall. Certainly original enough to work. Except for one small issue…

"You're the bait!?" Perry exclaimed.

The lieutenant nodded. "I've got to get the creature's attention and keep it off you. A flare should suffice. Besides, the nearest Arclites are to the east and I'll be in the best position to give the firing order."

The next few seconds were a blur to Perry, both in terms of time and vision. The time…well, in the knowledge that the creature would soon stop searching the rubble for Fifth Squad and come after the fifteen or so marines that weren't dead or on their way to it, his perception seemed to stretch out in the knowledge that they only had around a minute at the most. The vision…well, his organic eye was letting out a watery substance while the interior of his cybernetic one was twitching.

"Miranda, this is insane," he hissed, the other Alphas taking up position.

Un-polarizing her visor, Wilkes smiled. "We on a first name basis now sergeant? That's a first."

"Well calling you an idiot who wants to die for no apparent-…"

Wilkes slapped him.

Courtesy of his helmet, Perry felt no pain despite the force of the blow. But it certainly got him off balance long enough for the lieutenant to put her hands on his shoulders and draw her face close to his.

"Consider the facts Robert," she said softly. "Fact-our rifles are next to useless against that thing and we don't have enough explosive ordnance to take it down ourselves. Fact-you and I are possibly the only members of this platoon that have any experience with the xenomorphs. Fact-by extension of the previous fact, one of us has to stand our ground while the other coordinates the firing squad, as the only other options are a resoc or a greenie. Fact-you've always been the better leader and even if we retake Los Andares, Chau Sara won't be safe by default. Now do you have any more questions, or can I get a flare ready?"

Perry did indeed have a number of questions-when did they suddenly start referring to each other on a first name basis? When did Wilkes become suicidal? How did the role of the authoritarian and the emotional individual switch places? Why was there a tear coming from his left eye? Why were there tears in Wilkes' eyes (well, the knowledge of apparent instant death could account for that). When did she get the idea that he was the better leader in a situation outside the box he'd trained in for the better part of his life?

The NCO didn't have the answer to any of these questions. And running across the street while Wilkes activated a flare, he knew that he'd never get the answers. After all, he'd never wanted to be a leader, or at least the same kind of leader as Wilkes, a CO bound by the red tape he despised. He didn't think outside the box in the same way she did. More ruthless perhaps, and therefore able to give the order to fire as Wilkes brought her hand down, but not as idealistic. The type of person who could watch as RPG and HEAT round fire impacted a five story building, sending it crashing down on a beast that's decimated your unit, the type of person who manages to steel yourself so that you can lead your men to the broken body and pump 8mm spikes into it until it stops twitching.

And thus it happened.

This is how it feels to be Robert Perry

You're blinded by rage. A rage that is so intense that you're compelled to keep firing into the body of the creature lying under several tonnes of rubble.

And then some more.

And more.

And…well, quite a bit more. Long after the rest of your men have stopped firing.

You fire because there's nothing else you can do.

You fire because despite the fact that Duke's voice over the radio is announcing victory, you sure as hell don't feel this way.

You fire because…well, for a lot of reasons, only stopping when the rubble twitches.

You stop because you see a black glove.

You stop because you see a white arm.

You stop because that arm gives way to the body of First Lieutenant Miranda Wilkes who, while you were concentrating on the rooftop (being the cold hearted bastard that you are), your superior made a dash across the road as the building collapsed, dodging the creature and while being hit by some rubble, able to withstand it due to the personal force field she took without authorization from an armory ("screw regulations" as she says).

You help your superior up. Not because she asks for a hand, not because your men would kill you if you refused (said men all cheering and clapping at this point, and don't want the moment ruined), but because it's the right thing to do. The human thing to do. And taking off your helmet, smiling and giving the most heartfelt salute you've ever done in your life, you understand how wonderful being human can be.

This is how it feels to be Robert Perry.

A/N

I learnt an important lesson while writing this chapter-cliches rarely work.

I suppose that deserves some elaboration in that when I drafted the outline of this story years ago, the fighting up to the appearance of the ultralisk centered on Wilkes, Perry and Fisher in a back to back setting. However, while the outlines I did back then were far less elaborate than the ones now, I can't help but wonder what I was thinking-such a scenario would have been reminiscent of the Flannum Installation and the Arathi Basin. Fights against "bug species" have their pros, but a drawback is that the first resort is often the human faction blasting away at a numerically superior enemy in what borders on a last stand scenario, the likes of Starship Troopers and Aliens being examples of this. With this chapter, I wanted to carry out a different dynamic, a scenario where while the zerg may have outnumbered Alpha Squadron (of course, they more or less outnumber anyone), it was still a flexible battlefield with the zerg demonstrating their intelligence and using relatively intricate tactics rather than "kill all humans." Still present of course, but the hydralisks and zerglings going by their strengths and their decision to remain within the city was an attempt.

Don't know how well I did it and the demise of the ultralisk was one of half a dozen scenarios that I had in mind, wanting to demonstrate its strength, yet wanting its fall to be somewhat original rather than just mass firepower. Regardless, it did lead to a different dynamic for the chapter's ending, specifically the second person POV. Two more sections were originally slated to be in the chapter at the end but I decided to carry them over to next chapter, which would not only make it longer (chapter 10 being rather short) but would give a "feel good" ending rather than the usual "it's not over yet" segment from the Overmind. Of course it's not over at this point, as mission 5 has yet to be taken on and there are three chapters left, but the protagonists don't need to know it at this point.

Think I've yakked on long enough. Oh, and I'm no longer on jury service. Woot.