"Can't say much is going on right now Handy. The Norad II is patrolling the space in and around the Fringe Worlds and I've reported everything the Confederacy lets me. Which, given that nothing noteworthy has occurred for the past two months and the only thing worth reporting on being the battlecruiser itself,, is very little. There are a few more secrets I might be able to unlock, but I'm running out of coffin nails to buy them. Still, with Colonel Duke nowhere to be found, I might be able to get some more info for free."
"And at least there's the admittedly selfish consolation that Alpha Squadron must be as bored as I am."
Transcript of a message sent by UNN reporter Michael Liberty to editor-in-chief Handy Anderson, 11/12/99
StarCraft: Loomings
Chapter 11: Extermination
2006 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)
Sara System, Chau Sara
Interior of quandtradyne APOD-33 dropship Orpheon
"Adjutant online. Good evening captain."
Captain Miranda Wilkes sighed. Partly out of relief that her adjutant was now working, partly out of the embarrassment that it had taken her six minutes to get the forsaken AI to operate properly. And standing in front of the five lieutenants of E Company, people that she'd never seen in her life and if this assault was anything like past ones, people that she may never see again, Fisher's replacement wished things had got off to a better start. That Isembi was still on the Dauntless hadn't gone down too well and with only a few minutes before touchdown, Wilkes knew that her window of making a good impression was rapidly diminishing.
Just like my window before heading into battle again. Dammit, how did the xenomorphs set up so fast!?
Wilkes didn't know and if anyone in Cerberus did, they weren't saying. However, as per this pre-mission briefing, that didn't mean that no information had been released...
"Well..." said the captain eventually. "Seems like my adjutant is now working."
Her subordinates smiled faintly, though from patronizing contempt rather than any sense of humour. Lieutenant Hikowa's blank stare was the only exception, courtesy of heavy neural resocialization that supposedly didn't hinder his ability to function in the field. Oh, and there was Perry, whose smile was actually genuine, Wilkes finding herself returning it. He wasn't in the position to be in this meeting, but command and friendship had its privileges. And although things had changed between the two of them over the past few days, mutual dependence remained similar to the former status quo, albiet far less hostile.
"We don't have much time," said Wilkes, pressing a button on the tactical map table in the dropship's centre, one that would prompt her adjutant to begin displaying holograms while she talked. "We're Alpha Squadron. First in, first out. The xenomorphs have set up shop south of Los Andares and it's our job to ensure that their stay is short lived. And to do that, we have to be well informed."
Despite her suit's cooling system theoretically offsetting the stuffy interior of the dropship, Wilkes found herself sweating. She wiped a gloved hand through her hair, noticing how much it had grown. More detractors from her presentation. Still, with the adjutant displaying a layout of what was apparently a xenomorph hive cluster, her subordinates' attention was at least not on her.
"In a sense, our job is simple," said Wilkes, pointing to the yellow icons that marked Alpha Squadron and its intended pattern of deployment, the xenomorphs marked as red. "We touchdown and move forward in a co-ordinated manner, killing anything that moves." The yellow icons began moving as such, loose groups representing squads moving towards the hive cluster while a long line of yellow icons remained at the northern edge of the map.
"The modus operandi will be different from Los Andares in that the siege tanks will be used exclusively for artillery support," continued Wilkes, pointing to the thin yellow line. "However, you'll-..."
"You?" asked Lieutenant Kwan indignantly. "Aren't you coming down?"
Wilkes sighed, this time purely from frustration. She was already running behind schedule and Kwan was insisting on wasting her time. Couldn't they see this wasn't like Los Andares, that Alpha Squadron was deploying as quickly as possible? Couldn't they see that this was their chance to finally put an end to the infestation?
Well would you? You barely knew what was going on when you first arrived. Cut them some slack.
"No, I'll be remaining in this dropship for command and control purposes," answered Wilkes cordially. "Hence the adjutant. But given that you'll be supported on your flanks by Stingers and Vultures and from the air by Wraith fighters, not to mention your accompanying Goliaths, I think it's worth me being on the sidelines."
The group's mood picked up instantly. The xenomorphs had shown themselves to be sneaky little bastards in Los Andares, emerging from unexpected places. Vulture hover bikes and Stingers-six wheeled jeeps with a mounted 35mm HE cannon would be a valuable asset. And with Kurze having decided that Chau Sara's surrounding space was xenomorph free, the two CF/A17G Wraith squadrons of the Dauntless had been cleared to provide air support. And with 25mm burst lasers, Gemini air-to-air missiles and advanced cloaking systems, they'd prove to be formidable assets indeed.
"You all know how to deal with the xenomorphs, and since our firebats don't have to guard the tanks at such a distance, I won't bother going over them," continued the captain. "However, their structures will be entirely new to you and while most of them don't seem to be a threat, it's best to be informed."
The hologram changed, this time showing a chart of organic structures. As Wilkes quickly pointed out, some of them were apparently used a places of abode or something similar, specifically the spawning pools, hydralisk dens and ultralisk caverns used by zerglings, hydralisks and ultralisks respectively. Spore colonies, the structures that had downed a Cerberus dropship outside the Flannum Installation, were also pinpointed, to be destroyed whenever possible, thus clearing more room for air support and transportation.
"Incendiary rounds and explosives should be able to suffice in such cases," Wilkes concluded. "However, there's another type of structure that should bear in mind..."
The hologram highlighted and enlarged a single organic structure. It looked like some kind of starfish, firmly anchored on the creep-encrusted ground, as if sinking into it...
"This structure has been designated as a sunken colony," said Wilkes. "We don't know its function, but its method of placement is in conjunction with the spore colonies, suggesting that it may be some kind of stationary defence against ground targets. Exactly how is unknown, but stay frosty anyway."
Silence greeted her with such a declaration. Staying frosty was part of Alpha Squadron's modus operandi anyway and it went without saying that it had to be taken to a whole new level when faced with alien invaders, especially when two of the holographic structures had yet to be identified.
"I don't know what they are," admitted Wilkes as per Lieutenant Eccleston's query. "The cylindrical structure has been designated as a spire and the central structure as a hive, but apart from the theory that the latter is more or less the node of the cluster, we have little intel. Regardless, Cerberus apparently has something special for the hive. Our job is to simply clear the way for them.
The COs took this in without question, though Wilkes couldn't help but notice Perry's dark gaze, his organic eye narrowed, his cybernetic eye dim. Silently, Wilkes agreed with his line of thought-Alpha Squadron had been used akin to cannon fodder back at the Arathi Basin and Lazaran Gulleys for Cerberus. What would happen when they assaulted a fully fledged base? And why the hell was a ground assault being used anyway? Surely the cluster could be taken out from orbit?
The captain didn't know. All she knew were the Blood Hawks' objectives and how they were to achieve them. And although Duke might have a different mindset, even while commanding the entire force, Wilkes was determined to do it with as few casualties as possible. Idealistic perhaps, but both Perry and herself had come to realize its worth.
But will the rest of the Alphas?
"One last point," said Wilkes, wishing she had more time, a luxury that was running out steadily as the dropship descended. "The entire cluster is established on a substance called creep. We know little about it, but it doesn't seem to be inherently hazardous to terrans. However, I want all of you to keep your helmets on at all times. According to the Flannum Installation researchers, the stuff can spread by spores and I don't want anyone inhaling it."
General affirmation greeted her. A pro in one sense, but Wilkes couldn't help but feel like a fool. There were a hundred ways for those under her command to die in this operation and she was worried about a few spores?
Then again, the former lieutenant was worried about a lot of things. And while her subordinates quickly and efficiently filed out to join up with their squads and relay her orders, Perry stayed behind.
"You alright ma'am?" he asked.
"No, I'm not alright," murmured his superior, switching the hologram back to the tactical map, ready for her adjutant to utter things like "your forces are under attack." "I'm sending men and women to their deaths while I'm flying around in a dropship."
"Fisher did that," said the staff sergeant simply.
"Well I'm not Fisher!" Wilkes yelled. "I'm not a person with years of experience who was promoted based on achievement rather than necessity! I'm not a person who's able to send people to their deaths without a second thought! I'm not-..."
"Miranda, you're not a lot of things and in some cases, that's a good thing," said the captain's friend cordially. "But what you are is a person who's always tended to see the bigger picture. So while I won't claim that commanding a company is like commanding a platoon, I will make the claim that such lives will be well spent. Because if we don't stop the xenomorphs here, how many more people will die?"
Wilkes smiled. Perry had always said the right things, both complimentary and critical. But hearing such words now...well, he had changed. She had changed. Hopefully enough to co-ordinate the lives of around two hundred people in battle. And wishing her friend good luck, a compliment that was returned, Wilkes swore that she wouldn't let him down. He deserved that much.
All of Chau Sara did.
On both ground and air, battle was joined.
If one had been a passive observer, invisible to terran and xenomorph alike, perhaps they would have been able to comprehend the battle's true nature, the different styles of combat for the two sides. Perhaps they would have been truly able to comprehend the difference between the two species. Perhaps not. But giving such an observer the benefit of the doubt as to his or her or even its abilities, a significant amount of information would have been able to be collected.
The most professional of the squadrons apart from Cerberus (though given the disparities is size, such an assessment was not completely fair), Alpha Squadron had moved quickly and efficiently. Dropships and APCs had ensured that the infantry were steadily pushing towards the hive cluster while the artillery line arrived in the same timeframe. Duke's plan was aggressive, but not overly so, the siege tanks and mobile artillery kept at the rear of the line. Not the same type of support as in Los Andares, but with 120mm shells raining havoc on the xenomorph hive cluster while twin rockets detonated against designated structures, just as valuable.
That wasn't to say that the tanks were completely separate from the infantry. Colonial militia survivors from Los Andares were staying with the tanks, protecting them against any xenomorphs that skirted the main battleline and headed for the supporting artillery. Reacting to the creatures' aggressiveness, Duke had called down numerous T-280 space construction vehicles and prefabricated materials from the Dauntless, resulting in on-field repair and resupply to the vehicles, but also the creation of bunkers for the militia. Crude, but as the alien bodies stacked up near the colonel's position, undoubtedly effective.
Soon the xenomorphs stopped attacking the position.
Closer to the hive cluster, the story was different. Against the tanks, the xenomorphs had clearly reacted to a threat, a threat that they had failed to deal with. But against the infantry and their supporting vehicles, the story was different. Xenomorphs sprung out of the creep in groups, performing numerous hit-and-run attacks against the Blood Hawks-zerglings leaping at the attackers in a mad frenzy, hydralisks catching the attackers in a crossfire of needle spines. While the humans fought in a mutually supportive manner, marines, firebats and their Goliath walkers supporting each other mutually, the xenomorphs acted in their own independent groups. Not out of disunity, but from the understanding that they could afford the losses that the humans inflicted, that in their tactics of attrition, they had the advantage. Or they could operate in what was being called a 'swarm' and attack in a similar manner to their enemies, zerglings and hydralisks working together, often with an ultralisk to top things off. Regardless, they would make the humans react to their moves, rather than reacting to theirs.
It wasn't long however, before the xenomorphs did make a reaction of their own and abandoned the swarm formation. The terran artillery was powerful and against such tightly grouped warrior strains, absolutely devastating. The ultralisk in Los Andares had easily got inside the siege tanks' "dead zone," but no such thing could occur here. And with the bodies of the fallen behemoths stacking up, it was obvious that even the most mighty alien warriors couldn't stand up to mass artillery. And with such knowledge, morale built up amongst the attacking forces. A concept that didn't apply to the xenomorphs, but one that their commanding strains could appreciate.
They could also appreciate the nature of air support.
Throughout the entire battle, the Wraith squadrons flew cover for the ground units, laser fire raking the ground. While it had come as a shock to the pilots that the spore colonies could apparently detect them and fling their corrosive projectiles their way, the fighters had withdrawn out of range before any damage had been done. And with the ground forces pummelling the spore colonies with everything from incendiary rounds to rockets, slowly but shortly more airspace was opened up. However, the sunken colonies, while equally vulnerable to attack, inflicted a toll of their own, infantry, Stingers, Vultures and even the mighty Goliaths sent flying through the air, courtesy of their subterranean tentacles. Against mass firepower they were next to defenceless, hence Alpha's officers instructing infantry to go up against them, but the broken husks of vehicles littering the battlefield stood as testament to the cost of such a lesson.
Soon afterwards, another lesson was learnt...don't make assumptions.
The assumption of note was that the xenomorphs had no flyers, or at least flyers that didn't float in the air like giant lobsters, such creatures designated as "overlords." But with waves of dragon-like creatures suddenly emerging from the spire and engaging the Wraiths, tearing into them with some kind of rebounding substance, it was clear that the assumption was in error. And caught by surprise, the Wraith squadrons were being mutilated.
"Well take them out then," grunted Duke in response to the pilots' cries. "Take out those...those mutalisks."
Initially, they were taken out. The mutalisks had the advantage in numbers, but not only were the Wraiths faster, more agile and better armed and armoured, but were rendered virtually invulnerable by their cloaking systems. Initially the mutalisks fled, unable to fight an enemy they couldn't see. However, with the overlords moving forward, they once again engaged the human fighters, somehow able to identify them. And stripped of their most valuable asset, the advantage of numbers began to take its toll.
Alpha Squadron no longer had air superiority. And if it hadn't been for the Goliaths' anti-air missiles, the terrans would have lost it altogether.
This was the essence of the battle. Strike, counterstrike, reaction, spearpoint. Both sides were coordinate in their own manner. One side had raw power to rely on, the other had numbers. And with the declaration that Alpha Squadron had breached the hive cluster's perimeter, its spore and sunken colonies reduced to bloody messes, the battle hung in the balance. Alpha Squadron had entered the hornets' nest, but with the supply of hornets seemingly infinite while the humans' forces were not so, whether they could last long enough to finish the cluster off for good was doubtful.
This then, was the determining point. There was no turning back. And while claiming it would have been a battle between good and evil would be inaccurate, what with humanity's sins and that the xenomorphs had no real application for either concept, that did not detract from the significance. This was the moment.
Light against dark.
Winner take all.
2047 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)
Sara System, Chau Sara
Explorer-class science vessel Charon
Although it had been years since he'd ever actually been in battle, Kurze still remembered the basics.
Among those basics was close quarters combat. A somewhat redundant form of battle given the efficiency of 25th century technology, but one that his drill instructors insisted on teaching anyway. And among the lessons of martial prowess, was the concept of shatterpoint, the idea that finding your opponent's weakness before they found yours was essential to victory. Once the shatterpoint was found, victory was guaranteed for the discoverer.
Kurze never found a shatterpoint. Rising through the ranks quickly to lead Cerberus, he rather left that to other people if need be. But gazing at a tactical display of the battle in and around the hive, he began to appreciate the concept, the strengths and weaknesses of the humans and xenomorphs evident. Their shatterpoints had been revealed and it was only a matter of time until one side exploited it.
"Sir? Flight Sergeant Watson is requesting a defensive matrix for-…"
"Permission denied," grunted Kurze, not even glancing at the ensign. "I've already dispatched those Wraiths to the surface, I'm not risking the Charon down there."
"Yes sir. Sorry sir."
Sighing, Kurze rubbed his neck, courtesy of leaning over the holographic map too long. The Charon would have been useful on the surface-the Wraiths were equipped with energy shields, but against the swarms of creatures Duke had dubbed mutalisks, such protection was somewhat academic. And while irradiating the xenomorphs with radiation was another boon the science vessel could have brought, it was imperative that the Charon be kept out of harm's way, Kurze being the only link between Chau Sara and Confederate High Command.
But how much longer will it remain safe? If Alpha Squadron fails, what's to stop those mutalisks from flying up to take us out?
The lieutenant colonel wasn't sure whether the xenomorphs' aerial strains could achieve escape velocity but he wasn't too keen on being a guinea pig to determine whether this was the case. Alpha Squadron had performed that role days ago and the time for experiments was over. All that mattered now was cleaning up the glass of the shattered proverbial test tubes. Glass that there seemed to be no limit to…
Yet even those fragments could shatter. Shatter into pieces so tiny that cleaning them up wouldn't be required. And having scanned the xenomorph hive via ComSat, having detected some kind of telepathic field through sensors usually used to pick up human Alpha waves, Kurze had found the xenomorphs' shatterpoint. All that had to be done now was exploit it…
"Captain Arlo, this is Kurze. Suit up. You're going in."
2057 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)
Sara System, Chau Sara
Interior of quantradyne APOD-33 dropship Normandy
Déjà vu…that's what he felt.
Captain Shiff Arlo shook his head. Speculating on the workings of the universe made for a fine mental exercise, but neural resocialization didn't exactly help the imagination. And with only neosteel to protect him and what was left of his squad from alien horrors, he couldn't afford a lapse in concentration.
Nor can the pilot thought Arlo, wondering if the sudden jolt that shook the dropship was due to an error on Simpson's part or from one of the newly dubbed "spore colonies" finding its mark. Neither possibility was particularly appealing and the thought of being shot out of the sky like Second Squad, before his mission could even begin…what if déjà vu extended as far as that?
Sighing, Arlo glanced around the dropship's interior, at the three other firebats that comprised what was left of First Squad. Once again they were in for a hot drop. Once again they were in a single dropship, in for an aerial insertion. Once again Alpha Squadron was thinning their enemies out, giving Cerberus a chance in battle. And once again, the outcome of the battle rested on them.
And our pilot, thought the resoc bitterly as the dropship once again jolted. Dammit, I thought the Alphas had cleared most of the spore colonies.
Three seconds and two sets of exclamations from the warrant officer later, it was clear that while the Blood Hawks might have been successful in clearing a corridor for the dropship by eliminating the spore colonies, the airborne organisms known as mutalisks were another matter entirely. In this, déjà vu was lessened, courtesy not only of their presence, but the balancing presence of the three remaining Wraiths of Gray Squadron, covering the aerial transport. With Gray 2 getting shot down by a spore colony however, déjà vu returned.
"Bloody hell…" Keyes murmured, watching along with the rest of Cerberus as the fighter's burning remains fell on the creep below. "It's like the Lazaran Gulleys all over again."
Arlo remained silent. Some things didn't need saying. Partly because you knew what the situation was, partly because you didn't need to be reminded how FUBAR said situation was. And as Gray 1's pilot screamed over the radio, the mutalisks apparently living up to their namesake in their…mutilation abilities, it was a situation Arlo knew had to be rectified.
"Simpson!" he yelled towards the cockpit. "How far to the LZ!?"
"ETA is about forty seconds," came the voice of the pilot, sounding unusually calm for someone who'd lost two-thirds of his escort in less than a minute.
"Better make that five seconds," murmured Arlo.
"Pardon?"
"I said make it five seconds!" yelled the captain. "We're sitting ducks up here and if this bird crashes we all get taken out with it! Set us down and we'll approach the hive by foot."
"…affirmative. Rodger that."
Breathing heavily, Arlo glanced back at his squad, trying to gauge their reactions. Not that there was much to gauge, all of them with their helmets on and visors down, but Arlo had possessed other means to judge the mood of a person through means other than facial appearances. It was how he chose his victims on Tarsonis, how much resistance a person would put up while he brought their life to an end. And although it was his life on the line this time along with the lives of three others (well, four if he counted the warrant officer, but Kurze had made it clear that he was expendable), similar criteria applied.
"Alright, change of plan," said the former serial killer, appreciating that his change of plan to approach the hive on foot would require some kind of explanation. "The xenomorph anti-air defenses are too much for a single dropship so we're going to go in low. It'll keep the craft safe and allow us a better chance at approaching the hive."
"The pilot maybe…" Milton murmured. "But what about us?"
"You afraid private?"
"No sir. But I'm not suicidal either."
Despite the situation, Arlo smiled faintly. It was inevitable that such a query would come up and although he was a man down, he was glad it wasn't from Summers. Cerberus operatives were completely loyal to the Confederacy and while they might have doubts about orders, they wouldn't shy from following them. Summers had been an exception however and in the current circumstances, one that wasn't beneficial.
"Don't worry Milton, I'm not suicidal either," said Arlo, getting up from his seat as the dropship sharply descended, grabbing a weapon rack for support and to retrieve a pair of satchels and E-9 rifles. "That's why I'm altering the plan slightly."
Taking one utility belt for himself and tossing one to Keyes, while handing Milton and Romesh an E-9 each, it became obvious what that plan was.
"These belts contain deuterium-eight charges," explained Arlo, slotting the explosives into his utility belt. "Taking one side each, Keyes and I will plant them around the hive and retreat to the dropship after we're done. Meanwhile, Milton and Romesh will provide covering fire with the rifles, along with keeping our LZ secure."
Blank glances greeted him, but only due to the visors. Despite the change from the original plan, that all four would assault the hive directly, plant charges and evacuate, they understood the necessity. E-9s were heavy rifles with smaller clips than C-14s, but with 10mm rounds, packed far more of a punch. Arlo and Keyes had the most experience and would be best suited for the harrowing task of sprinting towards the hive rather than approaching it by air, planting charges and sprinting back. A desperate plan to be sure. But desperate times called for desperate measures.
As one, the Hellbringers moved to the ramp as Simpson landed.
As one, their eyes gazed upon the center of the hive cluster.
And as one, dozens of eyes glared back at them…
2101 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)
Sara System, Chau Sara
Grid J87
I'll never get used to this.
There were a few problems with such an analogy and Miranda Wilkes knew it. Getting used to her position of captain, of sending people to die while standing in a dropship required her survival, a prospect that was far from guaranteed. And admittedly there was the fact that while the Confederacy tended to wield a hammer to deal with its opponents, not all of the nails were particularly large and battles of this size were not always required. Oh, and at least at this point in time, most of its opponents were fellow terrans.
Somehow Wilkes found the second prospect more appealing. More morally heinous of course, but humans tended not to tear members of their species limb from limb in an orgy of death and destruction.
"Coming down to the LZ," came the voice of the pilot, information that her Adjutant had confirmed minutes ago. "ETA is fifteen seconds."
"Affirmative. Keep the engines hot," Wilkes said, strapping on her helmet. A regulation in this kind of situation, as the AI had reminded her in its usual monotone. Dreary, but after hearing the screams of terran and alien alike over the last few hours, after directing E Company in the knowledge that the screams would only get worse, the marine had welcomed it. "Your forces are under attack," was far more preferable to…well, other things.
I'll never get used to this.
Despite her best efforts, despite trying to believe otherwise, Wilkes couldn't help but lapse into such a train of thought. Bad enough that men and women were dying under her command, but it was worse that she couldn't deal with the psychological effect. Sure, she was answering to Duke and Fisher had managed perfectly, but that was hardly an excuse for her own actions. So if that meant taking her command post down to the surface to evacuate the wounded, so be it. Wounded that, as far as she could see, were close to death's door.
"Wilkes!? What the hell are you doing?"
The captain quickly found the source of the voice. A certain staff sergeant she'd become acquainted with over the past few days and was running up to her. The NCO's helmet missing, his visage displayed a mix of emotions, identification of them not helped by the combination of sweat, grime and blood on his features, but there was no mistaking him.
"Perry…" said Wilkes slowly. "Nice to see you. How'd you know it was me?"
"Your visor isn't polarized," answered her friend simply. "And in case you haven't noticed, now isn't exactly the best time for a chat."
Despite the situation, Wilkes smiled. Beratement was so much more preferable to listening to the sounds of the dying, of curses and prayers to deities that didn't exist.
"You're right," said the captain. "Now's not the time to chat. Now's the time to get your wounded onto the dropship."
"What!?" Perry exclaimed, his visage now akin to as if he'd swallowed a lemon. "You're in command of an entire company and you come down to evacuate wounded!?"
"Yes," said Wilkes. "Lieutenant Hikowa cleared me for a landing."
Perry sighed.
I'll never get used to this.
"Miranda, Hikowa was a resoc right up to the moment he was torn apart by zerglings and left me in charge of his platoon. So of course he's going to clear you for any misguided evacuation attempt by a captain who should be focused on command and control rather than-…"
The CMC-powered slap shut him up.
"Perry, look around!" Wilkes yelled. "Your men are dying. You're in charge of a platoon now and if you realized that, you'd see that you hardly have any Alphas left! Now either you help me get them onto the dropship so I can get them to safety or I'll stay here and command your men myself!"
The NCO raised an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed by being slapped by his superior. Or maybe he knew that Wilkes wasn't feeling like a superior, that she knew what she was doing was stupid but was unable to deal with the alternative.
I'll never get used to this.
"You've changed," murmured Perry eventually.
"I know," said Wilkes softly. "God help me Robert, I know. So please, before I change completely, at least help me with this. At least…at least…"
Wilkes couldn't complete the sentence and Perry understood why. Some things didn't need saying. And with an ultralisk currently bearing down on them, some things didn't have time to be said. So as those who could raised their gauss rifles, as the Blood Hawks preyed and cursed, Wilkes knew the conversation had come to an end and for better or worse, history was being repeated. Just like in Los Andares, except now she was Fisher. The one in command. The one who would decide whether people would live or die. The one who was akin to a god…
I'll never get used to this. If I live that is.
2106 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)
Sara System, Chau Sara
Explorer-class science vessel Charon
"Hmm…interesting."
Had Xavier Kurze been in a different mindset, he might have berated himself for using such terminology. Commenting that the xenomorphs had taken the Flannum Installation qualified as "interesting" because it was something new. But receiving a response from Confederate High Command in regards to the Chau Saran situation was expected. And while their orders were not what he had anticipated, that shouldn't have been an issue. He was a cog in the machine and could ill afford to start turning the other way.
Kurze shook his head. He was using too many metaphors for his liking.
Slowly, the Cerberus commander rose from his command chair, gazing around the bridge and taking in the silence. A far cry from what was occurring on the surface, as the tactical map in front of him displayed, but with full authority over the planet, Kurze was above such things, both literally and figuratively. While the Charon would have proven to be an asset on the surface, such a position would not only put its crew at risk, but would render its communications lockdown impossible to enforce. And though CHC's orders rendered the ship's current status a moot point, or at least would in the near future, information spread quickly. And as it was said, a lie would get halfway across the galaxy before truth got its pants on.
More metaphors, thought Kurze, silently chastising himself. And inaccurate ones at that. Any reports from Chau Sara about invading aliens would be true.
Was that an issue? Possibly, though lies were interwoven with propaganda by definition. And with propaganda a favored weapon of both the Confederacy and its enemies, truth was a weapon rarely available. Truth had its dangers of course. That's why the Confederacy spent so much time and effort covering up all the inconvenient truths about its actions in the Koprulu Sector. But as these truths rarely got out, and if they did, were inevitably mixed with lies by insurgents, the full effects of an inconvenient truth had rarely been observed. And if all went to plan, the inconvenient truth involving the xenomorphs and psi emitters would never come to light…
"Arlo to Kurze, are you receiving me?"
The Cerberus commander blinked. Partly out of surprise, partly due to a natural reaction to the flickering hologram in front of him. Where there had originally been a layout of the battle Alpha Squadron was waging against the invaders, the interior of a dropship was now displayed. An interior that only carried one man…
"Captain Arlo," said the lieutenant colonel. "I assume you have good news?"
Kurze knew that making assumptions was potentially hazardous, but such an assumption seemed safe enough in this case. If Arlo was contacting him his mission was almost certainly complete, his resocialization prompting him to complete an assigned mission or die trying. And although his comrades were nowhere to be seen and the blood on his armor was not entirely that of the xenomorphs, such factors were irrelevant in the event of the destruction of the hive.
"Yes sir," said the firebat, his tone distinctly neutral. "The deuterium charges have been planted and are set to go off in a few minutes."
"A few minutes?" asked Kurze curiously. "You don't know the exact point of detonation?"
Arlo remained silent for a few moments. Kurze didn't like that. It was a sign of inefficiency and Cerberus had to be the best of the best. Arlo had gone through hell, but he'd always been able to bounce back to purgatory. All of his operatives did…or rather, had.
"No sir, I don't know," answered the captain eventually. "I was more focused with getting out of there alive to report to you."
"And well done on that," murmured Kurze. "Too bad I can't say the same for your comrades."
"They did their job and accomplished their objectives. That's all that matters."
"But do you believe that?" asked the lieutenant colonel, leaning forward as he did so. "Is the mission and its outcome really all that matters to you?"
Arlo didn't answer. An inability to deal with rhetorical questions perhaps? Or something worse…something that hinted at crumbling resocialization and thus a problem that had to be dealt with. Kurze drew himself back regardless. He'd deal with his problems one at a time. But still, best to get a start on this one…
"I hope you believe that," said the Cerberus commander, his monotone matching Arlo's own. "I really do hope that Shiff, because High Command has sent me new orders. And trust me, the conclusion of our mission is very important to them…"
2106 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)
Sara System, Chau Sara
Grid J87
Contrary to popular belief, Perry knew there was a distinction between pessimism between pessimism and defeatism. Over the course of his life, he'd seen his fair share of both of them. And with said life seemingly about to come to an end, he knew that pessimism was what he was experiencing.
Or to be specific, gloomy realism. Hence the difference.
"Sir, we need to get out of here!" a grunt yelled, fleeing from the behemoth currently in the process of turning a marine into road kill while simultaneously tearing apart a firebat with its scythes. "We can't stop it!"
"No shit," the staff sergeant murmured, shoving another clip into his gauss rifle. "Got any plans of reasonable escape?"
If the private had an answer, Perry didn't hear it. Further demonstrating the xenomorphs' capacity for intelligence, the ultralisk had destroyed the dropship Wilkes had brought with her, effectively stranding what remained of the platoon. And with their air support having evaporated and the battlefield too large for any ground units to effectively respond to any calls for help (if they could even afford to that is), a means of escape wasn't going to provide itself.
Can't say I'm surprised, thought the NCO to himself, diving aside as the ultralisk charged forward, four white armored individuals send flying through the air as a result.
Perry rose to his feet quickly, his armor's servos grinding under the abuse inflicted upon them the last few hours. Even with the 8mm spikes seemingly rebounding off the monster's armored carapace, he wasn't that worried. Any damage done to his armor at this point in time would be part of an attack that damaged his body beyond healing capacity by extension. All things considered, it was probably more of a hindrance right now. Or would have been, if not for its in-built comm. unit…
"All squads, stay lose dammit!" came the voice of Captain Wilkes. "Bunching around just makes you easier targets!"
Perry smiled grimly as one such squad scattered as the behemoth bore down on them, an action that he suspected that had more to do with self-preservation than following orders, resocialization-induced or otherwise. That Miranda was still capable of giving orders impressed him, but at this point at time was a moot point. She'd lost CIC abilities with the destruction of the dropship and with less than twenty soldiers still able to fight in this platoon, her company's others beyond her control, it wasn't as if command was what the squad needed.
No. Something else was…
"Captain, may I make a suggestion?" Perry asked, running parallel to the ultralisk but in the opposite direction. He wanted to keep it in his sights, but only for survival right now.
"I'm all ears sergeant!" Miranda shouted, the roar of gunfire on the other end of the radio suggesting she was trying to lead by example even with the ineffectiveness of their rifles.
Leading by example. And to think that used to be my job…
"Gather up explosive ordnance. Our spikes are useless and I doubt grenades are going to cut it. The bazookas may be our only hope."
"But Perry I-…"
"Dammit it captain!" Perry shouted, wincing as his CMC-armored foot trod in something wet and red. "We don't have time to worry about looting from the-…"
"Robert, I agree with you. But if you have time to loot with that thing about, we don't have something in common!"
Perry winced again. He'd been called by his forename over an open channel.
If the marines recognized the significance of this they gave no sign, instead acting on the exchange in a manner that was basically following orders. The infantry hadn't brought many explosive weapons with them, having operated under the assumption that Alpha Squadron's vehicles would support them, but across the battlefield were such weapons. Bazookas. HEAT rounds. Sometimes together. Sometimes not.
The first volley having been fired when the ultralisk attacked, "not" was often the case.
Less than ten terrans now stood tall, though given that the ultralisk stood three times taller than they did, "tall" wasn't the best word to use. "Screwed" was a good word though. It described their situation aptly.
So this is it, Perry thought grimly. The end.
It certainly seemed that way. Their final gamble had failed. A few rockets had hit the ultralisk and while bleeding heavily, was still capable of moving. And following its movement, the NCO saw it was heading for the largest group of terrans present. A group of three, all grouped around a certain captain…
And then it happened.
"Unless I be relieved by prayer…"
Perry ran towards them, knowing he'd reached Miranda before the ultralisk did, knowing that nothing else could help them.
"Which pierces so, that it assaults…"
He smiled. Reciting Shakespeare while his CO stared death in the face, firing a rifle. Funny how things changed.
"Mercy itself, and frees all faults."
Mistakes. They'd both made them, Miranda's coming down to evacuate wounded one of them. But in Perry's mind, that mistake didn't deserve punishment.
"As you from crimes would pardoned be…"
He was the criminal here. No better than neurally resocialized criminals. The one who had changed for the better, but still tainted. His superior was far more worthy.
"Let your indulgence set me free."
Pushing the group out of the way and sent flying through the air in turn, Perry was set free.
He'd committed his last act. Saved a life, instead of taking one.
He'd made a difference. One that mattered.
And glimpsing the bright light on the horizon, only to be swallowed up by death's darkness, he died happy, taking this knowledge with him.
This is how it feels to be Miranda Wilkes.
You're in pain.
This is not a feeling that is entirely new to you. You've felt pain before. Physical pain that comes from farm work and the rigors of the battlefield and emotional pain that comes from watching the waste of human life. But while the pain you feel right now falls into both categories, the latter far outweighs the former.
It's a pain that will always be with you…
You hear yourself breathing, dry air scratching your lungs. You hear the roars of the ultralisk and its heavy footsteps, their fading sound indicating it's heading in the opposite direction from the one you're headed in. You hear your cries of anguish, of denial, of fear…
You can't help it.
You collapse in the blood-soaked soil besides your comrade, though the term hardly does the man justice. You throw off your helmet, ignoring the radio chatter that the xenomorphs have descended into chaos and that their hive has been destroyed. You don't hear Kurze's orders for Alpha Squadron to hold its position and prepare for departure, despite that the last member of Gray Squadron has sighted another hive cluster. All you hear is your own sobbing.
"Robert?" you whisper, moving over to the broken body of your friend. "Robert? Are you all right?"
He's not alright. His armor and chest is crushed and blood is pouring out of his mouth, courtesy of his crushed lungs. Only his closed organic eye and non-illuminated ocular implant give any sense of him being in peace.
The pain intensifies.
No! No, it's not possible! you lie to yourself. It's just not possible!
But it is. Humans are frail beings after all.
This…this isn't right. Stories don't end like this! Stories have happy endings, don't they? They don't have dear friends being torn away from you! At the end of the story, the friendship (or love, it doesn't matter at this point) is solidified, not destroyed by rampaging monsters.
But it has been destroyed.
Destroyed by a monster.
A monster that you know is yourself.
You did it. You killed him. Not the ultralisk. You. Only you.
You killed him because you were weak. You killed him because when you knew you had to cast your emotion aside, you didn't. You killed him because if you'd brought that dropship down later, a quick dust-off could have been accomplished. You killed him because you froze up as the creature bore down on you, cracking under the pressures of a command that should never have been entrusted to you. You killed him because the one time you could have repaid your friend for saving your life so often, you were only thinking of yourself.
And now, alone in this universe, separated from friends and family, your self is all you are left with.
You scream. You sob. You are like a painter gone blind, like a writer gone deaf. You just don't know anymore. You were never independent. You were always a little girl, bumbling through the real world through a combination of luck and charity. You want to kill yourself, but you can't.
Death is an escape. You don't deserve to escape. In the end, you don't want to. For all that's occurred, you're still a human being and know that you owe humanity more than this. You still have work to do.
So you sit in the soil, knowing that who was once Prospero and became Ferdinand is now gone. You sit in the soil and weep. You sit in the soil and let your shame and grief fester.
This is how it feels to be Miranda Wilkes.
Forever.
A/N
Well, this chapter took awhile...
The basic reason for this was switching my attention to The New Order, a StarCraft fic for Blizzard's writing contest. Given the word limit of ten-thousand words at the most, suffice to say, this story would have been a bit long. This chapter was no exception, in that I decided to expand on certain aspects of it, such as the omnipitant section. Not everything was included however, as I decided to cut out a section that depicted Arlo actually planting the charges and losing his team simultaniously. I felt that such an event worked better with the reader knowing its result rather than exactly how it happened-easier to convey neurally resocialized neutrality and I think it's safe to say at this stage, the nature of Cerberus fighting the zerg has been done sufficently.
Anyway, that's just me. One more chapter to go regardless.