He knew this was the end. All his options exhausted, including begging his enemy for mercy (not even for him, but for his men), DuGalle stood in his quarters, pistol readied at his temple and a soft, dramatic operatic melody playing from his record player on the desk before him. The disgraced, defeated Admiral, after having written a letter to his wife he knew would never reach her, stood ready to embrace the end. And as he curled his finger around the trigger, an alarm went off that caused him to jump and miss his mark.
"Proximity alert: Zerg Forces closing in," the false, stilted, simulated voice of the fleet's adjutant advised. DuGalle looked out into the pitch-black darkness of space outside, and began to see the monstrous forms of seemingly infinite creatures lit by the frantic battery fire of what remained of his fleet after their recent, crushing defeats. Impacts from the swarming creatures rocked his vessel, causing him to drop his pistol and fall to the ground. His elderly body acutely felt the impact, along with a sense that something within him had broken. Grunting in pain: he lay, helplessly, on the floor as the alarms and alerts began to mount in cacophonous chaos with the crescendo of the music from his still playing record. He did not need to visually acknowledge this situation to know what was occurring. He knew that as the alerts' intensity increased, his men were perishing. He knew the fleet would be obliterated. He knew, as he stated when his fleet first arrived at their destination of the Koprulu Sector of the galaxy, that due to his failure… none of them would be going home.
He therefore closed his eyes and awaited the end. An end that never came, as the attack and proximity alerts suddenly ceased, leaving only the alarms regarding any damage that had already been sustained prior to this sudden end to the attack. With no more additional impacts to rock it, the ship was still. DuGalle, curious, attempted to raise himself, with massive pain from what felt like a broken rib slowing him down. Upon rising to a seated position, he looked out of his floor-to-ceiling view windows of his quarters to see… nothing. No stars, no planets, no other ships, no Zerg. Nothing.
Your usefulness to me has not yet ended, human, a dark voice rang in the elderly admiral's mind, causing him to clutch his head.
"What is the meaning of this? Who are you?" DuGalle demanded with all the authority a man of his rank could command.
Cease your pathetic attempts at intimidation. For what I am is far beyond your comprehension. Know only that your bringing of your technology to my servant was your sole use to me for my plans in that universe. Now, I have more use for you in a universe beyond, the voice echoed with a power and ferocity that shook DuGalle to his core. Before he could muster up a response, a massive, red, explosion of light appeared before his ship, causing him to shield his eyes.
"And should I refuse?" DuGalle said with all the defiance he could muster.
Your cooperation is not necessary. Your presence is enough for my plans, the voice answered, with a sinister laugh that rang throughout the Admiral's head.
"Who, or even what, the hell are you?" DuGalle asked with increasing desperation to make any sense of the situation as the light began to grow larger and appeared to be engulfing his ship.
Know that I am Amon, and your natural ego will suffice for my designs.
With that, DuGalle felt himself thrown back as the mass of red light swallowed his ship and suddenly shifted his sense of gravity. The ship is in atmosphere, DuGalle surmised.
"Warning: Altitude Alert. Recommend adjustment to velocity to avoid planetary collision in 30 seconds," the adjutant advised as DuGalle's eyes adjusted enough from the visual assault of light to see what was now outside the window. Before him, he could see what looked to be a mountain range that his ship was imminently set to collide with. Reacting quickly, and despite his injuries, he reached for the comm to alert whoever may still be on the ship.
"All hands! Brace for impact!" he announced as he attempted to take cover under his desk and brace himself.
The impact of the massive, hammer-headed, spacefaring flagship spawned a truly legendary shockwave that could be felt for hundreds of miles. The result of the impact left a permanently large gash in the surrounding landscape and, once the dust had settled, DuGalle found himself still in one piece, though slightly worse for wear. He brought himself out of cover and surveyed his surroundings. Where his view window once was was now only solid rock and twisted metal. His quarters were in shambles as sparking cables hung loose from the ceiling, the walls were warped, and the floor had been brought to an incline from being torn upward. His furniture was almost totally destroyed from having been tossed wildly around, with his record player miraculously still trying to play the last vinyl he had set upon it.
Limping, DuGalle carried himself to his door, which was bent and attempting to close and open automatically. With great effort, he managed to push it open enough to squeeze himself through. Now in the halls, he saw panicked crewmembers sprinting about attempting to put out fires and help fallen crewmates. One of the scrambling crew stopped when they spotted DuGalle, and turned to him.
"Admiral! Are you alright? We should get you to the nearest triage station!" the crewman frantically stated.
"It is fine, crewman, I am still functional. Focus your efforts equally on the other crew," DuGalle ordered as he walked away from the crewman in the direction a painted indicator said "hangar".
"Yes, sir! I still advise you have a medic look at you, however," the crewman relpied with a salute as he turned and walked with purpose in the opposite direction towards the audible sounds of pain from his comrades.
"Noted," DuGalle responded with a salute of his own as he left. He carefully made his way through the halls. While walking, he spotted two soldiers, already suited in their towering mechanized combat armor, helping to clear debris from trapped crewmembers who were crying out for assistance. "You two, when you are finished, you are to come with me to survey our surroundings," DuGalle ordered.
"Yes, sir!" they both responded as they hurriedly finished their task and gathered their gargantuan rifles (made specifically to only be held by those in the mech suits they were in) that they had set aside to free their hands. DuGalle, flanked by the two marines, was able to move swiftly through the halls as crewmembers jumped out of his way. Eventually he reached the hangar, and, from the catwalk that the doors opened to that overlooked the hangar, he saw its truly disastrous state. The hangar doors were partially open and twisted in such a manner that they could not fully open or close. Various ships were also either destroyed or otherwise in no flying shape as they were overturned or blocked by debris. Taking stock of the situation he began to think, and swiftly reached a conclusion. "I want those doors opened!" DuGalle commanded to the hangar bay. "Destroy them, if you must, but we must create an opening to begin evacuation of the ship!" DuGalle then turned to his marine escort, "You," he pointed to one of them, "gather as many other combat-ready marines as you can and return to this hangar bay. Tell them DuGalle has ordered immediate evacuation of the ship. Have them prioritize evacuation of themselves and crewmembers above search and rescue. Go." The first marine saluted and turned to leave. "You, assist the crew here in getting those doors open through any means necessary." The second marine acknowledged his order and left to assist the crewmen in the hangar.
DuGalle, after a quick scan of his surroundings, found and activated an emergency comm station near to him. "Attention crew of the Aleksander. We are abandoning ship. Follow all evacuation protocols. Any who are already suited for combat, ensure that these protocols are followed! Those on the same decks as the hangars? Report to the hangars instead. Work to open the doors and take inventory of all functional craft." DuGalle's voice rang throughout the ship, and upon his completion of giving his orders, he turned off the comm, making sure to grab an earpiece for mobile communication later. He then turned to see what little sky he could through the semi-open hangar doors. It was a starry, clear night, and light from twin moons seeped into the hangar.
Shortly after DuGalle had issued his orders, the hangar doors had now been jostled open at the bottom just enough and evacuation could now proceed. DuGalle, after the first marine he ordered away had returned with more marines and a combat-ready medic (that looked almost the same as the Marines but in white armor and carrying a shield that bore a red cross) that tended to his internal injuries immediately, led his team beyond the confines of the ship and finally beheld the landscape surrounding them. The impact of the ship had clearly done sizeable damage to the surrounding area, and if there would be any hostiles then they would surely be alerted to, and closing in on, this location.
It was fortunate, for the circumstances, that the ship had lodged itself into the mountain in such a way that the hangar he was in was nearly flush with the rock surrounding them. DuGalle and his expeditionary party were able to leave easily and traipse down the mountain undisturbed. At the base of the mountain, they found what DuGalle felt was a quite defensible position up against it, with even small patches of natural mineral deposits with which they could establish a base of operations. He ordered one of the marines to radio back to the ship for workers to come and start construction, and not long later, they were met by a handful of gargantuan, even to the marines in their power armor, hovering, piloted machines that further shadowed the base of the dark, moonlit mountainside.
"SCVs good to go, sir!" one of the pilots of the machines, called SCVs, acknowledged upon arrival as they began to construct a new command center. The remainder of the night and next day passed without incident, as the small base was established and rescue and salvage (as it was determined the ship was beyond repair) operations began . Losses were great, as it was estimated almost 85% of the crew had either died or were no longer fit for duty and were ordered to be executed by DuGalle to save resources. The survivors, then, only tallied below 1,000. Less than ten ships within the hangar survived the crash, with no fuel to run them for any extended period of time as they had not determined if vespene gas or any similar substance existed on this world.
It was as the final tallies of the survivors and inventory were finalized that they would have their first contact with the beings of this world as a battalion of what looked to be soldiers, clad in primitive steel armor and wielding simple, medieval melee and ranged weapons, drew close to the camp. DuGalle ordered his troops to stand down, feeling that the sure victory would be a waste of resources while the medieval-looking soldiers held position at the edge of the base, unknowingly well within range of the marines' gauss impaler rifles. One of them, atop a horse, riding forward with a small handful, also horse-mounted, of escorts flanking him, began to approach.
"In the name of his majesty, King Ferdinand of Gallia, we demand to speak with the leader of these people!" the man demanded. DuGalle found the audacity slightly amusing, but decided to humor him by walking forth with a complement of marines.
"I am Admiral Gerard DuGalle of the United Earth Directorate. Through extraordinary circumstances my crew and I have become marooned here. We seek to shelter ourselves in your lands until we have reached a satisfying level of recuperation," DuGalle told the emissary.
"You are trespassers in this land, and if you wish to continue your stay, you will submit to the divine authority of the crown or be destroyed," the emissary replied, with an unearned air of smugness. DuGalle would have doubled over in laughter had he not had the professional wherewithal to stop himself.
"That should prove unlikely, emissary, as, judging from your appearances, I believe your men are ill-equipped to deal with the level of threat that my men should pose to you. That being said, I do still wish to avoid conflict and solve this as diplomatically as possible. Should you wish to press this issue, however, I think you will find that you will have thrown away your men's lives for nothing," DuGalle stated, factually, with not a hint of pretense or deception in his voice. The emissary, quite visibly shaken by the statement, took a moment to gather himself for a retort.
"Very well, you have made your choice. Founder help you," the emissary replied through slightly gritted teeth as he turned to leave with his escort.
"Sir? We're in position and ready to fire on your command," a voice said in DuGalle's ear from his ear piece.
"Hold your fire, men, it would not be honorable to shoot a man in the back. Aside from that, this will also be a fine opportunity for mobile target practice," DuGalle replied as he turned and led his accompanying marines back into the base. The marines took cover in the nearby newly-constructed bunkers while DuGalle himself entered the Command Center to oversee the coming conflict. Not long after he had, the enemy troops charged towards them. Something strange happened, however, that DuGalle did not anticipate. Flaming artillery fire was raining from the sky, causing actual damage to his structures. "All units, fire at will! Group Delta, move in and flank the enemy from behind to take out those artillery units! Cover your medics! We do not have the resources to provide you with more!"
On the battlefield, the enemy forces were literally being shredded by the incoming magnetically-accelerated impaler rounds. These were firearm rounds that were designed not only to penetrate flesh, but the armor of ships designed to travel through space developed over centuries to withstand even assault from weapons that could disintegrate cities. And they were meeting with a mere thin layer of metal and flesh. Each round that found its mark tore through its impact site, leaving gaping, gory holes and scattered flesh in its wake. Limbs from the medieval-armored soldiers flew in every direction, causing riders to have their vision and movement obscured from their compatriots' blood and gore. Those that were lucky not to be hit did not find their mounts to have the same luck, as the impaler rounds ripped through them as though they were made of wet paper, amputating their legs and causing them to crash, which, in turn, threw their riders into yet more incoming projectiles that reduced them to nought but chunks of indistinguishable flesh.
While the artillery that had been identified by DuGalle did actually cause concerning structural damage and resulted in casualties, once the Delta team had flanked the Gallian army, their attackers did not last long. The identified "artillery" were only mere people who seemed to have some sort of psionic power that allowed them to conjure fire and manipulate the earth. DuGalle, who viewed this through one of the arriving marines' video feeds, was perplexed by this.
"Capture one of these psionics for interrogation and study," DuGalle ordered. The team obeyed and took one of these individuals hostage while still making sure to obliterate the rest with their vastly superior firepower.
"Retreat!" an officer of the Gallian army shouted, terrified, as the army moved to try and escape their slaughter.
"Do not give pursuit. They now know the disparity in our abilities and should not trouble us further," DuGalle commanded as his troops ceased fire. Following this decisive victory, DuGalle straightened his uniform and proceeded to exit the Command Center to meet the Delta squad and their prisoner. They arrived shortly, with their quarry, clad in blue and white robes, struggling helplessly against the mechanized, combat-armored marines that towered over him. Once they were close to DuGalle, the marine holding the prisoner tossed him before the Admiral, who waited while the prisoner struggled to rise to his feet. "That was impressive firepower for such a primitive society," DuGalle remarked. The prisoner remained silent. "Do you know who I am, sir?" DuGalle asked, calmly. The prisoner shook his head, his long, dirty blonde locks shaking with him. "I am Admiral Gerard DuGalle. These are my men. We represent the entity known as the United Earth Directorate. Our mandate is to unite humanity under a single banner to stand against all other threats." These statements caused the prisoner to perk up, for whatever reason, and meet DuGalle's gaze. "Will you tell me everything I need to know of this world? I promise you will be handsomely rewarded."
"I am no traitor," the prisoner responded flatly, as his expression and demeanor tensed up once more.
"An admirable and respectable attitude. However, I am not asking for you to reveal anything that would compromise the integrity of your people or yourself," DuGalle replied. The prisoner seemed to relax at this. "I simply wish to know general details about your world and society so we may better accomplish our mission as quickly and peacefully as possible."
With that, the prisoner relented, telling DuGalle everything he knew from his own experience and perspective, about Halkeginia, the world in which the crew of the Aleksander had now found themselves.
Days later, DuGalle's growing encampment was met with more Gallian visitors, this time with a much larger force. While DuGalle was, indeed, prepared to meet them in combat, once again a rider rode forth to meet him. DuGalle approached, with his personal escort, and looked up at the rider, who was accompanied by two others, one wearing a crown and golden armor.
"Admiral DuGalle?" the frontmost rider, a man in ornate blue and black robes with gold trim and a simple cap upon his head, asked. DuGalle simply nodded in response. "His majesty King Ferdinand, first of his name, most high ruler of Gallia, would seek to parlay with you."
"That would be most preferable to any more unnecessary bloodshed," DuGalle replied with relief. He was grateful for this turn of events not only due to his desire to recruit more manpower from among these people, but to save his already limited ammunition. That day, in DuGalle's command center, the Admiral and King Ferdinand reached an agreement that changed the course of Gallian history and culture forever. Causing events similarly destructive and unraveling to the infinite cycle of this and every other universe as Amon had foreseen.