New Avalon
Avalon City
Palace
Privy Council Chambers
Hanse Davion finishes his paperwork absent minded. His thoughts are on the upcomming intelligence meeting with Quintus. Wondering why it was planed for his last timeslot for the day, instead of the usual morning one. The train of thought gets interrupted by notification by the first layer of security. With one minute per security check Quintus will arrive in 5 minutes. Swiftly singin the latest tax reforms in triplicate, even the First Prince is behooved to the bureaucracy of the state, he takes a short brake to clear his mind.
When his guard announces the entry of his head of intelligence his mind is sharp as ever.
Quintus Allard strides into his room and is, to his suprise, not alone. Behind him a black servant pushes a trolly in the room. It is filled to the brim with the finest spirits in the inner sphere. The man places a silver tray with an asortment of glasses and an stoup (bucket) of ice on the table. Hanse notices the small red band in his full beard that hold some longer whiskers together. "Not up to regulation" Hanse thinks to himself with a slight frown on his face, but he pushes the thought out of his mind. The servant gives a slight bow to the two men and promptly vanishes as all good servants do.
Hanse pours himself and his friend a glass and asks "So Quintus. What is the reason for this?" while pointing at the provisional bar.
"My agents have managed to compile a report on the history of the Terrans", taking a sip Allard continues, "while we have known the strength of terran weapons thanks to pirate attack after we had eyes on the gorund, the reason for their doctrine has eluded us. Raynor's Raiders, veterans of their so called "Great War", are a splintergroup of the Terran Confederacy itself spliting from Terra." another slug of the amber liquid.
"We have managed to gather combat footage from the defence of one of their capital planets and compile a short video" He finishes his glass and nervously plays with the data chip.
"Dont keep me in supsense and play it!" demands Hanse. Dutifully Quintus puts the chip into the projector hidden cleverly inside the central desk. His hands wander to the shot glass before deciding against it. Instead he fills is empty cup to the brim with high proof Vodka setting the flask close to Hanse.
The room darkens and the projector springs to life.
The view from the cockpit shows dark clouds hanging over a grey city.
"That is not a strom cloud" says Hanse.
"No it is not"
With his mouth slowly opening Hanse exclaims "Oh it is alive?" Quintus having some Vodak "That. Is a drop- ship thing. Nightmare"
The imposing viking looks like a grey leaf next to a tree. Its homing missiles, pircing even the heavier dropship armor, to be vanishing like sparks on concrete. Nice to look at but ultimately useless.
The camera switches to a squad of soldiers looking at the sky. Now Hanse sees the turgid sacks of meat expelled from the monstrosity. First as speck of dust falling down as pollen. Closing in their jellyfish like appearance becomes clearer, aswell as their size and armored head.
It crushes throght the street. At once the marines turn and open fire. The muzzel flash of their rifels shows shapes crawling from the pod.
Hanse stares with open mouth, eyes are wide open and gripping the vodka bottle. Quintus has not set down his glass since his last word.
Only half of its content remains.
Insect like creatures the size of boars run them over. Their claws pircing the visor. The camera of the dying soldier shows another creature the size of a bear with a snake like tail slither besides it. The sound of rapidly emptying magazins pressing their contents to hypersonic speed gets drowned out by the continuous stampede. Cold terror spreads throught Hanses mind, as his rough estimation of the amount of drone from a single ship finishes.
Thankfully the tank in the next scene seems to supress them while quickly withdrawing.
"What. The. FUCK!" looking to Quintus to find halt, Hanse sees him drinking from another bottle. His own splintering under his white knuckled hand.
The building sized bulldozer steps on the tank while in full sprint crushing it effortlessly. The vibrations shake even the camera operator who zoomes out to see a transforming viking getting cut in two by a claw. It has the size of a Locust.
Still in disbelieve he sees the explosion from artillery hammering down on the street. Their light visible on the walls. They are not stopping the charge.
They see the prepared defensive line that would have drowend a Battallion of Mechs in their depleted uranium spikes and HE shells.
Explosions ripple thorught the Swarm. A tank gets swept to the side by an worm bursting thought the earth and standinig tall like a keep.
Hanse drinks from the broken flask. No words escape his lips.
The slaughter that follows is short and one sided.
"They were fighting against THAT?!" the bottle slippery from the blood of his cut hand crashes on the ground.
"That is called Zerg. There are trillions and they Infected many of their planets. Most of their fleet is for their refugees"
In retroperspective their lackadaisical attitude towards nuclear weapons that made even the Taurians blush made much more sense.
Fun fact one sac can contain 40 primal zerglings, 5 primal roaches, and 5 primal hydralisks.
Also I dedicded to not sleep this night and hammering out this thing instead.