"Man I suck."
-DisgruntledApe
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| Phoenix Legion Chronicles: Part XII | | | Author: | | | IP: | fjwilsonXXXX | | Date: | 01/24/00 01:01 | | Game Type: | Starcraft | | Labels: | Famous Reporter(1), Starcraft(1), Old Classic(1), Text Only(1), Fan Fiction(1), Funny Comments(1), Series(1) | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 10, Min: 10
Lifetime Rating for .Praetor: 8.2987 |  | If you haven't before read Phoenix Legion Chronicles, it is a mini-series of fiction set on the ladder map of Ashrigo. Start at Part I (incidentally, report number 288). Readers familiar with the Chronicles may want to go back to the last part. If you haven't read the main story, Phoenix Legion take a look at it if you have the time. Or check out my WarCraft story, Brigand. If you are a fan of Star Control II sign the Petition for a sequel by Toys for Bob. If you just like really good computer games or fan-made 3D models, check out The Pages of Now and Forever. Now without further ado, I leave you to Ashrigo:
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I sit back in my chair, having put the map of the whole battle ground on the main screen. As I consider the possibilities for the future, I can sense my weight slowly shifting to my back as I relax, compressing those tissues in contact with my chair. My all-too-comfortable chair. The sensation calls to me like a siren's song, asking me to just relax a bit more, to fully rest my weight against the provided support. Surprising myself, I summon the will power to resist. I don't just sit up, but I stand up, deciding to command the rest of the battle from my feet. I can't affort to be fatigued. The Zerg are coming.
I spare another nervous glance for the resource counter at the top right of the main screen. Still not enough to start another Golaith in production. The Legion's resources are bone dry. Tapping the controls on the arm of the chair I am leaning on, I shift the main screen to a picture of my base.
The rubble is all too telling. Six Protoss fighters have crashed amongst the wreckage of my base. Several supply depots and the main defensive line of turrets were also destroyed, and there has been no time to bulldoze the wreckage. Completing the apocalyptic scene are two massive carrier hulls, one crumpled near the line of turrets, the other in two pieces, one large and one small, in the main section of the still functioning portion of the base. Not that much movement is evident. The only troops left are three marines in a half-collapsed bunker and one Golaith new out of a factory. But two science vessels hover in the air, and my three barracks each glow with the light of battlesuit production facilities. I'd feel better, though, if the Legion had the resources to queue more than one marine from each barracks.
"Approximate ETA of Zerg overlords?" I shake just saying the words. Perhaps it is the fatigue. Perhaps.
"Four minutes." Major Renault, a veteran, suddenly looks ten years older. I have asked a bit much of him, this battle.
"Order the Golaith here," I use my laser pointer to highlight a position on the eastern edge of my base, near the Starports. "I want a comsat one minute before the Overlords' projected arrival. Try to tell which ones are full. Send the data on to the Golaith and marines, of course." Leaning over my control panel, I tap the seven key, automatically bringing up a direct line to Spike. "Spike, buddy. We have... unexpected guests," I'm not sure why I can't just say the Zerg are coming to Spike.
"The same ones who made such a mess east of here?"
Yes, the same alien horde who trashed the south middle expansion, killing everyone in and around the base, "those are the guys. Seems they want to party here as well."
"Jeez, you'd think they'd have one big hangover by now," joked Spike. I want to laugh, I really do, but I don't even smile, not a corner of my mouth lifts. It should have been funny, but it wasn't.
"Yeah. Look, I want you to head over by the Starports. You'll be supported by a Golaith. Just before they arrive, you should get some comsat data pointing out your targets. Stim when the first one is in range. With the Golaith, take one down." I check the transmission data, making sure this is going out to all of the squad. It is. I select one of the marines, to check his name. "Johannes Kohl," I feel dirty, using his full name, as if I am paying him an honour, "I want you at point. Right on the cliffside. As soon as the second illustrated target gets in range, stim again and transfer your fire to it. The rest of you, get back to the rubble. Spike will lead your group autonomously."
"Yes sir." That is Johannes Kohl relpying, his voice cracking. I don't think less of him for it.
"God be with you, son," I say, hating myself for it.
Spike contacts me after I cut the transmission, on a private line, "you bastard," I can hear the sense of betrayal in his voice.
"Yes." I respond.
"Renault, notify me of the scan." I shift the main screen to the ramp leading to the Zerg base. Marines are stimming, running up the hill in the face of undetermined hydralisk and sunken colony resistance. I move the focus of the screen again, not willing to watch the outcome of the battle. My worries will only be somewhat alleviated if the storming of the Zerg base is successful, I'll be devastated if it fails.
I shift the main screen again, this time to the ledge outside of the Protoss natural. The first sight that catches my eyes is the mind-twisting blue lightning fouling the air by one of my battle cruisers. The templar that cast the spell dies to the battle cruiser's frontal battery though, and a dragoon that tries to take advantage of the cruiser's weakness is destroyed by two direct hits of arclite siege fire. Two of the six fighters swarming around my other cruiser dart away for a moment, and the tanks don't fire on a line of five zealots rushing for the ramp up to the ridge. Two wraiths pepper their advance, and before I can give the order, Ummox has the tanks unseiging and moving towards the Golaiths, who have scared off the fighters. There is a brief, unnatural cease in the flash of energy and crash of explosion as the fighters engaging the cruisers retreat, one of them vanishing in a last uneven flare of brilliance. Both cruisers are pitted and burned. The paint of one has been burnt off, and the damage is seen as a delicate lattice of erratic burn marks - the sign of psionic storm on those that survive it. Two enlarged, jagged craters mark the points where dragoons did succeed in hitting the beleagured cruiser. The other is not as damaged, but you wouldn't be able to tell by its looks. The cruiser looks like a derelict out of a holovid, leaking gasses in several places, machinery pointed upwards in places where explosions occured just below the surface of the ship. In fact, almost all the damage seems to have that effect, possibly a feature of the Protoss' new fighter. One Golaith lay on the ground, the legs removed by some unknown force. Though sparks flew from the bottom of the battle walker like blood from severed arteries, the pilot had managed to lauch missiles twice more at the fighters weaving overhead before the chassis had exploded. The other two Golaiths are dusty, covered in ash and the smudges of carbon and debris accumulated in any battle. They look brand new. Both tanks are untouched, but Ummox has wisely kept them unsieged. Their treads churn the ground, leaving deep furrows that fade behind them, the dust of this world being quickly rearranged by the wind.
I ask myself if these men, who have fought through odds I would have blanched at, this small number of units that have heroically tied up the most advanced race in the galaxy. I ask myself if these men will live, and I don't have an answer.
The eye of the storm passes with the Zealots making it past the ramp and ready to engage the Golaiths and Tanks. Flickering light illuminates the warriors, orange from the flame of Golaiths' twin machine guns and tank blasts, blue from the shimmering of their shields repelling the onslaught. Two dragoons scuttle down the ramp, under fire from both cruisers. Relief comes for them in the form of the five remaining fighters, illuminating a cruiser with whatever their weapon is, causing explosions to ripple across its hull. The cruiser wheels on its massive gyro-stabilizers, and destroys one of the fighters in the furious release of its frontal batteries.
"Commander, we've scanned the Zerg fleet headed our way, and managed to identify two overlords that we think are full. They're a bit ahead of schedule," Major Renault informs me of the main battle.
I move the screen to the main base, seeing the Golaith and the marines lined up at the edge of the cliff. "Get the science vessels a bit closer," I direct, making sure everything goes as well as it can. The Golaith is the first to fire, small door opening up by its mechanical 'shoulders', ejecting two missiles which streak forward, trailing chemical smoke. Chunks of the Overlord attacking are blown off the main carapace, including a leg, which whirls gracefully in the air, slowly falling to the ground in a red mist caused by the first volley of fire from the six marines coming within range. A second set of missiles hits just ahead of the first, widening the gaping wound in the Overlord. Johannes Kohl switches his fire to the second target, an Overlord near the back of the bunch, to be sure it doesn't land its troops before it, too, is destroyed.
The first Overlord finally dies, the main carapace rupturing and the animal starts falling out of the sky quickly, strangely intact except for the deep, gaping, jagged, bleeding hole where its left front leg once was. Spike leads himself and the four marines who aren't Johannes Kohl away from the fleet, running with the speed of drug-induced strength behind the Starport supports. "Shield the Golatih," I make sure the second Overlord target is going down. The Overlords are over the edge of the cliff, the first two Hydralisks dropping out of the pouch on the bottom of the floating behemoths. Johannes Kohl is killed, having done admiral damage to the second Overlord target. Two more beasts, those having accompanied the first two in their hellish transports, and these four turn their gruesome attentions on the Golaith, which stands its ground, intent on its suicide mission. The defensive matrix around the warrior shimmers as three of the Hydralisks fling the spines between their plates, vainly trying to destroy their enemy. The other is close enough to thrash out with its huge claws at the end of its forelegs.
The third Hydralisk to have landed on Legion territory bucks forward, bleeding from several points in its back. Spike and the other marines have positioned themselves, using the Starport itself as a partial sheild. The Hydralisk takes the damage, concentrating fire on the Golaith. A final volley of missiles removes the head from the second target Overlord, the large mandibles plummeting at a much greater speed than the slightly breached carapace. Without control, the Overlord relaxes its sacs, and one Hydralisk falls out of the beast, seemingly hanging in the air for some seconds before smashing against the cliff, and bouncing off with amazing force. A red and orange smear is left on the side of the cliff.
The Golaith turns to attack its growling neighbor, but the sheild falls and it is quickly destroyed by a large volley of explosive spines, violently eroding the armor on the battle walker. The gutted chassis remains standing. Three of the fourteen landed Hydralisks lie in their own blood, perforated by depleted uranium bullets from Spike and his squad. Four Hydralisks begin to return fire, hampered by the Starport supports, while the rest circle the structures, hoping to get a good angle on the marines.
Spike is ready for them, though, and his squad quickly retreats in what is obviously a planned maneuver. Using another dose of drugs they fairly leap up the side of a crumpled carrier hull, climbing into one of the hellish folds of armour. This is obviously the choice for the last stand. The six marines wait for the Hydralisks, who group just out of range, ignoring the Starports now that marines are no longer hiding behind them. When they have all gathered, the Hydralisks surge forward as one, slightly darkened in the dim ambiance of this world by the shawdows of the controlling overlords above them.
Showing no such unity, but plenty of bravado, the marines open fire within a few seconds of each other. Three of the Hydralisks leap up to the same holds the marines had used, climbing up to them. Seven of the Hydralisks form a firing line, occasionally striking one of the marines, where a chunk of soft armour will fall off, and the marine will lose its aim for a second. One of the Hydralisks is dead, the top front half of its body just missing.
The marines aren't fooled by the diversion of the climbing Hydralisks, and fire on the ones returning fire, where the angle is more favorable to them. From left to right the Hydralisk start falling. The farthest one crumples over its midsection, having taken too much damage to remain upright. The next loses its footing due to damage, and is put out of misery quickly as it writhes on the ground. Another falls over, looking surprisingly uninjured, but bleeding from innumberable almost equidistant points.
And then Spike dies. The fire of the Hydralisks is heaviest in the center of the line, and both of Spike's shoulders are robbed of armour, though the fatal wound comes when a volley of spines finds a few penetrating through the exposed seam of two armour pads. There is a small amount of blood, but mostly just another puff of soft armour, and Spike falls over, his gun falling down the side of the Carrier. The other marines don't lose heart, they don't start running or panicking, but they die all the same, suffering various fates. One's face plate finally shatters, the shards killing the marine it was protecting as much as the Hydralisk spines. Another loses an arm and falls, the life will drain out of him after a small amount of time passes. One of the climbing Hydralisks launches itself up to the top of the rim, just in the right position to be perforated by bullets from the three remaining marines, falling to the ground with fire following it. The marines find their fates after it lands, to the claws of the other climbing Hydralisk and the suddenly superior mass of fire from below.
The six Hydralisks regroup to move around the carrier into the middle of the base. I feel minor tremors in my chair. Four Hydralisks had been left in the underbellies of their Overlords, and are now attacking the armoured blast doors of the command center. I watch, as six more cross around the carrier, and take up the assualt. The tremour increases, and I notice with detachment the icon on the screen is burning on the wrong side.
"The Protoss have been turned back," Ummox informs me. "One tank and one Golaith remain. Everything else is... gone." Does he not notice the tremors?
"Good job Ummox. Major Torino?"
The Major looks back at me, "success. Only one sunken and a few Hydralisks barred our way. We have their base, and are commencing fire on the Hive..." Major Torino looks at her smaller operating screen, "now." She really is quite beautiful.
The relations officer speaks up, exited, "sir, someone is calling! It's.. it's Nezalis, sir. I'm sorry." I don't see why he is so sorry. The Legion has won this battle, Zerg surrender or not. If one can call this victory.
I stare at the main screen, a few seconds stretching into a lifetime. Just over thirty Space Construction Vehicles look back at me, SCVs for short. All armed with fusion cutters. I'd known they were there, of course. I'd thought about using them. Is my life worth their sacrifice? No. Is my life and those of the people around me worth their sacrifice. I hesitate.
Luckily, I don't have to make that decision. I select the SCVs, "move, on the double, I need you attacking those Hydras, now! You'll have back up." I don't have to make that decision, because the vulture response squad has arrived. The nine attack bikes have hit one flank of the Hydralisks, strangely illuminated by the burning of my command center. The other flank is hit by the SCVs, in an ethically clean, simple tactical calculation.
Suddenly, everything speeds up again, and I notice how fast the battle is occuring. At the same time, somehow, everything slows down. I sit in my chair. "Put Nezalis on."
"Yes sir."
I gaze at the blue face before me for only a second, speaking before the Protoss has the chance to, "I really wish we could have worked together, Under-executor. Not only would you have been in a better position, I would have lost far, far fewer men. Think about that. But I understand there can be no cooperation without trust. Think about that in future dealings with the Legion. And I emphasize Legion, not Terrans, Nezalis. I grant you have enough forces to consider it a potent enough threat to satisfy my surrender terms, what is your response?"
"Acknowledged, and accepted, under the circumstances." He still has his pride. I reckon that a good thing.
"Very well. Your automated defenses will power down immediately, and your units will leave this world now, transmitting their coordinates to us continously until you warp. We do not currently have the agreed upon surrender amount to recompense you for your evacuation and abandoned builings. When that has been mined, and an escort can be provided, I will personally make sure a transport with the due reaches a meeting point. You can remove your structures or we can. Goodbye and good luck." Nezalis nods, and ends transmission.
On the main screen, the last Hydralisk falls to the power of six fusion cutters. All nine of the vultures have been efficiently coverted to wreckage by the Hydralisks, but only a few SCVs lost their lives. Renault orders repairs to start on the Command Center before I can do it myself. "Have sixteen of those SCVs transported to the middle island. It's time to start getting some resources again." I run over a mental checklist, seeing what's left to do. "Major Torino?"
"No eggs here. Just clean up. And no drones made it out, either. They all charged. Lost a few marines, too."
"Ummox?"
"The Protoss are heading out. Three of their fighters and a shuttle are heading towards orbit. I'm moving my two units towards the Zerg base, to meet up with Torino."
"Check. I want scans all over the Fourrier base."
Whatever officer is manning the comsats right now turns to me, surprised, "sir, they're gone! Just depots and an academy and stuff. I'm tracking all the movable buildings lifting into orbit."
"Thank you." I could catch them, of course. Structures aren't going to win races any time soon. But I only have dropships and science vessles in the air. "Order a pursuit by two science vessels, until the Fourrier warp out of the system. Give them orders to shield and retreat if the Fourrier convoy is met with opposition."
"Uh, sir, it really is a convoy. Two wraiths and two dropships are accompanying the buildings."
"Well, scratch that then." I stand up out of my chair, stretching. "Good job everyone. Develop the middle base, and start another command center wherever the next greatest concentration of mineral is. Get a few wraiths, a bunker or two at each base. That should be enough. Wake me if there are any problems. Renault, Torino, Ummox, you look as dead as me. Good job, get some rest. That's an order."
I left the operations center and stumbled down the hallway to my room, stepping over a collapsed bulkhead on the way. My bed was undamaged, and I fell into it. I kept thinking of Spike, and Johannes Kohl, and the vultures, the wraiths dieing to storm. Those thirty SCVs, just icons on a screen, staring at me. What was it I had told Ummox? Do the best you can. More will die on you, and it will never stop being your fault. But the better you are, you can take more solace in the men still there, that wouldn't be under another man. I thought about that, finally closing my eyes to go to sleep.
You bastard.
Yes. |
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