" Long ago, there was a boy, almost a man, who wished, on his birthday, to become a man. Sitting in his home, waiting for the world to see his strength, poise, and stature, he wished only to gain the respect and trust of his peers. What he got instead was Starcraft, and it was better then all that other shit. "
- LoZeR-X's The First Battle Report by LoZeR-X
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| Death from Above: Part 3 | | | Author: | | | IP: | p125.netXXXX | | Date: | 06/03/00 09:06 | | Game Type: | Starcraft | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 7, Min: 7
Lifetime Rating for Belt: 5.6667 |  | The assault on the Zerg hive was not going according to plan. After the initially stunning victory against the forward Zerg base, the commanders of the uneasily allied Terran
and Protoss forces had estimated that at least a third of the Zerg forces had been destroyed, and that what remained at the central nest would be unable to stand up to the
combined army which had so totally smashed its defensive outpost. Cloaked Protoss Observers had been dispatched to spy out the activities of the surviving Zerg while the
Terran forces mopped up the remains of the first base and their towering allies paused to collect their energies for the next assault.
Considering the terrain surrounding the base, it had been decided that the Battlecruisers and Protoss Carriers would begin the attack, picking off the perimeter defenses of
the living fortress so as to clear a safe landing area for transport shuttles. These would unload several armored groups of Arclites with Goliath and marine support, as well
as a pair of massive Reavers to add to the mayhem. Wraiths and Scouts were assigned to provide air cover for the sieging forces while the main body of troops separated.
Ar'Adun's battle-ready Zealots would advance over a mountain pass under the cover of the Arclites' assault; due to the uneven terrain, it had been decided to send marines
and sure-footed Goliaths in place of the less-agile Dragoons. The Protoss war machines had instead been airlifted to a relatively level rocky field on the far side of the Zerg
hive, surrounded by Terran Firebats and Vultures. The plan was for both groups to advance as the base's defenses were neutralized and take out any Zerg that showed its
ugly head along the way. Zealots and Vultures had been instructed to carry out hit-and-run strikes on promising targets, and their support was told to blow any fliers from
the sky. Once the perimeter was breached on both sides, the heavy artillery would focus on the inner base and vaporize anything living; the survivors were expected to
stagger into the waiting lines of their enemies.
As a precautionary measure, should things start to get ugly, workers from both sides had already begun work on a secure position for the troops to fall back to. The SCV
pilots were busily putting together a number of machine shops, bunkers, and anti-air turrets; their robotic Probe counterparts had already set the teleport coordinates for
half a dozen various Protoss buildings. Apparently, the newly-made treaty between the two species was holding; the Protoss weaponry did not materialize with a target
lock on the Terran workers, and so far, no turret gunner had tried to take down one of the gleaming alien fighters.
That, David mused, was about the only thing going for them at the moment. All around him, madness and destruction reigned supreme. As he and his squad locked on a
pack of spine-hurling Hydralisks and blew them apart, the beasts' armor-piercing spikes ripped through the heavy plating of a Goliath and severed its leg at the
servomotor-operated knee. Helplessly off-balance, the walker fell, crushing several rampaging Zerglings that hadn't bothered to get out of its way. The vehicle's pilot didn't
seem to care that he was down, because in the next second, his missile rack unloaded a dozen solid hits into the center of the Hydra pack, the incendiary anti-air
weaponry reducing the slithering monsters to ash. On the far side of the downed-but-deadly Goliath, David could see a Zealot furiously trading blows with no less than four
Zerglings. One of the little monsters was sheared clean in half by the giant's glowing blades, and another went flying as it received a solid kick to the head from the warrior's
armored foot. A flickering form dove in -a Mutalisk- showering the Zealot with one of its nasty annelid symbiotes, and then the shadow of a huge Ultralisk fell over the entire
group. David was ready to write the Zealot off, but he wasn't prepared for what happened next. Instead of running from the titanic beast, the Protoss leapt directly at the
thing, launching himself nearly twenty feet in a single leap, and landing upon the Ultra's wrinkled snout. The Zerg behemoth's eyes -if those red-glowing orbs were in fact
eyes- seemed to cross and stare in puzzlement at its unexpected passenger, but the Zealot wasn't done. He proceed to run up the Ultralisk's face and on to its armored
back; from there, the shielded warrior made another of those massive leaps, straight into the air, closed his hands around the body of the madly flapping Mutalisk that had
attacked him a moment before, and pulled the screaming flier down with him. The Zerg flier, its own body not much larger and far lighter than the power-suited Zealot, could
not stop the descent, nor could it bring its dripping maw around to spit another of those rubbery parasites at its enemy. The Zealot landed back atop the Ultralisk, spun
around, slapped the struggling Mutalisk down over its gigantic cousin's face, then drew a silvery spike from somewhere on his armor and drove it downward through both
creatures, pinning the Mutalisk over the giant Ultra's face. The Zealot leapt away as the Ultralisk, unable to see past the heat-rich mass of flapping wings, went berserk and
lashed out wildly with its tusks, trying to remove enough of its fellow Zerg to see again. One swing of the massive creature's awesomely sharp weapons cut a nearby
Goliath apart at the waist; another took the heads off a group of Hydras; its feet trampled Zergling and Terran alike, and then the blind brute collided with another of its kind.
The second Ultra roared in fury and tore into its sibling, and the two giants tumbled away through the melee, doing more damage to their own side as they bit and slashed
and kicked at each other.
But even with the spectacular wrestling match, David could see that his side wasn't doing too well. Several wrecked Goliaths littered the battlefield, side-by-side with the
slack-jawed remains of the Hydras and Zerglings that had destroyed them. Several areas were cut off by thick clouds of some unnaturally thick dust, and others were
covered with layer upon layer of greenish slime. There were dead or critically injured troopers everywhere, and even a few of the Protoss warriors were down, their shields
and blades flickering on the edge of failure and their golden armor smeared with luminescent blue blood. And a large pack of hungry-looking Zerglings was advancing over
the cratered ground. David raised his rifle and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Click.
Click.
"Damn."
The Zerglings moved forward. They seemed to be smiling.
David scrambled for the ammo supply at his belt as the Zerglings came forward. Some of the men in his squad still had ammo left, and the depleted uranium shells blew
through the Zerglings easily. Several of the creatures went down in a double-barrelled spray of liquid flame as they came within range of a Firebat, but there were still more
than enough to kill the red-armored trooper and every other marine near him. David gave up on the ammo and grasped his axe-headed assault rifle with both hands.
The Zerglings were suddenly swallowed in a crackling haze of blue energy. Dancing arcs of something that almost looked like lightning raced across the entire pack,
critically overloading what little brains they possessed. David looked around and saw the High Templar behind his group, its hands extended and surrounded with a glowing
aura. Zand'Akull, David noticed, didn't look very happy. His ceremonial robes were smeared with a vile rainbow of colors, some in his own bright blue, and his personal
shield was flickering on the verge of failure. David could see that this devout spiritual leader had been knee-deep in the fighting. He also saw a Hydralisk sneaking up behind
the battered Protoss elder, its carapace already open to reveal thousands of those deadly high-velocity spines. Focused as he was on the maintenance of his psionic storm
and with his shields near collapse, David doubted that the Templar could hold off the Zerg's attack long enough for the marines to get in range.
He needn't have worried. A concussive shell took the Hydra in the belly, knocking its head downwards and sending the volley of spines burrowing into the rock instead.
Several additional shots blew bits and pieces from the monster's body before it gave up and collapsed. A few feet behind the Templar, a patch of air shimmered, distorted,
and turned into the black-suited Ghost, Larson, his canister rifle still trained on the Hydra.
The blue glow faded from Zand's hands, which he lowered wearily. David barked an order to his troops, and they fell back towards their unexpected savior.
YOU STALK WELL, YOUNGLING. I OWE YOU MY LIFE. Larson nodded politely. "Well, you just saved my team, so I guess we're even." The Ghost looked over to David.
"Having fun, Lieutenant?"
"Cute, Larson." David yanked the jammed clip from his rifle and popped in its replacement. Feeling much better with a fully-loaded weapon in his hands, he looked back to
the covert agent. "How are things going out there?"
"Badly. And not according to plan." Larson shook his head. "There's at least three times as many Zerg in this hive as there were at the last one, and we pissed the
Overmind off pretty badly back there; I'd say it was looking for revenge."
"And finding it. How did your regicide go?" 'Regicide' was what the marines said when they talked about hunting down and killing the Zerg royalty -Queens and those bloody
Defilers. The jobs were typically unpleasant, because the Overmind took care to protect such valuable creatures, and were normally assigned to Ghosts and Wraiths;
nobody else could get close enough to do the job, except by accident. Larson shrugged.
"Not too badly. I'll tell you, though, having those Observers along helped a lot. The bugs never saw us coming, and there was nowhere for them to hide. The team I was with
popped six Defilers and two Queens; I think the other groups did better, but mine got scattered after a couple Overlords came to visit. I figured I'd look you up and see how
you were doing." Again, David got the impression that the Ghost was smiling at his expense.
"Could be worse -hell, it would have been worse if His Holiness here hadn't come along." Zand'Akull tilted his head to one side at the Terran address, but made no
comment. "Aside from being a little low on ammo, we lost Eddie and Kevin to a Hydralisk ambush, and the whole second squad is back at base camp for treatment on
plasma burns. I was about ready to implement 'Cycler and Roach when you came along."
"Probably not a bad idea. There're a couple of relatively intact Goliaths and a wrecked Arclite thirty-six meters in that direction, and these," Larson said, hefting a case filled
with flat discs and smooth spheres, "I got off of a Vulture pilot whose ride got melted."
"Great. Any good spots around here?" Larson consulted with his sensors.
"Back there, twenty-two meters. It's a seven-foot trench which connects to a fair-sized cave; you can't see it from here because of the slope of the hill. No signs of Creep or
Zergholes, so it should do."
WHAT IS THIS 'CYCLER AND ROACH YOU DESCRIBE? Larson and David both looked up at Zand's expressionless face, and David explained it. "They're a couple of field
tactics our army's been using for the last couple of centuries in situations where, like this one, things get a little out of control. 'Cycler as in recycle, because marines strip
weapons and armor plate from any downed vehicles and make the best use of them that they can; Roach because we go to ground and try to keep out of sight while we're
at it." David considered the Protoss elder. Even though he was a bit smaller than the Zealots in their massive armor, Zand'Akull was still head and shoulders above any
living human. "We might want to get you out of here, though. I don't think that trench will be enough cover for you, and I really don't want your troops blaming me for getting
you killed."
INSUFFICIENT TIME AND MANPOWER; I CANNOT RETURN TO SAFETY ALONE, AND YOU CANNOT SPARE ANYONE IF YOUR TACTICS ARE TO WORK. I WILL
BE AS SAFE AS I CAN BE INSIDE THE CAVE. David shrugged.
"It's your skin." He turned to his squadmen and laid out the plan; they nodded and began to fan out in search of the wrecks Larson had described, while the Ghost himself
faded from sight, leaving David alone with the High Templar. A few falling rocks, apparently dislodged by the wind, marked the trail of the invisible agent as he made his way
up a nearby hillock to watch over the troops. David looked at his solemn ally.
"If we get into trouble, are you going to be able to help out? No offense, but you look beat."
I WILL RECOVER MY POWER SHORTLY. Zand lifted one hand from where it was pressed against a bright spot of blue on his midsection. EVEN INJURED AS I AM, A
HIGH TEMPLAR IS CAPABLE OF MUCH.
"If they're intact, we could probably rig the guns from a Goliath for you to work manually."
IMPOSSIBLE. MY OATH FORBIDS ME FROM ENGAGING IN COMBAT BY ANY MUNDANE MEANS, EVEN FROM A DISTANCE. The Protoss' shoulders swelled then,
and he seemed to stand a little straighter. DO NOT WORRY, KHIN'ETH. MY PEOPLE WILL COME FOR ME WHEN THEY CAN. WE MERELY HAVE TO ENDURE
UNTIL THEN. "Why do you call us that, anyway? Khin'eth; what does it mean?"
CHILD.
The soldiers got lucky when they started investigating the downed vehicles. They found the Goliath pilots, most of the Arclite's crew, two civilian techs in their SCVs, and a
few marines and Firebats hunkered down among the mounds of twisted metal, already in the process of 'Cycler and Roach and very glad to see some friendly faces. Some
of the soldiers stood watch while the rest began to break down what remained of the war machines.
Forty minutes later, David found himself the commander of a fairly defensible position and with a pretty nasty collection of weapons at his disposal. As he had hoped, the
chainguns from one of the Goliaths had proved to be sufficiently intact for continued use; with help from the techs and the salvaged gyro of another walker, he'd assembled
a crude but effective swivel-mounted double-barrelled instrument of automated death. Together with sections of Arclite armor plate and the crateloads of unused ammo from
the wrecked Goliaths, it made for a halfway decent artillery platform. The Goliath pilots operated the thing from just inside the mouth of the cave where Zand'Akull was
resting, with plenty of room above for the Protoss giant to wield his psionic powers, and sufficient space on either side for troopers to move in or out of the cave.
The rockets from the Goliaths were no less deadly now, for the modular nature of their launchers enabled each marine to carry a section of the full device as a reloadable
bazooka. Six of the rockets had been fitted with plasma power modules from the Arclite, turning them into ground-to-air metallic versions of the deadly attack used by the
Zerg Guardians. There was little chance of salvaging the Arclite's awesome Mjolnir cannon -the Overmind had learned to fear the weapons, and this one showed signs of
having been torn apart by an Ultralisk- but aside from the damage to the cannon and Hydralisk spine-holes along one side, the tank was almost totally functional. They'd
driven it back into the cave for the techs to attempt repairs once the defenses were up; it would never be able to make its transformation to Siege Mode without a full
overhaul, but if they could get it working again, that monster machine just might be their ticket back to base camp.
While the techs worked on the tank, David had ordered the marines and Firebats into the near end of the trench that ran up to the mouth of the cave. Armed with the
scavenged Goliath missiles, Larson's appropriated concussion grenades, and their usual rifles, the marines held an excellent position. As Larson had said, the slope of the
hill made the trench invisible until you were right on top of it; any airborne Zerg would flap or float its way right past the thing without even seeing it. Ultralisks would notice it
about as much as a man would a narrow drainage ditch, while Hydras and Zerglings would fall right in. Any Zerg that took that fall would be faced with a massed rank of
Terran soldiers, three abreast and armed with some unconventional firepower. The slope of the hill would shield them from aerial attack -as would the sections of Arclite
armor each trooper carried before him- while an Ultralisk would have to get down on its belly to even see the trench -and by that point, it would be too close to bring its
tusks to bear. The makeshift artillery platform could nail any Zerg that crawled near the trench before it even saw the marines, and as a final precaution, the techs had
rigged plasma charges in the trench; when one was detonated, it would cover the area with a warm, sweet-smelling, faintly tingly and ultimately harmless pink gas. The
heat of the gas would mask the body heat of the marines and give them sufficient time to flee back up the trench to their next position, from which they could repeat the
process. Larson had scattered a dozen of his stolen Spider Mines in the field before the trench to break up any potential Zerg stampedes -David was going to have to ask
where the Ghost had found so many of those beautiful little gizmos, but it could wait. Right now, Larson was on a small shelf above the main entrance to the cave, tapped
into a satellite relay and in the process of sending the location and situation of the troop to base camp. The marines rested in the trench; any enemy would be spotted long
before it reached them, and after all the fighting, they needed a bit of a break, and their Lieutenant had given them one. David himself was not on a break; his armor's
communications systems were patched in to Larson's, and both of them were delivering the field report to command. As he'd expected, the Protoss leader Ar'Adun was
glad to hear that the High Templar was alive and in no immediate danger. The summary of the battle to that point was something else he'd expected, but it wasn't what he'd
feared.
True, the allied Terran and Protoss forces had gotten their noses bloodied, but they'd done enough damage to push the Zerg back into their heavily defended hive for the
time being. A large body of Guardians were locked in place above the central nest, keeping the Arclite and Reaver bombardment groups from doing much more than fringe
damage to the nest. Every so often a pack of Mutalisks or Zerglings would attempt to break through the enemy lines, but they were dealt with quickly. Larson and his fellow
Ghosts had apparently achieved a perfect-kill record among the hive's royalty, for there was no sign of Defiler or Queen activity. This was very good news, for the colony,
though huge, lacked the vital breeding compounds that both Terrans and Protoss had noted as being somehow necessary for the development of those fearsome creatures.
Any Zerg drone that attempted to leave the safe zone around the central nest was vaporized, and Yamato cannon bombardment had plastered the remains of three
attempts at building mutation across the hive.
While the Zerg were contained, they were undoubtedly breeding replacements for the troops they'd lost. But the work at the base camp was almost complete as well.
Vehicular repair bays were up and running, perimeter defenses were in place and solidly packed, and Protoss reinforcements were already starting to arrive through the
interstellar Gateways. That bit of news was more reassuring to Zand'Akull than to his human allies, but it was good news nonetheless. Even better were the orders that
sent three fast-moving Protoss shuttles and a fighter escort racing towards the fortified position.
In David and Larson's shared opinions, though, by far the best bit of information was that the technicians were rapidly nearing completion of nuclear launch silos at the field
command. Visions of mushroom clouds were dancing in both men's heads, with a big red dot painted on the Zerg hive.
*******************************
this will be my last report for june. I shall compile more stories and present them to you at the right moment.
--------------------Belt--------------------- |
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