StarCraft 1. Prologue

**First in, Last out**

**The Siege of Combatbase Gloria**

** **

**A/N: Song is Metallica, Ill probably get a horsehead in my bed for that, also story is extremely graphic so if you don't like violence or are a pacifist get outta here. Song is called dispodable heroes. I also fixed some grammatical errors and edited some names, the confederation is now the Koprulu Task Force**
    
    ** **
    
    **Bodies fill the fields I see, hungry heroes end**
    
    **No one to play soldier now, no one to pretend**
    
    **running blind through killing fields, bred to kill them all**
    
    **Victim of what said should be**
    
    **a servant `til I fall**
    
    ** **
    
    **Soldier boy, made of clay**
    
    **now an empty shell**
    
    **twenty one, only son**
    
    **but he served us well**
    
    **Bred to kill, not to care**
    
    **just do as we say**
    
    **finished here, Greeting Death**
    
    **he's yours to take away**
    
    ** **
    
    **Barking of machinegun fire, does nothing to me now**
    
    **sounding of the clock that ticks, get used to it somehow**
    
    **More a man, more stripes you bare, glory seeker trends**
    
    **bodies fill the fields I see**
    
    **the slaughter never ends**
    
    ** **
    
    **Life planned out before my birth, nothing could I say**
    
    **had no chance to see myself, moulded day by day**
    
    **Looking back I realize, nothing have I done**
    
    **left to die with only friend**
    
    **Alone I clench my gun**
    
    ** **
    
    **Soldier boy, made of clay**
    
    **now an empty shell**
    
    **twenty one, only son**
    
    **but he served us well**
    
    **Bred to kill, not to care**
    
    **just do as we say**
    
    **finished here, Greeting Death**
    
    **he's yours to take away**

** **

** **

****

** **

His breathing came in ragged gasps inside the enclosed space of his CMC-500 Combat Suit. His legs, even augmented by the suit were one big ache. The smell of sweat and fear lingered in the recycled air of the suit, the only border between human flesh and the thin vacuum of the space platform. The sounds of a wholesale massacre filled his ears, accompanied by frenzied shouts and the crescendo of weapons fire.

Looking over his shoulder Major James Taggart checked to make sure no one of what was left of his battalion was behind him. No one was so he continued running, his ears picking up the almost imperceptible _tickticktickticktickticktickticktick of his pursuers. _

As he clambered up a single last metal ridge, which mounted several solar collectors, he finally spotted the extraction zone of all Koprulu Task Force forces. It was setup on a bare metal plain at the fringe of the space platform. Dropships buzzed in and out, picking up men and machines and making a beeline for the remainder of the KTF fleet. As what was left of his battalion filed down the ridge Taggart caught a black shape at the edge of his peripheral vision. Spinning he raised his C-14 "Impaler" Gauss Rifle and opened fire. The last few marines in the column spun and joined in the killing as high velocity gunfire cut down several of the forms in a spray of blood that almost instantly crystallized. The range however was too great for accurate fire and sparks lit up space as the 8mm rounds splattered against the metal deck at more than four thousand feet per seconds. 

Taggart opened a wide beam com and boosted the power to max so he could reach the drop zone even as his C-14 sprayed shell casings to the deck. "Attention all KTF forces, this is Major James Taggart of the 1st Combined Arms Battalion, we're are the last, repeat, last unit out, enemy clearance is less than two hundred meters" then switching down to his battalion frequency "5-5, your rear guard, if anything's behind us blast it" 

They're were a chorus of confirmations and on Taggart's tactical map in the corner of his visor, four green dots moved out of the lead of the column and headed towards the rear.

Taggart released the trigger on his C-14 as four crab-like Goliath armored vehicles clomped past. Making a "lets go" command with his arm Taggart and the five other marines who had stopped to fire began running back towards the retrieval zone. The Goliaths spun their torso's around to face the enemy and slowly followed the marines. 

As the first enemy raced over the metal ridge eight 30mm smoothbore autocannons opened fire to greet them. Shell casings and smoke exploded from the auto cannon's breeches as the first of the high explosive rounds reached the enemy. Small explosions caused catastrophic to the unarmored enemy. Limbs and torsos were shattered and severed from one another as the high velocity projectiles sprayed everywhere. Direct hits on the smaller Zerg smeared them against the deck like small insects. While the Smoothbore Autocannons weren't as accurate as rifled barrels, the rate of fire was almost doubled.****

Taggart, almost ready to collapse and die in his tracks, clomped up the ramp with eleven other marines. The dropships could only hold eight marines in practice but many where modified so that twelve could be fitted including full CMC armor and weapons.

The four Goliaths walked two by two up their own dropship their weapons still firing; the Zerg continued to die only 200 meters from the retrieval zone. Seeing the hatch close on the last dropship Taggart ran forward to the pilot compartment and yelled on word "GO!" There was a sharp kick as the accelerators fired full blast then drained off as the inertial compensators kicked in.

Looking out of the porthole of his command dropship Major James Taggart couldn't help but feel immense sadness. Below him a living wave of Zerg crashed against the bunkers of the remaining marines garrisoned around the primary KTF base on the space dock above the planet Char. Taggart could pick out the twinkle of weapons fire as the marines fought and clawed with stunning tenacity for every inch of ground even as the dropships sped away from the burning base with what remained of the 1st Combined Arms Battalion. 

Taggart had barely spent over six hours on the station, all of it in heavy combat. One of the few units not to get involved in the massive firefight in the southern part of the station, the 1st CAB had caused immense destruction to the Zerg but had taken over 75% casualties. The 1st CAB and its two sister battalions had finally been force to withdraw when the KTF base had folded under a massive counter attack. 

The fight back to the dropships was one that would undoubtedly spawn many nightmares. Kicking and screaming wounded begged to be taken with them and siege tanks had been piled high with the KIA, Killed in Action, many of the bodies where horrible disfigured and shredded but Taggart had made sure no one was left behind and everyone was accounted for by collecting dog tags even if it meant recovering the body from a tangle of Zerg. Taggart had only what amounted to an under strength platoon of marines, five Arclite Siege Tanks and seven Goliaths, all his Vultures had been destroyed in the first battle, proving to even the top brass that they where indeed useless in an offensive role. Many of the marines where wounded and all the vehicles where damaged in some form. Zerg where everywhere; popping up from Nydus Canals and burrowed tunnels quickly turning the retreat into a route as many marines died facing the wrong way. Taggart's Battalion had literally stepped onto the dropships as their weapons clicked on empty chambers.

As far as Taggart knew, the Protoss and the UED had suffered the same fate. From the reports garnered over the Communication channels over five _thousand Terrans lay cleaved and mangled or where Kilo India Alpha, Killed In Action. From his brief stay at the Earth War College, Taggart knew that this was probably the highest body count of any one conflict, especially in a six-hour period._

Taggart watched through his command screen as the twinkle of weapons fire faded. The platform was still in view but the marines on the ground where running low on ammo and the Zerg where closing in. Several explosions lit the surrounding area as several bunkers filled with marines blew sky high. Taggart offered a silent pray for the commander on the ground whoever that was.

***

Even though he didn't know it, 2nd Lieutenant Larry Bond was the senior commander on the ground and he figured he had about eight minutes left to live. That was how long the nuclear missile armed in the silo next to the command had to blow and he would be _damned if any of things got to him before that nuke did. His platoon was gone, overrun in the opening hours of combat and the last dropships had left. All the senior commanders had bugged out or where KIA, leaving a lowly 2nd Lieutenant to blow the nuke._

Holding his C-14 "Impaler" Gauss Rifle to his shoulder Bond peered out of a view port in a smoke filled corridor in the main Terran Command Center with about thirty other marines. He and about a hundred other marines, firebats, medics and even a few ghosts had taken refuge in it after the bunkers had fallen. While not designed to act as a combat station the view ports in the TCC had beautiful fields of fire that turned the entire Terran base into a killing zone. For a second Bond had thought the Zerg where retreating when they disappeared from view under a hail of 8mm spikes and flames. However that was not the case as he could plainly see a wall of Zerglings pouring around structures and other bunkers straight for the TCC. They had just been identifying the main threat and reorganizing. 

"OPEN FIRE!" someone in the smoke filled corridor screamed. Even before the words had been fully spoken Bond's world had been turned into a hell of fire and death. Marines opened fire with any weapon available, several had canister rifles taken from down ghosts, and others had only side arms. 

Squeezing the trigger on his C-14, Bond took pleasure in the light, sharp kick as the C-14 expended rounds at about 1900 per minute. Shell casing flew from the breach at an astounding rate. Blocking out all other sound he let his marine training kick in as he concentrated on his ammo counter and his sights. Raking the rifle back and forth he traced the muzzle flash across the leading wave of Zerglings. He couldn't count how many he killed as those that where killed or even just wounded were immediately trampled by their comrades. After about twenty seconds the rifle refused to fire and the barrel glowed white hot from the amount of rounds passing through it. C-14s where supposed to have a capacitator to limit the rate of fire but almost no one still had one installed. 

Bending down to slap a fresh magazine into his rifle he checked his watch. It read 2:30. Bond finished reloading and rose up to fire when something struck him in his left cheek. His whole body writhed in pain as the Hydralisks spike exited the back of his jaw. 

As one of the few remaining medics rushed over, Larry realized what had happened. While the Zerglings had taken most of the fire the Zerg's main force of Hydralisks had worked in close to pin the defenders. Although he was only a lowly 2nd John, Bond knew what came next.

The medic took something from her vest pocket and pressed it against his neck, then ran off to help others who had been hit by the sudden return fire.

A sudden loud thumping overwhelmed the sound of hammering weapons. There were sudden screams and the crashing of claws as the door at both ends of the corridor buckled and crashed inward under the force of massive blows. The roar of small arms fire could be heard as other marines fought furiously in other parts of the TCC.

"MOTHER FUCKER, THEY'RE INSIDE THE GODDAMNED BUILERKKK" the speaker shouted as his head was sent flying in a completely different direction than his body. KIA. The marines next to the door died facing the wrong way as massive claws and teeth sliced flesh from bone. KIA. 

Propping himself against a wall Larry watched in horrid fascination as Hydralisks, some ungodly combination of a red snake and praying mantis, poured into the cramped corridor. Too close to their foes to use explosive spines they opted for brute force, their claws and teeth made much more fearsome weapons then their spines. Blood of both species and various limbs sprayed the corridor as the outnumbered Terrans kicked and screamed with every ounce of strength and endurance left in their spent bodies. All the marines fought back-to-back, killing hordes of Zerg before being overwhelmed. KIA. Various limbs flew through the corridor and bounced off walls as their owners were hacked to death in a spray of crimson blood. KIA. 

Rising to his feet everything in Bond's world went red. Pure, untainted rage coursed through his veins like a drug. Raising his C-14, Larry took aim at the closest Hydra and opened fire. He held the trigger back as he swept his the flaming barrel back and forth. Hydras dropped or kicked and squirmed wildly as the first 8mm slugs reached them. "COMEONE MOTHERFUCKERS GET SOME, YOU WANT SOME, COMEONE ASSHOLES" Bond screamed as the counter on his C-14 rapidly wound down past the 250 round mark. Several of the marines still alive concentrated their fire on the doorway stacking the Hydra's up like cordwood in front, in and behind the door.

Up ahead a Firebat opened up filling the corridor with flames as a massive claw pierced his flame pack and armor. KIA. Bond kept moving right through them. The screams of the Zerg and Terrans alike grew to a deafening pitch. A wounded Zerg emerged through the flames swung a massive bone claws downward. Bond felt it cleanly slice through his arm. He felt no pain at the loss of half his arm; Bond swung his rifle around and blasted the Hydra's head in a spray of exploding gray matter and chitin. The Zerg sprawled backwards, half of its skull revealed. 

Bond cleared the fire, his armor blackened and spattered with blood, Zerg and Terran, comrades and his. Three marines poured fire More Hydras moved through the corridor as the last of the Terrans where eviscerated alive, still shooting. KIA KIA KIA. Slumping against a wall Bond could here the shrieks of the dying, who were screaming not in pain or fear, but in rage as they died fighting. Larry continued firing as his lifeblood spread a crimson puddle under him. The C-14, its barrel long since glowing white hot under the continued fire, finally spent its last round and clicked open on an empty chamber, Bond worked the trigger forward of the magazine. There was a THUMP followed by a massive blast as a 40mm grenade exploded in the close confines of the corridor. He fired again and a third time.

Bond felt fragments ping against his armor and his face, drawing blood. The smell of blood, smoke and burnt organic material filled his nostrils. Everything was deathly quite as the first Hydralisks emerged through the smoke. Bond admired their grace and power as the made straight for him. They moved silently, making a barely audible hiss as the slithered smoothly over bodies. With no weapons left Larry resigned himself to death.

The first Hydralisk hesitated as it hovered over him. The air was filled with a low liquid hiss uttered from the back of its throat. A black forked tongue flicked out. It seemed to be waiting for something and Larry Bond said what anyone other marine would say in his situation, bleeding to death on a god forsaken space platform about to be gutted by three-foot long claws. 

"One day someone's gonna come along and stick a combat boot so far up your ass that-"

The rest of the sentence disappeared in the white light of nuclear fire.


	2. Retreat

First in, Last out  
The Siege of Combatbase Gloria  
  
A/N: Whew, finally updated, expect chapter three in several days.  
  
I smell the fear that rains inside  
The thought of children who must oblige  
To tainted dreams and polluted seas  
The missing moon and melting trees  
A mist of doom and clouds of pain  
Toxic waste and acid rain  
The passing of our ignorance  
A lifetime spent in abstinence  
  
Living in fear  
Living in fear  
I can't tell you no lies  
Living in fear  
Living in fear  
  
I smell the fear that rains inside  
The thought of so many lives denied  
More wounded soldiers, another burning flag  
And rows and rows of body bags  
No time for tears as the night falls cold  
The days survivors crawl back in their holes  
As for the rest they're shipped back home  
Home to the rows of white tomb stones  
  
Living in fear  
Living in fear  
I can't tell you no lies  
Living in fear  
Living in fear  
  
Major James Taggart was looking right at the Terran Command Center when the nuke attached to the side of it went nova, the only though that ran through his mind as the last of humanity died on that god forsaken station was Wow, wasn't as big as I thought it was gonna be. After ten years in the Terran Marine Corp, Taggart knew about nukes, however he was usually either designating the targets on some briefing map for his ghosts or leading a sweep through the charred wreckage. Seeing the actual white flash then shockwave was something else.   
While the nuke itself completely wiped out the remnants of the KTF base, it in no way damaged the space platform. It was long ago decided that Strategic Nuclear Capability was not only unnecessary, but also downright stupid to nuke a third of planet that had valuable resources on it. However no one had objected to tactical nukes that only had an effective range of about 500 meters.   
About ten seconds afterwards a massive flash erupted from the other side of the space platform from the UED side of the base. The UED had apparently chain linked more than one nuke together.   
With the danger to his eyesight gone Taggart flipped up his polarized visor and automatically did a self-inventory. His instructors at New Parris Island had endlessly drilled into their recruits to always know what they did and didn't have. Besides various aches and pains from being around thirty-five standard years old he was unscathed. For armament he had half a magazine for his C-14 and two 40mm grenades. He also had one hand activated fuel-air grenade left. What he didn't have were about fifty some odd marines who were left to rot on the field of battle.   
Taggart decide not to dwell on it too much or he was going to need another psyche evaluation. He had already had two, one after his best friend bled to death in his arms, the other after a massive fuck up where his entire company had been wiped out.   
Making his way forward he edged around the other marines of first platoon, all eleven of them to the pilot compartment. He opened the door and entered. The pilot, copilot sat at their chairs concentrating out the cockpit. "You guys know where we're going right?" Taggart asked.   
"Yeah" replied the pilot, "Troop Carrier Ship Concord, the beautiful home of the 9th Marine Division." The pilot cracked into a smile.   
TCS's were generally acknowledged as the ugliest ships in service. They were shaped like long rectangles with two long cigar shaped pods running the length of the rectangle. They normally housed two marine divisions. One mechanized and one infantry, however since the 9th Marines were a combined arms unit with fifteen regiments instead of the normal ten, they got the whole ship to themselves. Each battalion had its own private hangar to conduct equipment checks and formations. Each Battalion Commander also had a regimental briefing room to conduct briefings and the quarters of a full bird Colonel.   
While to other units Combined Arms Divisions were the easiest assignments, they conveniently forgot that CADs were dropped wherever a unit was cutoff or in trouble. A normal loss rate for a standard Combined Arm Battalion drop was about forty percent. The highest of any battalion sized formation. The kill ratio was about a hundred to one, also the highest of any battalion sized formation.   
The dropship pulled to the right 45 ( and the massive form of the TCS Concord filled the view port. A few battle scars blackened the hull and some small fires raged inside them but otherwise she was undamaged. The same could not be said for here escort ships. Of the four battle cruisers assigned as protection only one, the BCS Hammer was the only one without serious damage and only a dozen escorting Valkriey Missile Frigates remained. "Hangar one please," said Taggart and then he headed back towards the troop compartment. As he closed the door he could hear the pilot murmuring to the bridge of the Concord.  
  
Sitting back down Taggart sat and tried not to think. Thinking was a dangerous thing at the wrong times. This was one. Looking around Taggart tried to match faces to the marines sitting around him. He couldn't. Since its conception 1/9 had taken over 350% percent casualties. Replacements came and went with every battle and it seemed that only Taggart remained the same.   
Two dull thumps in quick succession marked the passing of the dropship through the containment field of the hangar. There was a whine as the landing gear lowered and then a clank as the dropship dropped to the metal deck. The ramp at the back of the dropship dropped open with a liquid hiss. Mentally Taggart tensed, this was always the worse part, no matter how many times he had to go through it, he never could get used to it. Taking his C-14 by its carrying handle he walked down the ramp.  
  
The hangar bay felt like a disaster area, in part it was. Marines in camouflage utilities and CMC armor ran in every direction to the shouts of their NCOs. The smell of smoke, blood and fuel filled the air. Wounded screamed for attention as they were off loaded from the dropships. Even more wounded lay on blood-spattered stretchers. White clad medical personal moved about doing the best they could. However for some it wasn't enough.   
  
Arclite Siege Tanks rumbled down the ramps of the dropships, which were in and out of the hangar like bees in a nest. The Arclite's, their decks loaded with the dead and wounded stopped wherever the found an empty spot so that the casualties could be unloaded. The tankers then climbed out of whatever hatches were available. They looked as bad as the infantry, splattered with blood and gore, covered from head to tow in grease, soot, explosive propellant and hydraulic fluid.  
  
He watched in shielded horror as one of men he knew as a new replacement clutched a ragged gash in his lower stomach, which was pumping out a mixture of intestines, feces and dark red blood. Another man wondered around like a man in a haze, as he turned toward Taggart, Taggart saw that one of his arms was nothing more than a bloodied stump dribbling a stream of red along the ground. The blood from the wounded and dead formed pools that sent rivulets streaming down into the drains set on the deck.  
  
Taggart weaved his way through the carnage letting people elbow past him without comment. His role in this was over; it was all in the Navy's hands now. Nearing the exit of the hangar was the collection point for the dead. They're where several rows of young men, all stripped out of their armor. The heavy suits leaving only frail young men.   
  
Taggart increased his pace, walking briskly now through the rows of the dead. He didn't want to recognize too many faces. He tried to think of them as merely expendable materials when faced with a situation like this but occasionally his humanity slipped through a hole in his armor.  
  
To someone outside the CAB's it might seem that he had an indifferent opinion to the lives he expended in battle. However Taggart knew this was just to keep panic and fear from spreading among the survivors. Taggart wanted them angry, if they where pissed at him, fine. He was long past the faze of trying to buddy up to his troopers. All of the troopers may not like him but damnit; all of them respected the old man.  
  
Taggart also knew something else. When he was in his quarters alone, when everyone else was asleep or otherwise occupied, he would go through the helmet cameras of all of his marines. He would find out the specifics on how that man died. How he spent his final moments. He would then type a personalized letter to the next of kin, detailing how their son, brother, sister, mother, husband, wife died. Taggart despised any commander who just typed the deceased's name into the standard Marine death notification form.   
  
And there was something else he did. No one else knew about except a former XO who had long ago joined the ranks of the deceased. Every death in the unit, by accident or enemy action, ate away at the old man's soul. Every letter offering condolences shredded and frayed a little bit more of his sanity. Taggart had been with the 1st of the 9th for five years. An average battalion commander's life expectancy was approximately two weeks.   
  
The dreams, which at first Taggart thought was a one time thing, became a rare occurrence, then a syndrome of post-traumatic stress syndrome then they became a way of life. The dreams were terrifying and soothing at the same time. They brought back the horrors of combat, the din of battle. Even though Taggart could have easily taken some medication for them he began to think of the dreams of his conscience. His mind trying to make up for the all the men he had killed, by accident or by design.  
  
  
End note: with that tasty tidbit I leave you until chapter three: dreams  



	3. Dreams

First in, Last out  
  
The Siege of Combat base Gloria  
  
  
  
A/N: Time for some military nomenclature, in marine unit radio transmissions (using the USMC as an example) 6 denotes the leader of a unit, so Alpha 6, would be the leader of Alpha Company, Alpha 6 Actual would be the commander of Alpha Company, Alpha 2-6 would denote Alpha Company, 2nd Platoon etc. Battalion commanders and above would have a codename, for example Gunslinger 6, the codename of our protagonist. Also the corpsman during the second dream sequence is based on a real person who was a Navy Corpsman during the Vietnam war.  
  
The dreams came in a familiar pattern, like a holovid slideshow. They started off with a few simple memories, his mother and father, school, child hood friends. Then all at once, he was reliving his memories.  
  
He was lying on his stomach in the middle of a café; bullets thudded into the ground all around him with incredible violence. His radioman lay next to him, slumped over at an odd angle, half his head torn away. Picking up the hand mike on the still functioning radio he screamed into it "THIS IS ALPHA 2-6 ACTUAL, WE ARE IN HEAVY…" bullets smashed tables and chairs into splinters raining chips all over him. He hugged the ground as much as his CMC armor allowed. "…HEAVY CONTACT, I NEED IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE." His company commander came back over the radio "Roger you, Alpha 2-6, get your platoon together and take those heavy machineguns." Jesus Christ, is he fucking nuts? Thought Taggart. "SIR WE AR-" he started to say, but was cut off "Just do it lieutenant." In a rage he threw the mike away and lay there as bullets tore the outdoor café to shreds.  
  
His platoon had been ambushed as it moved down a supposedly clear street. At least three heavy machine guns had opened fire on the point squad of the platoon cutting most of them down. Taggart, his radioman and his platoon sergeant had been walking behind the squad when the firing started. Taggart dived to the right into the café with his radioman; his platoon sergeant went left into the rubble of a destroyed building.  
  
Taggart had dived under a table and turned to watch his radioman come jumping into the café just in time to have a stray 20mm shell take the top of his head off in a spray of red mist. It was the first man Taggart had seen killed. He remembered the body suddenly go limp and crumpled as it landed. Blood poured out of the shattered cranium and began forming a small lake. As Taggart watched on, bullets walked through the pool of blood, splattering Taggart and everything else. A few more stray rounds buried themselves in the corpse with dull thunks.  
  
While Taggart lay huddled in café the platoon sergeant, who's name was Tyler Brown, organized a base of fire with the surviving two squads in the platoon and knocked out the machineguns. When the firing subsided Taggart stuck his head up. Seven bodies lay sprawled in the street. Their blood mixing together on the ferrocrete.  
  
Another time, another planet. Taggart was a 1st Lieutenant now, his platoon had survived countless scrapes but was slowly being ground down by the guerrilla action on Medusa, a desert planet which only redeeming feature was the abundance of natural resources. To the marines fighting it was another war buying resources with the blood of marines. Taggart watched the 40 men in his platoon slowly clomp up a large sand dune like a blue armored snake.  
  
There was a sudden explosion at the front of the column and Taggart watched as everyone threw themselves flat. The air was filled with the dudududududu of return fire as marines opened up with their C-12's. Several dull thumps sounded from far behind the sand dune. "MORTARS!" Taggart yelled and threw himself flat among some rocks. His radioman was already reporting the contact to the new company commander. As the first mortar rounds streaked in Taggart noticed that he was taking cover besides the Navy Corpsman assigned to the platoon. He stuck out like a sore thumb among the marines in with his different type of suit. As each mortar round streaked in and exploded the man would flinch. To add to the symphony of battle already going, small arms fire was echoing from the front of the column. Talking over the platoon net Taggart got the 1st and 2nd squad online and had the 3rd squad form a perimeter.  
  
As stray rounds snapped past from the running firefight taking place up front the corpsman started to make a little uhn sound every time a round snapped past. "Hey, man relax, they aren't even aiming at us." Taggart said, trying to calm the man down. With nothing better to do he aimed his own C-12 at the dust enshrouded dune and tried to find a target. A muzzle flash blinked out of the dust, Taggart sighted in on it and squeezed the trigger. The C-12 kicked his shoulder and shell casing spewed out onto the rock outcropping. The gunner shifted his fire toward Taggart and he ducked down as a long burst slammed into the rock. Now the medic really lost it and he looked as if he were trying to tuck himself into his armor.  
  
Taggart sat calmly, waiting for the gunner to cease fire. Rounds were still hammering the rock when suddenly there was a scream of pain and someone called out for a "Corpsman!" Taggart looked down at the medic, ready to drag him from behind cover, but he was already dashing through the machine gun fire towards the wounded man. Rounds slapped the sand all around him and a near miss chipped some armor off his suit. Taggart shook his head as the man disappeared into the dust.  
  
They were all around, dark shapes darting in and out of the darkness like phantoms. Birdlike calls and hisses filled the jungle. They circled as sharks would a bloody swimmer. They tested the perimeter every few minutes, denying rest, looking for weaknesses. The wounded screamed horribly, the sound echoing through the intercoms of the CMC suits. Taggart, his brand new company down to thirty men and low on ammo, waited to die. Huddling with the radio from his long dead radioman he spoke in a whisper. "This is Alpha 6, I need artillery fire now, danger close, please respond." Taggart knew he wouldn't get an answer, three hours ago the firebase had reported a heavy attack from an unknown foe streaming out of the jungle. They had gone off the air completely 30 minutes later when the signal power from their transmitter, usually constant, dropped to zero, like the EKG of a dying man.  
  
As far as Taggart was concerned the battle was over, he had tried everything he could think of. When he had come into contact with these, he still didn't know what to call them, monsters seemed appropriate. It had been a short, vicious firefight, the jungle brought the fighting down to point blank range, the report of rifle fire deafening in the closed quarters of the quadruple canopy jungle. Men screamed agonizingly as they where dragged off then ceased .He had immediately requested extraction but there was no LZ for several kilometers for several directions. He had tried to fight his way out but in the battle third platoon had lost contact and apparently died in the jungle. Taggart then ordered Alpha company to ground, hoping they could make it till daylight.  
  
Now it looked like that was impossible. The night seemed to last forever, in the hot, dark jungle men fought and died in the inky blackness. The only light was the strobing of weapons fire or the occasional artificial day of a flare. Captain James Taggart and Gunnery Sergeant Tyler Brown lay back to back. During the night the two friends had fought harder than anyone to keep the company alive. They had repaired the perimeter during lulls, plugged holes and shifted machine guns constantly. Now the surviving men lay huddled in a small circle, shoulder to shoulder weapons facing outwards, grenades were long ago exhausted and each man was down to only a few magazines.  
  
There was an increased rustling and shaking in the bushes surrounding the small perimeter, a small human circle in a sea of alien blackness. Standing up the Captain and the Gunny began walking the perimeter. Passing each man they whispered something. Words of encouragement, advice, anything to keep their mind off what was about to happen then they found a place, piled up their magazines and waited to die.  
  
A relief column found them two hours after dawn. A long line of marines had suddenly stumbled into the last stand perimeter. What they found was beyond description. Blood was everywhere, on the ground, on the trees, even on overhanging branches and leaves. The jungle was pitted with small arms fire and blast marks. Some trees had actually been sawn through by the furious firing of weapons. Not a single round of ammunition was found, it had all been expended, bent and battered weapons attested to their use as clubs. There was only one survivor. A young captain had been found among a heap of bodies, or more accurately, body parts. There was not a whole body to be found in the entire sea of carnage. The Zerg, the marines now knew what they were, had dismembered the bodies. Taggart hadn't received a scratch.  
  
No Zerg bodies had been found…  
  
The dreams paraded on, death, destruction, war. Taggarts entire life on instant, uneditable replay.  
  
Taggart was eventually given a company again. He had excelled against the Zerg, with his unit often killing more than all the other units in his battalion combined. He was quickly promoted to Major after only two years as a Captain, his thirst for vengeance driving him to become a better, smarter marine. He was given command of 1/9 CAB a year after making Major which he had spent with the Special Forces, doing work that was often suicidal. Five years in the CAB's. Fighting impossible odds, every mission, every operation, every campaign. Watching faces rotate on a regular basis due to death or injury. Taggart wasn't exactly sure what kept him fighting. He could easily retire, he had more than enough points to, his desire for revenge was gone, it had disappeared like smoke in the wind the first time he had seen a battalion sized pile of body bags and realized that those were his men. 


	4. Replacements

First in, Last out  
  
The Siege of Combat base Gloria  
  
Taggart was shaken from sleep by a harsh knocking sound. His eyes cracked open individually, seeming to scrape open against his eyeballs like razor blades. He discovered several things at once, he had slept in his clothes and with the light on. He got up slowly, his joints popping and his muscles screaming in protest. Fighting in CMC suits gave marines a tremendous advantage against the Zerg, however, it took a lot out of man after the fight.  
  
Taggart sat up on his bed "Enter!" the door swooshed opened and Sergeant Major Bob Hatfield walked in, he was clean shaven with a new pair of utilities and his boots freshly polished. How the hell does he do it? Taggart grumbled to himself he's at least at old as me but he looks like a bright eyed and bushy tailed Second Lieutenant. Hatfield was holding two cups of coffee. He saluted smartly still holding a cup in his right hand. Taggart lazily returned his salute "Gimme that, smart ass" he said and took the proffered cup. The Marine Corps had trouble doing a lot of things right, however, it had perfected the art of making good coffee. Taking a couple of sips, Taggart let the caffeine jolt him full in wakefulness.  
  
"Since your so squared away Sergeant Major, what's the sitrep?" Hatfield cocked his head, "Let see, we're currently in the Epsilon Delta system loitering for a few stragglers. Word has it some of the fleet is gonna set up defensive positions here, but nearly everyone else is heading back to their original positions."  
  
Taggart got up and walked into the small bathroom that contained a shower, the Sergeant Major continued talking. "Our current status isn't too good, Alpha Company has about 50 effectives, two radios and one heavy machine gun. Bravo's Vultures are gone, they have about 7 personnel left. Charlie has 7 Goliaths left and two we can probably salvage. Delta has five Arclites left. Now, the good news, all our company commanders made it."  
  
"Second Louies?" Taggart called from the shower  
  
"Not so good, only one made it, 2nd Lieutenant Bryan Hobbes from Alpha Company, the rest bought it although we're being completely reinforced as of 1000 this morning."  
  
"Newbies?"  
  
"No, actually, we're getting a bunch of guys and 'quipment from the… " there was a tapping sound as Hatfield searched his notepad "…the Second of the Fifth Air Assault Battalion.  
  
"That's good, they'll have drop experience" called Taggart  
  
"Yeah, I was looking over their files, pretty experienced bunch. There are some pretty green ones though."  
  
"That's what I thought, we start a complete training regimen as of 1100 hours. You know what replacements mean."  
  
"An operation"  
  
"That's right, lets go, we got work to do."  
  
Taggart stepped out of the shower feeling almost human. The horror of the last operation and his dreams pushed back out of his mind for now. He had marines to train.  
  
Taggart and Hatfield stepped into the mess hall. Unlike normal Marine mess facilities, CAB officers and enlisted men ate together. There was a clear division between the replacements and the survivors of the fight on Char. A young marine bawled out "Attention on Deck" and the mess rose as one person in a cacophony of clattering chairs and boots striking the deck. Taggart started his little speal. He had lost count of how many times head given it. "Men, I am Major James Taggart, 1st Battalion, 9th CAB Regiment. As of this second I am your CO. I expect the best and get the best because we are the best! We will start training at 1100 hours. Everyone will train. We will not stop until we are actually in combat. That is all men. As you were." The men dropped back to talking and eating, although it was noticeably quieter.  
  
Taggart grabbed some food and sat at a table with his Company commanders. Chris Ryan commanded Alpha Company, Tim Elliot commanded the remainder of Bravo and looked like hell. Michael Woo had Charlie Company and Bill Wilder was the hell raising commander of Delta. Wilder was something of a black sheep, most tankers in the marines were, tanks were considered more of an army department. Wilder played the part well though, often having a crunched up cigar in his teeth. Taggart was glad he hadn't lost any of them. It was hard to nail down just how a commander would react to commands and Taggart hated having to figure out new Company commanders. The talk almost immediately settled down to business.  
  
Crackcrackcrack. Taggart walked the line of men pouring lead down range at targets that bobbed, weaved and even blinked out of existence. All the marines on the firing range were wearing full CMC armor and even with the computer aided targeting they were doing miserably. Hot brass filled the air as marines desperately tried to hit the bulls eyes that seemed to zip in random directions. Taggart had deliberately set the target pattern at its maximum difficulty. He considered the normal practice of shooting at non moving targets a waste. Anyone could hit a target standing still, it took practice to hit even a slightly moving target and Taggart had yet to see a Zergling sitting still. Taggart was throwing stuff at his troops that usually only Ghosts and other special forces practiced. He could feel their frustration building, they were marines, they were used to being excellent marksmen but right now they were shooting like civilians. Taggart was also making them use magazines, normally their C-14's were fed through belts that linked into their suits. Magazines forced the marines to reload, something they weren't used to, and watch their ammo counters. Taggart had seen too many marines die trying to clear jammed belts of ammo, all it took was a twisted link or something snagged or cut during a battle to stop the flow of ammo. A normal firing period lasted about fifteen minutes. Taggart's was going steady past twenty.  
  
Four hundred yards away, "Horrible" Hatfield was torturing the marines in slightly different way. He was sitting in a small control room filled with video monitors and computer keys. The monitors displayed a column of forty marines running through the jungle. Third platoon, Alpha company, under the command of 2nd Lieutenant Jason Harold was charging hell for leather for a distant hill. Hatfield, playing the battalion commander was screaming in his ear for him to advance. Harold at the lead of the column was pushing his men hard and fast, just like his simulated commander wanted him to. He was also doing everything wrong. Hatfield slapped the "Execute" command on the keyboard in front of him.  
  
Harold saw a line of Hydralisks rise out of the ground in front of him. He screamed "Ambush!" and rolled to the side. A streams of spines caught the strung out marines in a cross fire. Ten were hit in the first volley, falling to the ground dead or wounded, their CMC armor easily defeated by a hail of point blanks spines. The two surviving men in the lead squad went to their knees and opened fire with their rifles. The squad behind them quickly fanned out and came online, shooting as they moved. The Hydralisks started to fall too and soon a pitched battle was under way. Harold, confused and disoriented ran down the column to the last squad, his radioman tagging along behind. He was shouting at them to come on line behind the second squad when a single spine took the top of his radioman's head off. The simulation didn't model gore too well but it was enough to further unnerve him. Harold got both of his remaining squads online and was trying to get fire support hooked up when Hatfield came back on the line. "Lieutenant, your platoon is moving entirely too slow, MOVE IT, NOW!" Harold tried to reply "Sir. I…"  
  
"I will have you relieved, move to your objective"  
  
"We're in contact and…"  
  
"I don't care about a minor scrap, just get to that hill"  
  
Hatfield allowed himself a small grin and watched the Lieutenant do his thing.  
  
Harold, shouting for third platoon to assault on line, made a "lets go" motion with his hands and charged forward. The platoon was well disciplined and followed orders. They were all dead in less then twenty seconds. Fourteen men we're hit in the initial rush, falling every which way. The remaining twelve men, leaderless as Harold went down, hit the deck. They tried to return fire and withdraw but they were scattered throughout the jungle. They were picked off one by one.  
  
Hatfield killed the simulation as the last marine was overrun by a hoard of Zerglings that had burst from the jungle. The jungle faded to white and the computer generated Hydralisks froze in position. Hatfield stepped into the bright white room as the marines, who were frozen when killed, slowly stood up. "Congratulations third platoon, your leader should get the record for killing his platoon faster than anyone else in the entire Corps." Harold looked as if he was about to throw up, sure that he was about to be relieved of command on the spot. "Unfortunately," Hatfield continued "That honor is taken by Jack Westfield and second platoon" The marines of third platoon suddenly noticed a group of marines sitting against the far wall with embarrassed looks on their faces. Suddenly the jungle leapt into existence. It was a replay of second platoons advance. A line of marines was again running through the jungle, urged on by Westfield who was urged on by the Sergeant Major. A line of Hydralisks again popped out from the jungle floor catching the lead squad in a crossfire. Harold noticed that Westfield was one of the first to go down, a bloody hole in his chest. Momentarily leaderless, the platoon continued moving forward and collected more casualties. The platoon sergeant took control and kept his men moving forward. By the time what was left of the platoon broke contact after a bloody ten second charge it was too late. The Zergling counter attack broke the back of assault and killed what was left of second platoon.  
  
The jungle disappeared revealing Hatfield clapping sarcastically with a small remote control in his hand.  
  
"Ok, lets evaluate shall we? One, both of you were going ENTIRELY too fast. If you had slowed down you would have seen that I had scattered hints of an ambush all across your path. Two, both of you were out of contact with your company commander, NEVER take orders from a battalion commander, too often he doesn't have the whole picture and will order you to do something stupid. Let your captain run interference for you. Three, when you were hit, you tried to just run through the contact, good if you're up against a couple of Zerglings, bad if your up against a squad sized unit of Hydras. The Zerg usually don't open up an ambush with ten or twelve Hydra's unless they're planning a full out contact. Five, Lieutenants listen up, the Marine OCS program basically taught you how to manage that fancy land-to- ship radio your Radiomen carry, yell follow me then kicked you out the door. You are here to LEAD not DIE. Both of you should have been at least behind the lead squad if not in the middle of the column. If you die, your platoon dies. That's about it, next simulation in ten minutes."  
  
Both of the Lieutenants looked as if he had just dumped a load of bricks on their heads, combined with the fact that ten minutes was barely enough time to make it back to the ready room they looked as if they didn't know which way was up. Well they'd learn Hatfield thought grimly as he headed back into the control room, or they'd die, thousands, if not tens of thousands of 2nd Lieutenants already had.  
  
  
  
It was ten o'clock in the morning on the planet Taurus III. The planet was mostly scrub brush, elephant grass and the occasional patch of jungle. It's normal ambient temperature was about ninety degrees Fahrenheit with a normal humidity of around 90%.  
  
Colonel Archer Christifori listened to the firefight raging to the north of his position. He was sitting on top of the command bunker located in Combat Base Gloria. The base sat on a small hill which was only a couple of hundred meters high, still, it gave him enough elevation to watch one of his battalions being torn apart. Da-dow, Da-dow, dow dow, dadadadababbrbrbrbrbrbrrrrrrrrVVRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. Christifori had been in the Marines for almost twelve years and had never heard a firefight reach such a high intensity for so long. Christifori, who commanded the Seventh Marine Regiment, had sent a battalion, which was more like two under strength companies, north of the strip on a sweep.  
  
The strip was a bulldozed area that was three hundred yards wide and three miles long. It extended from the east side of Gloria and ran in a straight line to Combat base Flash. The bull dozed strip acted as a natural landing zone and allowed the weaponry of the two Combat Bases to be employed against any Zerg infiltrating between the two to reach the major population center of New Charleston.  
  
Every few days a battalion or so from either Gloria or Flash, minus a company left on defense, did a sweep north of the strip to clear out any Zerg. Second Battalion, normally stationed on Gloria, had run into something, big time. Christifori was beyond pissed. If he had his way, his three marine battalions would be doing some offensive operations. Instead, he had two tied to firebase defense and the third was pulled back in reserve around New Charleston. Instead of running a sweep every day, it was only every few days, this gave the Zerg time to prepare all sorts of nasty surprises for the next sweep. Hoping to stop this, Christifori had sent Second Battalion hard on the heels of First Battalion. Well, they had definitely caught something.  
  
The engagement had started with a few Zerglings rushing Second's Bravo Company. Soon Bravo was being swarmed to death with hordes of Zerglings, Hydralisks and Ultralisks. Alpha company had immediately rushed into the fray, unfortunately in their rush to get to Bravo, they ignore their own casualties which started piling up. A sudden Zerg rush overran one platoon, forcing another to spin about and deal with that threat. Only a single platoon made it to Bravo company. Charlie company, which had been in reserve during the sweep was now being committed to battle. Christifori had little doubt that little more than pieces of the battalion would make it back to the strip. As a regimental commander, all he could do was scream for support which he had done at the outset of the fight, now he watched the figures running from place to place. As he watched, two figures he identified as Charlie company marines fell and did not get up again. 


	5. Saddle Up

First in, Last out  
  
The Siege of Combat base Gloria  
  
Taggart stood in the cavernous Drop-Bay 1 of the TCS Concord. His entire battalion fit easily into the hold, over 120 marines, 24 Goliaths, 12 Arclite's, and 10 Dropships. All of them fit into the bay with enough room to hold at least another full battalion. The air was filled with the smell of oil and grease, there was the soft hiss of a welder as someone made last minute adjustments to armor. The attitude was strangely subdued, with no one yelling or making jokes.  
  
Taggart's battalion was preparing for combat. Men stood together in small groups, going over their equipment. The marine infantrymen were camouflaging their CMC suits. The suits were splash anodized a jungle pattern camouflage then the grunts attached bushels of synthetic grass to the suits to break up the outline. The synthetic plants were an exact match for the elephant grass on Taurus III, the only difference was that they wouldn't die, negating the practice of replacing them every few days. While camouflaging the massive CMC suits might have seemed ridiculous to an outside observer, to the marines it was extremely practical. It had been discovered that Zerg, unless under direct orders of an overlord had an extremely poor sense of sight. No one knew exactly why this was but there had been several documented cases of Zerg running through a camouflaged marine group while on their way to another location.  
  
Weapons lay all over the deck in various states of disassembly. Even torn down for cleaning, the marine weapons oozed pure menace. The C-14, long and cumbersome, and the marine Heavy Machine Gun, with its tripod and ammo bin, looked like they were designed purely to kill. There were muted clicks and snaps as the weapons were worked over with the finest of instruments. They were lovingly cleaned, recleaned and then popped back together. Ammo was being loaded into magazines and grenades were being clicked onto their hard points on the CMC suits.  
  
The pilots of the Goliaths and Arclites were busy also. They too were camouflaging their vehicles and making last minute adjustments. Weapons were sighted in, the twin 30mm autocannons on the Goliaths swaying back and forth with electronic whirrs like sleek, black cobras. Missile racks were rotated and there was the occasional whine then clump as a tank lowered its supports and went into Siege mode. The soft preparations for war were almost peaceful, belying the violence they would create in just a few short hours.  
  
Taggart had received the order to drop onto Taurus III two weeks ago. The TCS Concord had immediately broken pattern with the KTF fleet and headed for Taurus III. Taggart was uneasy, the Concord still only had one Battle cruiser and some Valkryie Frigates for heavy escort. If the Taurus III situation really turned out to involve three broods of Zerg, they would be in over their heads. Thankfully the reports still indicated that only one Zerg brood was on planet and that it was scattered. The Concord would move into low orbit over Taurus III, drop the 9th Marine's and then bug out and rejoin the fleet. Taggart was being dropped onto some area called 'The strip' in his briefing information. It was as good a place as any. After one combat drop on top of a Zerg hive that was at full readiness, any Drop Zone that was reasonably secure was an improvement. After dropping they were to sweep northward to take the pressure off Combat base Gloria. The operation was slated to last for three days.  
  
Taggart shuddered at the unwanted memory. For one second his minds eye was filled with the image of burning drop ships and marines. The screams over the radio as the first wave was annihilated from the air by spore colonies and mutalisks. He shook it off and returned back to business, his own gear lay stretched out in front of him. An officer's CMC suit, a C-14 rifle, spare magazines, two HE grenades, two incendiaries, two smoke grenades, Four cassettes of 40mm grenades for his C-14's grenade launcher, Two weeks worth of C-rations and three gallons of water in his suits water bladder. The men of his battalion headquarters were nearby talking in hushed tones. The Sergeant Major, Taggart's two radiomen who would maintain contact with the TCS Concord and the marine command on the ground, a marine to act as a bodyguard and finally a Forward Observer. The FO, with his own radio, could call down fire from either the Concords section of Wraiths or from the Battle cruiser escorting her.  
  
Taggart's notepad hummed, it was 0900, time to go. Taggart turned towards his men "Saddle up!" he shouted, his voice loud in the quiet of the Drop- bay, the call was immediately echoed by Sergeants and Corporals. "SADDLE UP! SADDLE UP! SADDLE UP!" The calm was immediately transformed into a controlled confusion as marines stepped into their armor and crews manned their vehicles. Taggart climbed into his own armor with a practiced ease. He slung his C-14 over his shoulder and booted up the tactical computer that came with the suit. The display blinked into existence in a corner of the suits visor, displaying his men as blue circles, Goliaths as triangles and tanks as squares. Looking up he noticed 2nd Lieutenant Harold struggling to get the last few latches on his suits legs closed. Walking, over Taggart popped them all with a few smooth motions. Taggart smiled calmly at the young officer. "Relax son, you're going in on the first wave, just listen to your company commander and you'll do fine." Bullshit Taggart thought even as he said it, most likely you'll be dead inside the first twenty minutes. Walking down the line of Dropships he made a crank-it-up motion with his right forearm and he heard the whine as the engines came online. Walking behind the first dropship in line he stood up on the ramp, "First wave, Load" Alpha companies 120 Marines would be on the first wave, the Goliaths and Arclites would be on the second wave. The marines scrambled into their respective dropships, one squad to a dropship. Taggart's headquarters minus Hatfield clomped up the ramp also along with a squad from Alpha. Hatfield would ride down on the second wave in case the first took heavy casualties.  
  
Taggart moved off the ramp as it started to close and sat on one of the benches along the side of the dropship. He clamped himself in and waited. Across from him sat one of his radiomen, he gave him a thumbs up and got one back.  
  
Private First Class Jeremiah Peterson, the radioman, was absolutely terrified. This was his first combat operation and his first combat drop all rolled into one. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be doing other than staying on the old man's ass. Looking at Taggart he couldn't believe how calm the guy was. There was a sudden kick as the drop ship fired its engines. Peterson gripped his rifle tighter, sure that he was going to start gouging metal anytime now. The dropship rolled forward into launch position hovering a few feet above the deck. There was a sudden roar and the drop ship punched its afterburners and shot out of the Drop bay through the now open magnetic field. There was a pause and the next drop ship launched and then the next. All ten drop ships were clear of the bay in under thirty seconds.  
  
Because the TCS Concord was in low orbit, the drop ships were only in space a matter of minutes before hitting the atmosphere. The drop ship bucked back and forth as they hit the air, rattling their passengers and crew. If I weren't so terrified, Peterson though, I'd probably be hurling my guts out. Out the small view port on the side of the ship he could see drop ships from 2nd and 3rd Battalions spilling from their own drop bays. The fact that they wouldn't be going in alone gave Peterson some comfort. The flight was short, only about fifteen minutes. The pilot reported that they were over the Drop Zone and that it looked hot.  
  
Well that's dumb, Peterson thought, telling us the temperature. A quick popping sound caught his attention, the popping corresponded to holes suddenly appearing in the floor of the Drop ship. He realized with a sudden rush that they were under fi-  
  
Taggart saw the young radioman get hit. Spines were ricocheting all around the cabin and it was only a matter of time before someone was hit. The spine slapped him to the side as if he had just taken a backhand in the face. He slumped limply against his restraining harness. Blood drained from his mouth and down the front of his suit. Taggart didn't know if he was alive or dead, either way he couldn't do anything thing and if he unstrapped he would go flying about.  
  
The belly gun on the drop ship kicked in, the twin autocannons hammering away at the jungle below. Taggart doubted the gunner could see anything, he was probably just shooting up the jungle floor. He remembered when the drop ships used to be unarmed, their only defense was surprise and speed. Taggart didn't know any old drop ship pilots.  
  
Taggart peered out the nearest view port. He could see the strip of cleared ground that was going to be their Drop zone. Red smoke drifted from the DZ, someone had popped it as a signal. Red smoke, the universal indicator of a hot DZ. The pilot came in on Taggart's private com channel inside his suit. "We're coming in hot, ten seconds." Taggart nodded to the sergeant leading the squad in the ship. He started barking out commands while Taggart undid his restraining straps and stood up. Holding on to one of the hand holds on the ceiling he quickly made his way over to the ramp. The ramp lowered as the dropship flared for a quick hover, a landed drop ship was a dead one. The lowering ramp revealed a barren strip of dead land, bordered on both sides by jungle. Taggart noted with satisfaction that the other nine drop ships were in perfect formation behind his.  
  
Time slowed to an instant stand still, the ramp lowered to its full down position. Taggart, now on the ramp watched as the ground slowly advanced towards him. The dropship leveled out of its approach. The view from the ramp gave him a gods eye view of the world. He could see Zerglings already rushing from the tree line. A spine from a Hydralisk snapped past his head. First in, Taggart thought, and jumped from the ramp at a height of ten feet.  
  
His feet hit the ground. The Battle of Taurus III had begun. 


	6. Hot LZ

First in, Last out  
  
The Siege of Combat base Gloria  
  
A/N: If you have any suggestions for the story, please post them as I'm extremely open to any comments/critiques/advice. Also, I'm toying with the idea of getting together a sort of Starcraft writer's guild and writing a round robin story. Everyone tosses in a chapter. If your interested e-mail me @ chrisfromcali@hotmail.com, I would like at minimum three or four people and a forum to discuss everything. It would be interesting to see everyone working together to produce a high quality story.  
  
Make his fight on the hill in the early day  
  
Constant chill deep inside  
  
Shouting gun, on they run through the endless gray  
  
On the fight, for they are right, yes, by who's to say?  
  
For a hill men would kill, why? They do not know  
  
Suffered wounds test there their pride  
  
Men of five, still alive through the raging glow  
  
Gone insane from the pain that they surely know  
  
For whom the bell tolls  
  
Time marches on  
  
For whom the bell tolls  
  
Take a look to the sky just before you die  
  
It is the last time you will  
  
Blackened roar massive roar fills the crumbling sky  
  
Shattered goal fills his soul with a ruthless cry  
  
Stranger now, are his eyes, to this mystery  
  
He hears the silence so loud  
  
Crack of dawn, all is gone except the will to be  
  
Now they will see what will be, blinded eyes to see  
  
Combat shock! That was the official term for it. At the outset of every battle, the CMC suits the marines wore were programmed to pump a certain amount of drugs into the marines. One of them was a small dose of synthesized hormones from a carnivorous creature out beyond the rim worlds. The drugs, combined with the natural adrenaline, made anyone experiencing it quite literally want to tear the enemy apart.  
  
Taggart bent to one knee and swung his C-14 up. He squeezed the trigger back, flames shot out the barrel and every few seconds a cigar shaped red tracer would leap from the barrel trailing smoke. More marines were landing now, running screaming out of their dropships and opening fire. Taggart, still shooting, ran to a nearby shell crater and jumped in, his surviving radioman and FO jumping in behind him. They too brought up their rifles and opened fire. 8mm gauss slugs from the marines slammed the lead Zerglings into the dirt or blasted them apart. Taggart burned an entire magazine of 500 rounds low into the northern tree line. The chattering recoil of the gun made him feel invincible. He held the power of life and death in his hands. He didn't have any clear targets but he fired anyway. Shell casings started forming a pile next to him as he emptied the magazine. He coolly slammed another full magazine into his rifle.  
  
Taggart dispassionately noticed that the strip was scarred heavily with crates and abandoned marine fighting positions. The bottom of his shell crater was filled with rusty shell casings and the other wreckage of war. This area had seen a lot of fighting.  
  
Turning his head, his rifle still firing, Taggart saw Captain Chris Ryan and his command group. "TAKE THAT TREE LINE CAPTAIN" Taggart yelled and turned back to his rifle. "Lets go Alpha!" screamed Ryan and started to run northwards. The marines of Alpha let out a roar and surged forward. Some dropping and shooting while others ran then getting up and running while the others dropped and opened fire. The jungle thrashed with the impacts of rounds, trunks splintered and branches went pin wheeling off into space.  
  
Somewhere over on the right someone got a Heavy Machine Gun working, tracers flicked high into the tree line blowing apart anything in their path. A second and third opened up, spraying the Zerg positions with heavy 20mm Armor piecing rounds. Taggart ran from cover to one of the HMG positions set up on the lip of one of the shell holes. As he ran Taggart tripped on something, he kicked at it, a human skull bleached white by the sun went bouncing across the ground. Jesus Taggart thought. Taggart continued running and did a roll into the position with the machine gun in it. One marine was on the gun, firing twenty round bursts in the tree line. A second was loading cans of ammo. Taggart slid into their position and tapped the gunner on the shoulder. The man turned and looked at him "Fire on my tracers!" Taggart yelled. Taggart punched the magnification level on his suit to maximum, something that normal marine suits couldn't do. Through the amplified screen he could see Hydralisks half out of their burrows, laying the electronic sight on one of the hydras and fired a fifteen round burst. Three tracers streaked into the thick armored carapace of the Zerg, the 8mm slugs shattered armor but weren't nearly enough to put it down.  
  
The gunner on the HMG opened fire where Taggart's tracers had disappeared. The heavy gun fired with a slow deliberate ka-chunk seven times a second. The heavy 20mm rounds were tipped with depleted uranium that ensured they would penetrate even the thickest armor. The general area that the HMG was firing at exploded in a spray of debris. Taggart watched the other machine guns spraying the wood line with shells. The Zerg fire notable slackened and Zerglings stopped pouring from the tree line.  
  
Alpha company was still on the assault. Marines leap frogged from shell hole to shell hole under covering fire from the machine guns and other marines. Captain Ryan was at the forefront of the assault, shouting orders and firing his rifle. Taggart watched from a shell hole as the entire company of marines assaulted into the tree line. The camouflaged CMC suits, despite their size, broke up the outline of the marines, making it so that even Taggart, who watched them rush the last twenty five yards to the thick scrub brush and jungle, had difficulty picking them out.  
  
As the Alpha marines rushed the tree line, the three HMG crews lifted their fire, the gunners quickly twisted the guns off their tripods and threw them over their shoulders. By the time Alpha was all the way into the tree line  
  
The roar of Impaler fire reached a fever pitch as the marines closed with the Zerg. Taggart picked himself up and ran back to his battalion command post that he had placed in a 120mm shell crater. His FO and radioman were busy screaming into their radios, as Taggart slid into the crater he noticed two wounded marines making their way towards his shell hole. They didn't look too badly hurt but one of them was limping. Taggart directed them towards a crater next to his and told them to wait for a little while. The medics would be coming with the second wave. The wounded were stumbling towards the crater when there was a massive green flash.  
  
An explosion erupted where the two marines were, Taggart could see pieces of human flesh fly even as he was tossed back against the lip of the crater. Taggart turned to his radioman, "Guardians!" he shouted and was up and running towards the two prone figures. More explosions rocked the strip, the results of the Guardians long range plasma bombardment. Taggart couldn't even see the flying Zerg they were so far away. All he could see were the green plasma bursts racing in from a certain area of the sky.  
  
Taggart cursed, the Goliaths of Bravo and Charlie companies might have been able to reply with their missile launchers, especially with their new Charon Booster upgrades, but they were still en route to the LZ. Taggart knelt by the two marines who had been hit by the first blast. They were a mess, one was probably dead, there was a gaping hole in his chest, his left arm was smashed to pieces and his left leg was a bloody stump at the shin. The other marine looked slightly better, his armor was shredded to pieces and the Taggart could smell burning flesh and organs but his appendages were still intact. Ignoring the blasts from the incoming plasma bursts, Taggart lifted the less grievously wounded marine and slung him over his shoulder. He grunted as a near miss almost slammed him into the ground. Taggart was glad the Guardians were at their maximum range, if they had been closer he and his battalion CP would have been a red smear like the two marines. Taggart slid into his hole and set the marine down, then he was up and running for the second marine.  
  
Taggart slid into his CP and dumped the second marine down next to the first. The front of his CMC suit was coated in blood. It took several moments for Taggart to realize that his FO was staring at him in shock. "That was…" he started to say.  
  
"That was nothing, now shut up and get some fire support for Alpha" Taggart cut him off sharply,  
  
"Yes sir!" he could still hear Alpha's firefight raging in the tree line. Besides, Taggart had seen too much pointless death over the years to even entertain notions of heroics. Taggart turned to his radioman "Find out Alpha's casualties and tell them I'm sending Bravo to support." As if on cue, ten dropships touched down. Their ramps thumped down and the battalion's Goliaths walked down the ramps, they coolly formed up into platoons of four despite the explosions that were throwing geysers of dirt high into the air. The dropships, their splotched brown and tan camouflage patterns standing out against the blue sky, hadn't even touched down all the way. The Goliaths had simply dropped from twenty feet up in the air. This allowed them to be gone before the last Goliath had formed up. They would be back in twenty minutes with Delta company and more support personnel.  
  
There was a thump and then the harsh slithering sound as a rocket screamed skywards. Another one launched, followed by two more then five in quick succession. The Goliaths of Charlie company continued to launch rockets at the distance Guardians while those of Bravo company advanced on the northern tree line, spaced fifty yards apart, firing short bursts of Autocannon fire high into the jungle to avoid hitting marines.  
  
Taggart's radioman spoke "Sir, Alpha says they've got four casualties total, two lightly wounded they sent back this way, one KIA and one walking wounded who got patched up." Taggart smiled inwardly at this, the weeks of training on board the ship had really paid off. His marines had accomplished on of the hardest tasks possible, beating an enemy off an LZ immediately after landing, with minimal casualties. Most training exercises didn't go that well. He made a mental note to commend Captain Ryan. The man was a born combat leader, he had been aggressive and had taken the lead, but he had also made good command decisions.  
  
Eight figures, bent low, raced one after the other into Taggart's shell hole, which was becoming rather crowded. They wore armor that while it bore the same camouflaging as the marines, was much less bulky. They were also female. The eight medics from the 447th Naval Medical Regiment immediately got to work on the two wounded marines. Taggart spoke to the lead medic, a Captain. "Captain set your, aid station here, I'll mark it on the tactical map, Charlie company will stay here for security, I'm moving up to the tree line." The Captain simply nodded, the less grievously wounded marine had become conscious and started screaming. The high pitched wail was half rasp and half scream rolled into one inhuman sound. Chills ran up and down Taggart's spine, no matter how many times he heard that sound he could never get used to it. It was one aspect of war he hadn't become dulled to. His radioman was staring at the bleeding man in stupefied shock. "Let's go!" Taggart growled and heaved the man to his feet. His FO was already on his feet, having finished coordinating fire support with Alpha company.  
  
There was a sudden rush of noise, looking up Taggart saw streams of white projectiles racing straight down into the jungle. There was a steady stream of explosions as the heavy 88mm autocannons on the BCS Hammer shredded the jungle in front of Alpha company. The explosions tossed whole trees into the air. The projectiles ceased raining down and the firefight, which had been going at a steady pace dropped to the occasional burst of C-14 fire or an infrequent thump of a grenade.  
  
Taggart and his two RTO's pounded across The Strip, the only sound the thumping of their feet on the ground and the harsh sound of their own breathing. They passed the shattered bodies of Zerglings, still leaking red blood into the soil. Black oily smoke rose from the trees. It accompanied death and destruction. Taggart had seen it so many times that he was convinced it had been indelibly burned into his soul. 


	7. The Sweep Begins

First In, Last Out  
  
The Siege of Combat base Gloria  
  
The jungle was shredded. 8mm rounds had left the jungle tattered and broken. Branches hung limp from trees like broken arms, trunks pockmarked from a dozen different hits oozed sap, slowly bleeding out. Zerg bodies, the ones that hadn't been dragged away, lay still. A Hydralisk lay on the ground, cut in half at the waist, thick ropy intestines slowly oozing out onto the ground. Grayish smoke drifted through the trees, the smoke from weapons and grenades and burning foliage. The ground was splattered with green blood and shell casings, some of which still had faint wisps of smoke trailing from their open ends.  
  
Taggart stood amid the destruction talking with Captain Ryan, other marines lay spread out in a line facing north, taking cover behind fallen trees and bodies, the grunts sat and talked from their positions. They reloaded magazines and adjusted gear on their armor. They talked in low murmurs about the assault on the tree line but kept an eye peeled for more Zerg. Other marines walked through the bodies, firing single shots into each. The bodies jerked with the shots. The two officers ignored the shots, Captain Ryan, while not as experienced as Major Taggart, was experienced enough to ignore the sound of gunfire.  
  
Ryan was still pumped from having led the assault on the tree line. His heart felt like it would beat its way out of his chest and he could barely concentrate on what his CO was saying. The major was ordering his company to come on line and move north. Bravo company would be on his left, Charlie would move up from the strip and take position on his right. Delta would send up four Arclites as soon as they landed to create a reserve and leave eight in Siege mode for fire support. The line would sweep north about 1,000 yards, if they didn't encounter resistance they'd fall back to the strip and march the couple hundred yards back to Gloria. Ryan yes sirred and nodded in agreement. At this point Taggart could have ordered him to light himself on fire and he would have obeyed.  
  
Taggart watched the young captain, he was practically hopping from foot to foot. There was a huffing sound and Taggart turned to see the Sergeant Major huffing into the jungle from the strip. "Sorry sir," Hatfield explained, "One of the 'lings decided it wasn't quite dead yet. Almost took my foot off." Taggart looked down, the leg of Hatfield's CMC suit was scratched and chunk looked like it was bitten off.  
  
Taggart nodded and filled Hatfield in on the plan off attack. He nodded "Where do you want me sir?"  
  
"I want you back on the strip, Sergeant Major, you're in charge of LZ security, the wounded and the battalion mortars when they drop in." Hatfield nodded and ran back out of the jungle towards the strip huffing and puffing.  
  
Looking down at Ryan, Taggart nodded, "Let's do it Captain, jump off in fifteen minutes." Ryan scrambled off towards his gaggle of radiomen and started giving orders in a cool, level headed voice. His marines quickly formed into three distinct platoons, kneeling in one long line. One platoon was directed back behind the other two so two platoons were up and the other back. The Goliaths of Bravo and Charlie split off and assembled on each flank of Alpha. The birdlike feet of the massive machines crunched down foliage and small trees. The grunts did a final check of ammo and grenades, Corporals got thumbs up from their fire teams, Sergeants got thumbs up from their squads, Lieutenant from their platoons and finally the Captains got the final thumbs up from their platoons. With the exception of Delta company, 1st Battalion was ready to roll.  
  
Taggart watched on his tactical display as all the dots representing his various forces assembled. There was the chatter of autocannon's and the whine of ramjet engines. Taggart watched as the third and final wave of dropships streaked overhead to deposit the third and final wave of 1st Battalion marines. Delta companies tanks rolled out of the dropships. The tanks couldn't be dropped from heights like the Goliath's so the dropships actually had to touch down. The engines from the dropships kicked up test and blew the thin scraggily grass on the strip away from the ships. The tanks rolled out and formed into their own platoons. More marines also poured out, 1st Battalions support personnel carrying supplies and the battalions heavy weapons platoon with its three automatic mortar launchers and heavy anti-tank gun.  
  
Taggart, turned towards his radioman and FO who were crouched behind him "You two, get in contact the CO of Gloria and tell him we're beginning our sweep, also I want on-call fire support if we need it." Turning, Taggart patched the small communication system built into his suit into Delta Six's tank. "Delta Six, this is Gunslinger six, come in"  
  
"Read you, Gunslinger six" came the reply from Captain Bill Wilder  
  
"You get the order's over your Tac computer?"  
  
"Yes sir, moving into position now, I've got third platoon up on fire support, 1st and 2nd are moving behind Alpha now"  
  
"Where are you gonna be six?"  
  
"You know me, I'll be riding up with second platoon"  
  
"Roger that Delta Six, Gunslinger out"  
  
Taggart inwardly grimaced, Wilder shouldn't be at the front of the formation like a green 2nd Lieutenant but Taggart knew that if he ordered Wilder to the rear he would simply ignore him. As long as Wilder ran a tight company Taggart would let him do whatever he wanted. Fucking tankers are nuts anyway he thought to himself.  
  
The eight tanks of Delta company's first and second platoons rolled across the strip trailing dust. Four more tanks locked their supporting legs onto the hard earth and activated their siege cannons. The massive barrels swiveled so they were facing north, glinting in the hot sun. The eight tanks, including Wilder's Command and Control tank which bristled with radio antennae, rumbled into the forest. They stopped about 50 yards behind the line of infantry. Standard doctrine said that marines should advance behind the tanks, however, too many Arclites had been cooked by a fast Zergling ambush before the infantry could react.  
  
There was movement behind Taggart, turning he saw two marines dragging Alpha's one KIA by the arms. The dead marine jostled and bumped with every irregularity in the ground. His chest plate was had three deep rents in it, blood pooled in the gashes and every time the marines jerked his body it ran out and trickled down the side of his armor.  
  
Taggart looked away, it was just another piece of meat, nothing more, nothing less. He eyed the battle line, and opened the communications link in his CMC suit to the entire battalion. "Battalion" he called out "Prepare to advance," there was a pause as the marines rose to their feet and chambered rounds into their rifles, Taggart raised his hand, holding it above his head, he could feel the eyes of the grunts on him, he swung his hand down in a violent motion "Advance!" The long lines of marines and Goliaths swung into motion. The sounds of the advance were muted, the rustle of camouflage leaves against metal, the whine of the leg actuators from the Goliath's and the distant hissing from the radios. The eight engines from the Arclites rumbled to life and they started to slowly advance behind the marines.  
  
Taggart and his HQ was between the grunts and the Arclites, he could see Captain Ryan talking with his radioman, trying to keep his platoon's online, the thick jungle was hindering the movements of the battalion, one platoon would hit a relatively open spot and speed ahead, another would be slowed down by thick jungle. The Goliaths had an easier time of it, there were fewer to manage and they could simply crush smaller trees. The battalion crept northward. Taggart watched the wavering line of blue on his tactical map, while the jungle was thick, it only lasted for another hundred yards before the land opened up into grassland and clumps of trees.  
  
There was a sudden burst of fire from a C-14, Taggart simply stopped, he watched the less inexperienced members of the company throw themselves flat and ready their weapons. The more experienced soldiers simply stopped and listened, the word filtered down through the com system. "Nothing, just shadows"  
  
"Shadows"  
  
"Shadows"  
  
The marines who had dove for cover regained there feet while those who hadn't looked on with a mixture of disdain and bemusement. Taggart knew that the marine who had fired had probably seen something, it had just disappeared, the Zerg were always watching. Taggart recalled the words of an old black First Sergeant, who had remarked after an incident like this "Those fuckers be ghosting us man." Ghosts. Shadows. The battalion continued north through the jungle, fingers a little tighter on triggers and muscles a little tenser.  
  
The men of 1st Battalion reached the end of the jungle and broke out into a field of elephant grass. The grass was about waist high. The marines stopped half out of training and half out of shock. The field was one long panorama of death. Marine bodies lay in every possible position, many had detached limbs or heads. A blasted Arclite lay near the middle of the field still producing a few wisps of smoke, pieces of Goliaths lay near by. The stink of death was in the air.  
  
The com line crackled to life with the voice of an anonymous grunt "Jesus, these must be those 7th marine guys"  
  
"They didn't even pick up their dead man"  
  
"Jesus, do you smell that, I got a bad feeling about this, real bad"  
  
Taggart cut in "Clear the damn channel, let's do this, check the bodies and grab all the weapons, Delta, you're on over watch, sweep to the opposite side of the field." There was a chorus of confirmations and the marines moved out into the field. The line moved forward into the field, occasionally a marine would halt to check a dead marine's vital signs or pick up an abandoned rifle. The heat was intense, Taggart could feel it through is suit. The dead bodies had turned black in the heat and started to bloat. Taggart was glad he had his suit sealed or he wouldn't have been able to stand the stench.  
  
Each corpse he passed told a story, a dead medic, half her skull torn off, flopped on top of another dead marine. Two shredded marines back to back, a crater made by a Guardian blast scattered with pieces of marine and torn bits of radio. As he neared the burned out Arclite there was a sudden eruption of dirt about twenty yards beyond the tank. "Contact front!" Taggart screamed and threw himself to the ground as the world in front of the marines exploded. 


	8. If At First You Don't Succeed...

First In, Last Out  
  
The Siege of Combat base Gloria  
  
  
  
A/n: You can pretty much disregard the secondary title, the story has taken a completely different path than I originally envisioned. I'm just going to keep it up there for continuity's sake. Also, I'm usually on FF.net messenger. A moment of celebration for passing the 15,000 word mark. WOO! Erm…um…yeah, back to the story. Finally, does anyone know where I can find the story line to Starcraft and Brood war online, mainly because I hate having plot holes.  
  
  
  
Taggart hugged the ground as the initial volley of Hydra spikes criss- crossed over his head. From the ground the tall grass cut visibility down to a few feet, the only thing he could see was the CMC armor of a dead Seventh marine. Firing erupted up and down the line as other marines tossed themselves flat, the Goliaths opened up, the slamming of their autocannons rising above the C-14 fire. Finally the eight Arclites on the south side of the clearing acquired targets and opened fire.  
  
Sticking his head up, Taggart swung up his C-14 and opened fire on the Zergling that was only 10 yards from his position. The 8mm slugs tore into its carapace, shredding its armored shell, then its internal organs. It finally died five yards from Taggart position. Taggart and his radiomen dropped two more Zerglings in quick succession as they rushed from their burrows. He could see more and more Zerg unburrowing, not enough overrun the marine positions but enough to cause a fairly large firefight. Some Hydralisks were also in the tree line providing fire support.  
  
Aiming the 40mm grenade launcher, Taggart thumped out a cassette of five High-Explosive grenades as fast as he could, the spent casings falling near his feet. The black dots of the grenades flew straight into where the Zerg were unburrowing and exploded. Taggart coolly ejected the emptied grenade cassette and locked in a fresh one. Taking a smoke grenade from its armored hard point, he snapped the safety off with his thumb and tossed it to his front. The grenade lay in the grass, producing greenish smoke in billowing clouds. The firefight quickly spread from the center of the marine line to its flanks and the air was filled with the snap of spines and gauss slugs.  
  
Firing off another quick burst at a Zergling, Taggart ran for the bombed out tank, he slid in behind it just as two other marines came around the front side, panting and out of breath. Both immediately started shooting over the top of the tank, raining hot shell casings down on Taggart who had his back against the tank. His two radio men slid in beside him, he noted with satisfaction that his FO was calling for artillery and his radioman was getting status reports from the three companies in the assault.  
  
The metal carcass rang with return fire as spikes slammed into the charred metal. One marine ducked as spines whipped over his head, the other didn't continuing to fire for several more seconds before he caught one in the side. It spun him around, the one spine wasn't nearly enough to kill him but he crumpled to the side, out from behind the tank. Spines kicked up dust in front of him, then he jerked as several penetrated his armor. The other marine was back up shooting, his C-14 spraying out covering fire, and thumping out two grenades, Taggart reached over and pulled the fallen marine behind cover. The marine shooting ducked behind cover long enough to scream "Corpsmen!" then was back up shooting.  
  
Looking to his left and right, Taggart could see the Goliaths trying to press the Zerg, spikes sparked off the sleek black armor. The Hydralisks and Zerglings were piling up in front of Alpha company. The marines were firing their rifles furiously, Captain Ryan was in the middle of the action, getting his men up and firing. Taggart noticed one Ryan's radiomen collapse like a rag doll, a puff of armor shards lingering in the air. The other one rolled him over, looked up at Ryan and shook his head. Ryan nodded, unhooked the radio and snapped it on to his own armor.  
  
Back on the strip, Hatfield could hear the pounding of his battalions fight. He wished he could be up there with them, but he was needed here. He had gotten the battalion aid station and artillery positions set up as soon as the sweep had started. The three automatic mortars were dug into three craters that were almost overlapping, the four Arclites from Delta company were also in position, their Mjolnir cannons deployed and facing northwards.  
  
He could hear the gun teams relaying coordinates from Taggart's FO. The mortars teams locked magazines with six 60mm mortar rounds into their mortars and slapped the fire buttons. There was a sudden flurry of CLANG's as the mortars launched, their arcs taking them high into the air. The Arclites opened fire with their cannons a moment later. The recoil from the massive guns rocking them back on their supporting legs.  
  
BOOM BOOM BOOM, the incoming rounds from the Arclites and mortars sent dirt cascading high into the air. Zerg simply came apart under the intense bombardment. Taggart saw a Hydralisk take a direct hit, a head this way, claws another way, he thought to himself, and that's one dead bug. The bombardment continued and the marines were still firing furiously, but the fire from the Hydralisks did not slacken, nor did the amount of Zerglings coming from the trees. He could see the Zerg dieing, but it didn't seem to be affecting their combat effectiveness. He sighed, it was going to be one of those days.  
  
His radioman had given him the battalions status, Alpha had six marines KIA and ten WIA. The wounded were currently being moved back to the strip, the dead would be left in place for now. Charlie company had also taken losses, one of their Goliaths was down with a severed leg. Taggart could see the machine from his location behind the tank, it was crumpled on its side its pilot already having escaped ,he could also observe Alpha's marines. They were down in the tall grass, most had dug fighting holes with their entrenching tools or simply blasted one with a 40mm grenade. After the initial volley they had taken almost no casualties so they were simply shooting the Zerg as they appeared. Zerg bodies were piling up, forming a gruesome carpet to the marine positions. A charging Zergling stumbled as autocannon and Impaler fire erupted around it. It fell over as a 20mm round from a HMG blew out its spinal column in a spray of red.  
  
Hatfield watched the handful of wounded working their way through the jungle towards him. Some were able to walk on their own, others were being assisted by able bodied marines. Hatfield sent out a team of litter bearers to help as they hustled forward toward the wounded, he noticed a line of red shapes, moving towards them just inside the tree line. Zerglings.  
  
Hatfield had his C-14 up and opened fire, raking the Zerg column. The Zergling continued to run forward, unaffected by the long distance pelting. Some of the marines carrying the wounded, also saw the Zerg. They quickly set the wounded down and interposed themselves between the wounded soldiers. At a range of 100 yards they opened fire. There were only five marines able to shoot, they poured grenades and rifle fire into the Zerg, some of who exploded or collapsed. Shit shit shit shit, Hatfield thought as he continued to shoot at the Zerglings, his rounds hitting mostly trees and brush, They're right on top of those guys. The lead Zergling was only ten feet away from the thin line of marines when one of the Arclites that had been providing supporting fire depressed its siege cannon and fired a round of canister.  
  
The canister round has been a part of the artillery for hundreds if not thousands of years. Originally consisting of bits of scrap metal rammed on top of a charge of powder, the current Marine Corps canister round consists of thousands of plastic darts, laser configured inside the shell for optimum spread pattern. The effect is still the same as it was hundreds of years ago, a shotgun 120 millimeters in diameter.  
  
Hatfield felt the massive blast roar past his head like a freight train, the whole section of jungle containing the Zerg disappeared in a sudden explosion of dust. The Zerglings, without any hard armor were devastated. The plastic darts, moving at about one thousand feet per second punched through the carapace of the small dog-like animals, but didn't possess the kinetic force to punch out the other side. The Zerglings were bowled over, one side of their bodies covered in holes evenly spaced apart.  
  
The marines closest to the impact zone of the flechettes shot the few Zerg who were left standing, and continued dragging the wounded. Hatfield immediately redeployed some of the marines he had available to cover the path the wounded would have to take. It was going to be a long day.  
  
" Gunslinger Six to all units, three…two…one…execute pull back now!" Taggart ordered over the com link. All around him, marines backed out of the fighting positions they had dug during the days fighting, they fired blindly at the jungle and the few live Zerg charging at them. The covering fire from the Goliaths and Arclites streaked over head. The mass of tracers and shells screamed overhead, illuminating the darkening battlefield like laser beams. Artillery fire still exploded in the tree line, with the smaller mortars tossing smoke canisters among the marines. It was an impressive display of firepower, and Taggart knew, completely ineffective. The Zerg had dug into that tree line hard and they weren't planning on moving. Taggart had spent the entire day trying to either flank or destroy the Zerg positions but the aliens had chosen their defensive positions with intelligence and every attempt at a breakthrough had been met with massed firepower on the part of the Zerg.  
  
As the marines pulled back, dragging the dead and wounded the Zerg followed cautiously, an Ultralisk stumbled out of the trees and was promptly greeted by a hail of autocannon fire that sent it crashing to the ground. It struggled to rise then disappeared as several Arclites pounded cannon shells into the massive armored carapace. Several more Zerglings and Hydralisks were gunned downed and added to the pile of Zerg bodies opposite the marines and a few more marines were hit as they fell back.  
  
Taggart trudged south at a slow walk despite the Zerg still sniping at him. He was thinking of an incident that had happened earlier. A flanking patrol had been sent out to try and get around the Zerg, they had been shot up and a wounded marine had been left sitting up against a single tree, the bodies of his fellow marines in a circle around him. Taggart had ran down to where the patrol was with a small group of volunteer and had yelled for the young marine to crawl to him. The marine had simply sat against the tree, telling Taggart to just leave him alone so he could finish his smoke. Taggart had looked at the young marines in the trench next to him thinking that he could send all of them, half of them or one of them to go get the young marine. Taggart gradually sent the marines back to the main battle line until it was just him and the wounded marine. He finally thought Fuck it, he's not willing to do what he has to do, and I'm not willing to do what I have to do. He had gotten out of the trench and walked backed to the burned out tank, waiting for a Zerg sniper to drop him.  
  
Now as the marines set up a perimeter on the northern section of the strip, Taggart was having second thoughts, maybe it was his own sense of fatalism, created by years of front line combat, that had prevented him from getting that kid. He sat on the edge of a foxhole with Hatfield, drinking coffee and telling him about the wounded soldier. Hatfield listened but didn't say much, because there wasn't much to say.  
  
Dropships from the Concord landed on the strip and the wounded and dead were brought out. They Concord would be leaving the next morning, and would be back in a week to pick up the marines. Until then all wounded would be airlifted to Gloria.  
  
The Arclite's, the whole company now, were in Siege mode, tossing shells into the Zerg positions. The crews had set their tanks on autopilot, they fed in the coordinates they wanted to bombard and went to sleep. The bombardment would continue throughout the night, The Goliath pilots powered down their armor and curled up in their seats, the Alpha marines did the same, with every other man on watch.  
  
Taggart closed his eyes to get some sleep, tomorrow the marines would try to break through the Zerg line. In the distance the lights on Gloria snapped on, creating a heavenly glow about the combat base, he could hear the bagpipes being played from atop a bunker, the mournful wail somehow comforting to the marines crouched in their foxholes, awaiting another day. 


	9. ...Try Try Again

First In, Last Out The Siege of Combat base Gloria  
  
A/n: Quick note, if you're expecting Jim Raynor to walk in and lay out the plot piece by piece you've come to the wrong fic. This story is less fiction than it is attempting to be military history. I've actually modeled this battle after Operation Buffalo, which occurred in 1967 during the Vietnam War. 1st Battalion, 9th Marines really was involved although their battalion commander was a much better man than Taggart is. The strip linked Con Thien (my Gloria) to another firebase. If you don't like military history, cram it ( j/k. To streamline the writing I'm just going to start abbreviating ranks.  
  
Taggart awoke to a gentle knocking on his CMC suit. He cracked his eyes open and was again looking into the battered face of SM Hatfield. "Jesus, a man could have a heart attack waking up like this" Taggart wisecracked and started to rise, a task particularly hard in several hundred pounds of armor. Hatfield was glad for the joke, his battalion commander had been worrying lately, he had been acting more like a machine than a man.  
  
The ground was cloaked in a dense, low fog that reduced visibility to several hundred meters. The coolness of the morning belying the fierceness of the sun when it burned away the protective gray shroud. It was another morning on Taurus III, peaceful and quiet, not prepared for the earth shattering violence that would happen today.  
  
The battalion commander stood, his joints popping and creaking in protest. He was standing in a foxhole big enough for four people in CMC armor, his radioman and FO curled up around their rifles. Looking north he could see the main battle line of his battalion coming alive. Marines cautiously stood up and stretched after hours clamped down in their fighting positions, Goliaths rotated their turrets to ensure that the all the mechanical parts were aligned and working. It had been quiet night, the Zerg had only probed the line twice, resulting in eight Zerglings and three Hydras KIA'd, Taggart hadn't even awoken for both contacts. The crackling of small arms fire during the night made no more impression on him then if it had rained instead.  
  
There was some shouting and several marines appeared from the fog, running back into the battle line. The platoon leaders were pulling the men they had placed on listening post back in. Listening posts were placed out in front of platoons during the night to give them early warning of an attack or enemy movement. Most grunts considered them a nice word for suicide. More than one LP had disappeared into the night and was never seen again.  
  
Taggart woke up his remaining radioman and FO, who came awake rather slowly. Taggart sat with Hatfield on the lip of the foxhole and cooked their F-ration breakfasts. None of them bothered to look down at what they were eating. It was just food to fuel their bodies, and looking at it wouldn't make it go down any easier. Marine Corps field rations were designed with minimum space with maximum calories in mind. Palatability wasn't very high on the priority list.  
  
As he ate, Taggart lightly nudged his FO with his foot. Between mouthfuls of food he said "Tell Captain Wilder I want a rolling barrage 1,000 yards out in front of our axis of advance." The FO yes sirred and got on his radio. Taggart went back to eating.  
  
The barrage started soon enough. The Arclites cranked their Siege Cannons almost straight up and fired. The ear splitting cracks of the cannons shook the sleep out of the weary marines. The concussive force of just the back blast from the rounds was enough to cause vibrations in the rocks beneath their feet. The Arclite's had been pounding the jungle ahead of the marine's all night, but this was a concentrated barrage, working from the marine position forward. Anything caught in it without cover would be completely destroyed in a curtain of white hot metal shards.  
  
With every blast, a massive brass 120mm shell casing was tossed from the ejection port on the side of the Arclite's Shock cannon. There were already small mountains of expended brass lying next to the tanks, muted and dull in the gray fog. Some of the tank crew were crouched by the sides of their tanks, unlocking new cases of ammunition and loading them into the ammo compartment of their tanks. Along with the 120mm shells went the 80mm gun rounds and belts of 20mm machine gun ammo for the Arclite's co-axial machine guns.  
  
Several jumpsuit-clad figures were loading belts of 30mm ammunition into the gun pods of the Goliaths. Missiles were also being slid into missile racks. The massive armored walkers had taken the worst of the pounding yesterday, every Goliath was covered in dents and penetrations from Hydra spines; several had destroyed missile racks or autocannons. They had also  
  
Marines were also reloading their ammo. By teams they came off the line to where Taggart had placed the battalion supplies. They clipped fresh magazines and more grenades onto their armor and dropped off their spent magazines for reloading. Hatfield oversaw the distribution of ammo while Taggart briefed his company commanders on the plan of advance, marking out objectives and details on his tactical map, which he then forwarded to his commanders. For the second day in a row, Taggart's battalion prepared to go to war.  
  
The shroud of fog surrounding the men quickly began to burn off, revealing the blazing sun overhead. It was going to be another hot day and Taggart had his commanders' check to make sure each marine had a full supply of water.  
  
A shrill screaming sound filled the air; everyone on the battlefield craned their heads and looked up. Two dozen Wraith fighters screamed low over the marine's heads, waggling their three wings as they did so. As they passed the CAB they opened fire, darts of ruby light streaming into targets the marines couldn't see. Taggart heard a few of the marine's yelling a quick 'Get some' as the fighters streaked out of sight still firing. It would be the last of the air support the marine's would receive as the T.C.S. Concord was breaking out of high orbit in less than a half hour.  
  
The laser fire continued along with explosions and inhuman screams from the hidden battle. Taggart grabbed his radioman and had him turn into the Wraith's communications channel. Pressing the headset against his ear he listened to the radio chatter filled with the sounds of war.  
  
"Delta two and three rolling in hot" "Watch it two" "Heads up, spore colony at point oh five!" "Echo squadron is on it, all Echo units, fox one" "Delta two, you're leaking smoke bad, pull out! Six, seven, and eight, cover him!" "Roger one, six is in hot" "Seven is in hot" "Eight is rolling in hot" "This is two, they're all over me, get them the fuck off me six!" "I've got you bud, hold on, Delta six, fox three, fox three!" "This is two, I'm almost out but I'm shot to shit" "I'll keep them off of you, seven, eight, cover those spore colonies"  
  
"Six, this is one, you've picked one up" "I'm covering two, fox three" "Six break now" "Two is almost out, fox two" "Six they're beating the crap of you, break now" "This is two, I'm out! Six break now! Get out of there! FUCK!" "Six just went down" "No chute, six is gone" "GOD FUCKING DAM-" "Knock it off two" "Delta, Echo squadrons RTB repeat, return to base"  
  
There were a chorus of acknowledgements and a few seconds later twenty-three Wraiths flew back overhead. Taggart had just listened to a pilot by the farm covering his squadron mate. Taggart offered a silent salute. He may not believe in heroics anymore, but that still took guts. Taggart would lift a glass to Delta six the next time he got the chance, but for now he had his own men to worry about.  
  
He turned and prepared his men to advance. His men loaded their weapons and Taggart dramatically yanked back the charging handle on his C-14. The chorus went down the line "Lock and Load, Lock and Load" Each marine readied their own weapons, and the Goliaths and Arclite's locked shells into their cannons.  
  
Lieutenant Jason Harold replaced the handset to his radioman's radio; he had also been listening to the Wraith's fight. He prayed to whatever God there was that he wouldn't have to be that brave today.  
  
Taggart ordered his battalion north again. The long line, of men swinging into action, the Arclite's lurching forward behind the line of armored infantry and walkers. Smashing their way through the jungle in front of them, much faster then yesterday now that the jungle was almost leveled by firepower. The battalion broke out of the shattered jungle to the field where they had their attack had stalled earlier. Taggart sent scouts out into the field, when they reported negative contact; he ordered the rest of the battalion out into the field. They passed through their battle lines from the previous day and continued into the tree line. They struggled through this new jungle, which while pitted from air strikes and Arclite pounding, was still relatively intact. The jungle collected the heat of rising sun, turning the terrain into a steam bath. Most of the marines clamped their visors shut against the oppressive heat.  
  
The battalion cleared the jungle and come upon a new field. This was in almost pristine condition. There were a few shell craters and foxholes, but nowhere near the moonscape near the strip.  
  
Taggart took a single step out into the field, when a sudden sensation hit him in the gut. It was something he hadn't felt for almost four years, honest, naked fear and apprehension. It was like cold ice in his stomach, and he swallowed hard trying to drive it away. He wondered what the hell had brought that on. He hadn't felt like this since. since.  
  
He almost gagged; he hadn't felt like this since he watched his company, one by one file into the jungle where every one of them had been killed. 


	10. Ambush

First in, Last out The Siege of Combat base Gloria  
  
  
  
Taggart stood in the field, elephant grass surrounding him, any other time this scene would have been on the travel guide of any planet. The see of tall grass was a soft golden color in the sun, contrasting sharply with the dark green of the luscious jungle on the far side. A slight breeze rippled the stalks of grass listlessly. His mind was racing, what the hell was wrong with him? What had brought this fear on? A cold sweat ran through his body despite the blazing sun cooking his armored suit.  
  
Weapons fire, strobing in the jungle, screa- No! Not now, he wouldn't let the demons of his past out now, he was a marine, he had a job to do  
  
Kneeling down, Taggart motioned his radioman up, there was a rustle of grass behind him and then the young marine was kneeling next to him. "I want a Com sat sweep of this clearing, tell the company commanders to hold for further orders." Taggart whispered to the marine, who seemed confused at Taggart's low tone. He got on the radio and began relaying coordinates, his voice seeming impossibly loud to the anxious commander.  
  
The radio silent, despite his screams for help, noone th-  
  
A small timer on Taggart's display flickered to life, scrolling down from two minutes, the time it would take a satellite to come into station above the battalion's position. When the timer hit zero, Taggart's tactical map suddenly came into tighter focus, for a few seconds displaying a live picture, Taggart quickly flipped through the different viewing modes, from thermal to ultraviolet, any of which would detect Zerg, burrowed or not. Nothing, the picture remained the same, undisturbed. No black pockets on the thermal viewer announced burrowed Zerg.  
  
The jungle alive with movement, but nothing showing, not even on infare-  
  
Taggart slowly got to his feet, shaking off the memories of that awful night. "All companies, reform into mixed column." A mixed column would have Arclites and Goliaths scattered about its length, optimizing the amount of firepower at anyone point in the column. Taggart watched as his men expertly reformed, all 100+ marines and vehicles quickly and efficiently repositioning themselves. Squad leaders made sure that their marines were covering their fields of fire, tanks swiveled their turrets to the side and Goliaths swiveled their autocannons to cover either side.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Taggart gave the order to move out. The battalion again started, the point squad moving out first, cautiously, followed by the rest of the column. For some reason he couldn't explain, Taggart drifted to the front of the column, despite the growing dread in each step. He looked over and saw that he was walking next to the platoon leader he had talked to just before the drop began.  
  
Jason Harold moved through the elephant grass, scanning his head almost rhythmically. His platoon was on point, his four-man point squad out about a hundred yards of the main body of his platoon. Behind him was the platoon's HMG. Harold himself carried two belts of 20mm ammo wrapped around his armor. Behind his platoon was the Captain and his command group. Looking over, Harold was surprised to see the Major walking next to him. He nodded, but he didn't think the Major saw, his face was pale and he was staring intently forward. Must be the heat, thought Harold, gets to everybody after awhile, even with the air conditioning in the CMC suits.  
  
Harold noticed that the ground seemed to sink, a little more than usual with each step. Looking down, he noticed that the ground was still wet from the morning's fog. He shrugged it off and continued walking; making sure his platoon was properly spaced.  
  
Taggart was surprised when he heard a crunching sound beneath his feet, pulling his feet up, it was coated with sticky pieces of something, almost like caramelized candy. Creep. Impossible, creep would kill anything it was near; there wouldn't be any fie-  
  
The Hydralisks rose from the grass in perfect unison, like serpents pulling themselves up to strike. A complete ring of them, around the marine column. One was only ten yards from Taggart. Instantly the air was filled with the sound of weapons being readied, but no one fired. Taggart had his C-14 leveled at the nearest Hydralisk as more and more Zerg rose silently from the grass. They were slightly larger than normal Zerg, covered in an intricate blue pattern. Kulkullan. It was the Kulkullan assault brood. It was one of the few Zerg broods Taggart hadn't faced in battle with his battalion but their reputation and savagery was legendary. If the Kulkullan brood was on planet, then there was at least one more main force brood that no one knew about. The marine forces on planet were suddenly outnumbered several hundred to one.  
  
Blue. Taggart remembered blue, almost black in the minimal light of the jungle. Creatures, tattooed blue chopping apart Taggart's command while he watched helplessly, his ammo counter blinking out a triple zero like a three-eyed horror. The paralyzing fear Taggart had felt in the jungle so long ago, multiplied. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. His mind was a white-hot blanket through which nothing could penetrate. Nothing. Someone near behind him was muttering 'Oh God, oh God, oh God." over and over again.  
  
Harold was holding his rifle so tightly that it was shaking; his targeting dot jittered over the head of a Hydralisk. He didn't want to die, he didn't want to die, he didn't want to die, he didn't want to di-  
  
Taggart stood there, his mind locked in the jaws of fear, when something deep inside his mind snapped. Suddenly the white fear inside his mind vanished, replaced by something cold and hard. Revenge. This was worst ambush Taggart had ever walked into, but it would give him a chance to rack up some bodies. Suddenly he was able to think again, he realized the minutes he had been standing still had been a moment, selecting his grenade launcher, he squeezed the trigger, blowing the blue Hydra facing it in half at the waist.  
  
Both sides opened up as one, tearing into each other with lead and bone. A normal marine battalion would have fragmented and run, Taggart's CAB held their ground and fought. Zerg and Terran tearing into each other at less than point blank range. The Zerg charged falling upon the marines as a blue wave crashing down upon a shore. The air was filled with the crescendo of a hundred weapons firing at once. Muzzle flashes blinked everywhere, filling Taggart's sight with the image of the entire marine line. He swiveled his rifle and fired a grenade at the feet of the nearest Zergling, the blast blowing pieces of it into the air. A Goliath exploded under the concentrated pounding it was receiving. The head of the armored walked exploding and the legs falling to either side. An Arclite fired a canister at a horde of Zerglings only ten yards away, shredding most of them but behind them was another group, charging past the bodies of their fallen and reaching the tank before the crew could load another shell.  
  
He was suddenly looking up at the clear, bright sky. He was down in the elephant grass. He sat up; staring at the back of his radioman who was engaging targets he couldn't see in short, clipped bursts. Taggart stood up, raising his C-14 and sprayed a Zergling charging at him from the left. The creature fell as a stream of gauss slugs hammered it into the ground. The situation was rapidly falling apart. Zerg were popping up inside the marine line and attacking marines who were facing the wrong way.  
  
His left arm seemed sluggish; looking at his shoulder he saw a hole where a Zerg spine had punched through the armor. Probing the hole carefully his fingers came out bloody. He was hit. He had never been hit before. Quickly, he stuffed an aid patch in the hole and covered the hole with a repair patch. He didn't want anyone else to see. Bringing up his C- 14, he opened fire at the nearest Zerg and tried to find his radioman.  
  
Harold kept the trigger down, dragging the recoiling weapon's sight dot over a Zergling; he held it on there until the shots started splattering the Zerg's internal organs. Kneeling down he ejected a spent magazine, while a marine from third squad who had been reloading rose up and opened fire to cover him. He locked a round in and was about to rise again when the marine next to him arched his back and was lifted skyward by and enormous tentacle that had impaled him. Blood sprayed from the shattered marines armor, sparkling from the sun's rays as it flew across the sky.  
  
"SUNKEN COLONY!" Harold screamed and opened fire at the tentacle, his light rifle rounds having little effect on the heavily armored tentacle. The marine it had hit was already dead, having been vertically impaled. There was no way a sunken colony could be here, there wasn't any creep. It was a physical impossibility. He pumped a grenade into the tentacle, joined by several marines and a Goliath, all pouring fire into the appendage as it retreated into the ground.  
  
There was an enormous sucking sound behind him. Turning around, a massive hole had formed in the ground, the inside of the holes walls were a pulsing, organic mass. A green, unnatural light was being produced from around a corner. And rapidly coming closer from inside the canal, the sound of Zerg screeching war cries.  
  
Harold had enough time to scream a warning to the marines around him and bring up his rifle, when the full mass of Zerg pulled them out of the newly formed Nydus Canal.  
  
Taggart saw the new wave of Zerg appear inside the marine perimeter. He emptied his C-14 at the mass of Zerg, with no effect. There were too many. The dead Zerg were instantly replaced by new ones from the canal. Kneeling down, he grabbed the radio from his dead radioman's back; the young marine's face had been half shot away by Zerg spines. Grabbing the handset he yelled into it "Gunslinger 6 to all units, fall back, fall back to point." Taggart hastily designated a point on his tactical map halfway back at the strip "point.black jack 2."  
  
Slamming in a new magazine, Taggart dropped three Zerg in rapid succession in a semi-circle around his position. An Arclite from Delta company erupted in a geyser of flame, the ammo for its cannon cooking off. Grabbing the three nearest marines to him who were still engaging Zerg he turned and ran south.  
  
The battalion, with unit cohesion lost due to casualties and the confusion in the tall grass, finally fragmented. Those who could make their way south did, often having to shoot Zerg working their way behind the battalion. The retreat was a free for all, with little order or reason. The Zerg followed relentlessly. More Zerg emerged from the northern tree line, these didn't have the blue markings of the Kulkullan, rather they were a main force Zerg brood, designed to mop up and exploit the Kulkullans success.  
  
Those who couldn't retreat, like Jason Harold, cut off by Zerg and running low on ammunition, threw themselves flat in the tall grass, surrounded by bodies and carnage, and prayed. It was 1100 and the sun was almost finished climbing into the sky. The field was quiet except for the rustling of Zerg through the grass, bodies were splayed out in random patterns, like young children making snow angels, blood leaking from them into the tall grass. 


	11. Calm

Intermission  
  
A/N: Short, but it's helping me get into the creative flow after my summer break. Plus I love the last few sentences.  
  
It is 1135 on the second day of fighting; the sun is climbing almost to the apex of its arc. Shadows become almost non-existent, the heat becomes almost unbearable. Metal turns to scorching temperatures and the world is bright and hot. The smell of cooking flesh fills the air, and for the first time in days, the air is still, the distant thumping and popping of battle is absent for now. Both sides take advantage of the pause, bringing reinforcements, reorganizing their units. The CAB's, mostly dropped on the southern ring of combat bases, reform and dig into the small forts for the coming assault. Only one battalion, the 1st of the 9th, chopped up and out of contact, is still in the field, retreating slowly south, dragging their dead and wounded with them. They are aware of the menace moving from the north, but are unwilling to leave their wounded.  
  
Two Zerg main force Broods sweep south, towards the strip and the small isolated combat bases. There are nearly 1 million Zerg in this force. Their way cleared by the Kulkullan assault brood, they are an unstoppable wave of living, breathing evil. Their goal is the city of New Charleston, a major settlement of two million people. If they reach it, the Zerg will kill them all.  
  
The two sides pull themselves together for the final effort. The fate of the planet will be decided in the coming battles. They are locked in a death duel with each other; neither side will achieve victory until the other is wiped out to the last.  
  
As on countless worlds before, between the colonists and the Zerg, there is nothing but a small group of marines. Tired, undersupplied and outnumbered. A thin line of heroes... 


End file.
