StarCraft Strike Force Prism

I do not intend to profit in any way, shape, or form from the release of this FICTIONAL story. I do not own the Starcraft name (duh) or any of it's characters, storylines, or products. They are the product of Blizzard Entertainment, which has yet to make a bad game.  
  
  
Malcolm moved around in his seat some more. It hurt his ass so much. Why does the UED insist upon small-assed chairs? And why does a officer review take an eternity to be scheduled?  
"No wonder all of the Higher-ups are so uptight, they have to sit in the midget-chairs." Malcolm mumbled and smiled to himself.  
"Good Morning, Officer. Sorry about the wait." A deep voice said from the door.  
"No problem, sir, I was just enjoying the pleasure of the furniture. Is this real leather? I thought all of the cows died." Malcolm said with a salute. Admiral Beaden walked past Malcolm holding Malcolm's dossier.   
"Merits in tactics and combat scenarios. Scored a 165 on the Combat Simulator." Admiral Beaden said as he looked at Malcolm's dossier. "That's higher than me, soldier." He said with a smirk.  
"Thank you, sir." Malcolm replied as he sat down.  
"How did you get a Nuclear Strike in there? There were detectors everywhere, they could kill the Ghost before he saw it coming." Admiral inquired while flipping through the pages.  
"Sir, my senior officer thought that was ingenious. I used a mirror. I just had the Ghost reflect the targeting beam off of a mirror. Then the rest was history." Malcolm was referring to the Combat Tactics Simulator, or CTS IV. It was standard practice for up-and-coming officers to log in hours of practice. In the Simulator where he scored the 165. The scenario involved a heavily guarded Zerg base, ugly-ass bugs in Malcolm's opinion, where there was a bottle-neck on the way in. Malcolm called a nuclear strike and sent in a small wave of marines. When those marines were dead, he sent in another wave. When those were done, he called in an air strike with Wraiths using Goliaths as back-up. Needless to say, the Zerg were pretty desimated in the first nuclear strike, and the next two waves didn't help.  
"Son," Admiral Beaden started, "I won't beat around the bush. You have been selected to head a multi-squadron unit called Prism. We leave in 15 minutes to head out to the base, there you will meet you commanding crew. Do you have any questions?"  
"My rank, sir. I'm only a Major, I can't command my own troops."  
"Ah yes, well, from now on you are now a Simulated General. Shall we leave? I'l brief you on the way."  
They both rose and walked out of the office. They headed down to an awaiting Limo, and stepped inside. Admiral Beaden told the driver to head to Camp Powell. The Limo lifted into the air above Washington D.C., and they were off.  
"Alright, sir, what's this Prism thing?" Malcolm started off, looking out of the window.  
"Son, Prism is a multi-squadron using the best of the best from the main divisions in the UED armed forces. You will command a unit that is purely in charge of gathering intelligence information on the Zerg Forces and Protoss Directate. That is the easy part." Admiral Beaden said as he took a sip of Vodka.  
"Sir, what's the hard part?" Malcolm Freewater said with a small tremor in his voice.  
"You have to turn a broadsword into a scalpel." Admiral Beaden said with a smile.  
The Limo pulled into Camp Powell, named after Colon Powell, one of the greatest military minds in the history of the former United States. The Limo pulled to the gate, got clearance and headed toward the training grounds. Beaden and Malcolm stepped out and imediately smell the warm, salty air of South Carolina. Malcolm took a deep breath and leaned up against the gate to the shooting range.  
"Sir, what are we doing here?" Malcolm said as he adjusted his sleeve.  
"General, we are here to meet your crew." Greaden said as he put on his sunglasses. After a few minutes of moderate chit-chat between the Admiral and Simulated General, a jeep pulled up. The driver-side door opened and a man with a chest the size of a beer keg stepped out. This was the most muscular man Malcolm had ever seen. He reached back and pulled out a full, 4-foot duffel bag and carried it like it was nothing. Malcolm felt truly intimidated for the first time.   
"Robert Preston, goes by 'Big Dog'. Siege Tank operator, head of the Armored Calvary Division of Red Squadron. Large-weapons expert, and get this, he took down a dropship with a siege tank."  
"Wow, that's pretty good." Malcolm said as he looked wide-eyed at Robert walking toward them.  
"That's damn good, son. Good Morning Major."  
"Good Morning Admiral, I thank you for letting me on this project. Good Morning General." BIG DOG said to Malcolm, with the most powerful handshake that Malcolm ever felt. Robert's 6'5" 298 lbs frame dwarfed Malcolm's 6'2", 210 lbs body.  
"Good morning soldier. Welcome to Prism. I trust you will be a great asset." Malcolm said with the usual B.S. of a General. "I'm getting used to this General stuff" he didn't say. Robert Smith headed to the barracks to dump off his duffel bag.  
"Jesus that's a big boy." Malcolm said to Beaden with a laugh.  
"He eats your body weight in eggs, and pumping iron is a hobby to him." Beaden said as a VTAL(Vertical Takeoff And Landing) Jump Jet flew overhead at only 35 feet above the two.  
"Who's that?" Malcolm said as he shielded his ears.  
"That would be your pilot, Jenny Preston, goes by the callsign 'Mongoose'. Mainly a Wraith pilot, but can seriously fly anything. Has 35 confirmed kills in over 4 different aircraft. Is rumored to be able to fly a Protoss Carrier. That's RUMORED, son, so don't get adventurous with your missions."  
The ship landed and the cabin door opened. Out walked out a tall flight suit and helmet. She walked over toward Malcolm and removed her helmet to show a full head of blond hair. "Wow, look at those legs" Malcolm wanted to say, but a top female pilot in the UED probably had a swift response to that, usually involving in-between his legs, he thought.  
"Good morning, Admiral, General." She said with a strong salute. She was pretty hot according to Malcolm, but dating inside the UED was strictly looked down upon. Robert walked out, got a look at Jenny and looked like he dropped a load. Lucky for him Jenny had her back to him. Robert walked up and, in full military style with the biggest grin ever, introduced himself, and looked forward to "working" with her. She introduced herself with full neutrallity, and took a spot next to the Admiral to wait for the next arrival.  
After a few minutes, the Admiral pulled out a quarter and set it, on edge, on the counter next to them. He told everyone to watch it. After a few seconds the quarter leaped off of the table in a puff of wood chips and smoke. Everyone stared at eachother as the Admiral gestured to what looked like, walking air. When this so-called moving body of air got within a few meters, it decloaked to show a tall, dark, lean man in his mid-20's.  
"Jim Kruger, goes by 'Blink'. Honorable merit in Long-rifle, rifle, and sniper capabilites. He's your eyes and sledgehammer."  
"How refreshingly ironic." Robert stated with a smile.  
"Ironic, how?" Malcolm asked.  
"Well, ghosts are long known for their precise capabilities, yet they are capable of bringing down 'Atomic Death'." Robert said as he motioned toward the sky.  
"Admiral, General. Good morning, are we going to get the briefing papers today?" Jim said as he waved his hands toward the barracks.  
"Sure, why not? Everyone, move out." Malcolm said with the whole officianato of a 4-Star General. They entered the barracks and headed toward the briefing room downstairs. They all took their seats, except Malcolm, who had to give up his head-seat to the Admiral.  
"Lady and Gentlemen, your orders are to head out to the Terran Dominion, rondevoux with the Battlegroup Intrepid, and await further orders. Your code-named Prism, and this is the blackest of black ops. Outside of those present, only 12 other people know about it, and only 5 know all of the information. The 5 are those present here. Prism is a cross-divisional task group in charge of gathering any sort of intelligence possible. Your missions will be so secret that you will only get a goal, and the methods are entirely up to you. I hope to see results after three weeks of service."  
"Whoa, THREE WEEKS!?!?!? That isn't enough time to know what's what!" Malcolm said to the Admiral.  
"Son, understand that you are in charge of the best of the best. These are not ordinary grunts and techies. These are the best the UED can offer-not spare, but offer. I pulled more strings than you can count, and I have put together a small army of the most elite troops. You have no idea the shitstorm I had to bring upon myself telling commanding officers that they couldn't know what thier men were dying for. Don't talk to me about three measly weeks not being enough time, you have no concept of what time is, so sit down General." Admiral Beaden explained, and got the desired effect-he got his ducks in a row. "You depart at 1800 hours, I suggest you get to know your crew, General Malcolm, they will be the ones either saving your ass, or trying to find it."  
With that, they all departed to the shooting range. "Big Dog" Robert Smith was refreshingly profiecient in the small pistol. He had an old Beretta, a primitive firearm that used capsules of black powder that discharged a small projectile of copper. Robert fired off a couple rounds and offered for Jenny to hold his "pistol" as he called it. They way he said it made Malcolm question what he was referring to.  
Sweat bead down Jim's face. It rolled into his eye and made it sting. He blinked it off and readjusted himself. He then put all of his rifle's weight on his elbows and the tripod. He had to keep the rifle on his elbows, because even blood flowing through his muscles could throw off his aim. He got another range reading and mentally calculated wind sheer. "Blink" took a deep breath and squeezed off a single round. A fraction of a second later, the quarter flew off of the wood post. He walked over to the post and got the class ring he recieved upon graduation of the UED Long-Rifle school. Didn't even show that a round was fired through it. All Jim had to do is get profiecient enough to fire through two rings to hit the quarter. His rivalry with the instructor had them destroying anything that had a small round hole in the middle.  
Jenny pulled Malcolm off to the side and offered him a free ride in her modified Transport. Malcolm, never wanting to offend a pretty lady, accepted the hopefully easy joyride. Malcolm discovered that "joy" is a relative word. Joy to Malcolm was the idea of pleasantly flying around the base, seeing what sites South Carolina had to offer. Joy to Jenny was the idea of pleasantly flying around the base in every way but right-side-up, seeing what sites South Carolina had to offer at only 15 feet.  
Malcolm couldn't wait to depart with the current "best of the best" to take command of more "best of the best".  



End file.

StarCraft, Adventure