SCHISM
CHAPTER ONE: FUNDAMENTAL DIFFERING
Specialist Justin McCormick adjusted the sight on his ocular implant. He was a good two miles away from the Protoss base, but with just a single thought, he could see as though he were right next to the floating probes that were swarming around the buildings. Tall spires of crystal, gold, and alien metal stretched sky-high, illuminated from underneath by the rippling blue light of more buildings being warped in. Judging by the state of the base, they’d been at this a while now.CHAPTER ONE: FUNDAMENTAL DIFFERING
He tapped the radio in his ear. “All coverts, report. I have visual.”
“M reporting in, J,” another ghost chimed in. “Half a klick south of base.”
“Negative, M,” McCormick replied. “Fall back, you’re too close.”
“Copy that, falling back to one klick.”
McCormick adjusted his implant again as he looked on the ground, and sighed. He counted at least two dozen Protoss warriors, and three dragoons. “Still waiting on you, G.”
“I’m here, J,” ‘G’ replied over the radio. “Had to maintain silence for a sec there. A probe was scouting too close for comfort.”
“What’s your position?”
“One and a half klicks northwest. Requesting permission to follow the probe.”
“Negative,” McCormick replied. “Hold position and report any more traffic along that route.”
“Copy that,” G replied.
McCormick tapped a button on his radio to change frequencies. “This is McCormick. All coverts reporting in position. We have visual contact. We’re good to go for drop.”
“About time,” a gruff voice replied. It belonged to Master Gunnery Sergeant Hank Connor, sitting inside his siege tank. He adjusted the straps on his seat and checked his scope, then did a final systems check on his weapons console. He hit a com button. “How my tanks at?”
One by one, three other voices came in through the radio, signaling “All clear.”
Connor flipped a switch on the com. “Drop is a go.” He lurched in his seat as the dropship carrying his tank dove down to ground level. He grabbed onto handles above his seat and braced himself. With a loud clank, the tank was released from the hold of the dropship and Hank experienced a glorious half-second of freefall before the tank came slamming down on the ground, rocking him violently in his seat. He gave a hearty laugh and a “Hell yeah!” to himself, then flipped another switch on his com. “Master Gunns, checking in! All hardware revved and ready!” He checked his scope again, and saw four dropships fly above his tank, swooping low to the ground to unload a group of infantry.
Shielding his eyes from the engine glow of the dropship that he just jumped out of, a tall marine wearing the rank insignia of Captain scanned the horizon, the gleaming towers of the Protoss base in the distance. With a hand motion, the platoon of marines, firebats, and medics fell into position around him, ready for orders.
The marine clicked his radio. “This is Captain Jack Sherall to Zeta Squadron. We’re all in position.” He grinned. “All right, men. Roll out.”
He slapped his heavy gauntlet on the shoulder of a firebat. “How you doing, Craig?”
Staff Sergeant Craig Skillen rolled his neck and stretched out his hands. “Let’s toast these ‘toss,” he said.
Connor’s siege tank rolled past them, smashing rocks under its treads. He wasn’t using his com, but Jack could hear him whoop and holler just the same, and smiled. “Come on, ladies!” he yelled to his platoon. “Are you gonna let Master Gunns have all the fun today?”
“SIR, NO SIR!” they yelled in unison, and began the charge.
For all its unwieldiness and uncomfortable metal bits, Jack loved the marine suit. He could run in this thing all day and never get tired. It was incredibly responsive to the movement of the soldier inside it, and its motors and servos did all the heavy lifting and running. It was like a giant mechanical extension of his body. This was his suit. There were many like it, but this one was his. It was his best friend, and his life.
Oh yes, and he loved his rifle too.
The tanks took position on a high rise overlooking the base and began shifting into siege mode, while the infantry charged down a canyon leading into the base proper. The exhilaration of the charge changed to nervousness and lightning-fast alertness as a large blue ball of energy blasted one of the canyon walls, sending rubble flying toward the infantry. Nobody was hit, but they got the message loud and clear.
The Protoss knew they were here now.
“Master Gunns!” Jack shouted over his radio. “We got two photon cannons, dead ahead!”
“Shit yeah, sir,” Connor replied as he swiveled his chair, getting ready to fire a barrage. “This is what I live for.”
He grabbed a joystick, angled it a bit, and squeezed the trigger. The entire tank shook as the cannon fired off its artillery, leaving a deafening roar in its wake. The shell arced upwards before heading down, crashing dead-on to a photon cannon, smashing through the shields and blowing the cannon to rubble. A few seconds later, three other shots followed, destroying their perimeter defenses.
Sherall hung back slightly as his men lead the charge. He almost was in front himself, but only a very stupid CO would put himself right on the front line. Still, there was no way he was missing this action. A dozen Protoss zealots spread out, blocking off passage between two structures as they formed a sort of phalanx. They flexed their arms, and glowing psi-blades shot out from their bracers.
Jack shook his head. “Didn’t anyone tell you, never bring a knife to a gunfight?” He lifted his visor so he could shout better. “OPEN FIRE!”
A hailstorm of metal spikes shot out of their rifles, flying toward the zealots, but deflected off their glowing blue shields. As the marines stood tall and kept up their barrage, a group of firebats, lead by Skillen, crouched low and charged toward the zealots, fire laying a path of destruction in front of them. The marines ceased fire and charged forward, as the firebats were now almost in striking distance of the Protoss’ blades.
Flames danced across the shields, which began to sputter and vanish, setting some of the zealots falling to the ground, psychically screaming in pain as the fire engulfed them. The phalanx being broken, the zealots charged forward, blades brandished and at the ready. One took a swipe and cleaved a hole right in Skillen’s armor, but not deep enough to expose his skin. Skillen dropped to the ground and shot flame at the Protoss who was now standing directly above him. At this proximity, he’d completely bypassed the shields, and the Protoss was burnt to a crisp.
Jack unloaded several rounds into a Protoss’s head and looked around. The first wave of defense was down, and it didn’t look like he’d lost a man. He saw Skillen lying on the ground, but a medic was standing over him, so he nodded and continued on.
A big ball of energy flew right past Jack and hit the marine standing next to him, causing his armor to explode in pieces, leaving nothing but a bloody mess in its wake. Jack fell to the ground and took cover behind a rock, pulling out a mirror and holding it out to see what it was.
Three spider-like dragoons had taken up position and were laying down a thick blanket of fire on his men. Two more men, a marine and a firebat, got hit and were incinerated. The rest took cover and laid down suppressive fire. It just bounced off the thick shields of the walking hulks, who slowly advanced, blue balls of light illuminating the battlefield.
Jack yelled into his radio. “Master Gunns, you asleep up there?”
An artillery shell slammed into one of the dragoons, causing its shield to flicker. It shook from the impact and had to adjust its legs to keep on balance. “Yeeee-haw!” Connor yelled, preparing another shell. “Eat that, you spider sumbitch!”
A high-pitched whizzing sound crept up on Jack. He spun around to see what it was, and grinned. Justin McCormick came speeding along on a vulture, firing a volley of RPGs at the dragoons as he shot by them, using the rapid maneuverability of the bike to weave between and through them. He lifted his specialty rifle upward as he zipped underneath one of the four-legged machines, and hit a button on the gun’s side. A fist-sized device shot out of a large barrel, attaching itself to the base of the dragoon. The vehicle instantly powered down, its legs buckling. McCormick barely got his vulture out from under the mechanical walker before it crashed to the ground, locked down and unable to move.
As he drove his vulture back to Sherall’s location, the dragoons exploded from another hail of artillery shells. Blue liquid poured out from the smashed hulls, Protoss body parts floating among them.
“You left your post,” Jack said as McCormick hopped off the vulture.
“Covert’s prerogative,” he replied. “Besides, I needed a better angle for the triangulation.”
Jack smirked. “If you say so. Nice save with the dragoons.”
“Yeah,” McCormick said with a big grin on his face. “I know.” He looked around at the dead Protoss bodies. “Sir, I counted two dozen zealots during scouting and I’m only seeing twelve bodies here.”
Jack nodded. “Keep it together, men!” he shouted. “We ain’t done yet.” He turned back to McCormick, but he had already cloaked and vanished. “Damn sneaky bastard,” Jack muttered.
A primal scream entered Jack’s mind, the non-human sound of a zealot charging into battle. He looked around. The zealots were coming from every direction, closing in on his group. The platoon grouped up and faced outward, raining bullets and fire against the zealots’ shields, but it wasn’t going to stop them in time.
Jack loved his suit. Without him, it was useless. But with him?
A zealot was within arm’s length of Jack, aiming for the marine next to him. Jack brought his arm up to his chest, and then reached out and backhanded the zealot with extreme force, sending him flat on his back just in time to eat a barrage of rifle spikes.
It was a desperate charge. The Protoss were outnumbered and unprepared for an attack so early, but still they fought, knowing they were doomed. Jack didn’t know whether he admired their honor or hated their blind devotion to victory in the face of a superior adversary. His men sent them to whatever afterlife those aliens had, and hoped they’d get a gold star or whatever it was an honorable death earned them.
“McCormick,” Jack said on his radio. “We ready for this?”
“Affirmative,” McCormick replied. “All three coverts in position and triangulating.”
“Excellent,” Jack said, and hit a button on his com. “This is Captain Sherall to the Erasmus. Admiral, do you read?”
“This is Goodenberg,” came the reply.
“All clear down here. Ready to rain hell, sir?”
“Ready and willing,” the admiral replied. “Stand by.”
Jack looked upward. High in the sky, barely a speck, he could make out his beloved battlecruiser hovering. The speck started glowing like a star, dim then brighter and brighter, until finally a giant beam of energy came screaming down, smashing into the central nexus of the base, tearing it to shreds, sending rubble flying. The base immediately powered down, probes falling straight out of the sky. The base was toast.
“Okay men, good work,” Jack said. “Tend to the wounded and the dead, and let’s clear out some room for the dropships to come in.” He looked over at Skillen, who was on his feet again, although a massive gash was torn in his armor. Jack started walking toward him, when his helmet shook violently as if something hit it, followed by the sound of a gunshot. He spun around, eyes wide, brandishing his rifle. “SHOTS FIRED!” he yelled.
He scanned for where the shot came from. Suddenly, he could make out a figure hiding among the rocks, a rifle aimed straight at him. Jack quickly took aim and fired. The figure slumped over. Jack motioned to a marine to follow him, and they approached the person who they could see was human. He was bleeding but still alive, and moaning. Jack trained his rifle on the guy, but called for a medic.
“Who are you?” Jack demanded.
“Go to hell,” the man said, spitting a bloody wad at him. Jack walked around to the other side of the man and motioned to the marine that followed him. They each took an end and picked the man up, bringing him over to the platoon. A medic rushed up to him and held a device over his bullet wounds, causing them to close up.
Craig Skillen walked over, and paused. “Jack... I know that guy,” he said as he got a look at the man’s face.
Jack shot a glance at Craig. “Come again?”
“Yeah, this guy... I recognize his face. He’s Umojan.”
Jack cursed, and pointed the rifle at the man’s head. “What is the Protectorate doing aiding Protoss incursions into Dominion space?” he demanded.
The man coughed, groaning. “Nah, man, you have it all wrong,” he said, almost sarcastically.
“Last chance,” Jack said.
The man lifted up one hand, holding some small device in it.
“DROP THAT!” Jack yelled.
The man smiled, and pressed a button. A green light popped up on the device.
BLAM! Jack fired a round into the guy’s head. His hand fell to his side, limp, and the device skipped across the ground.
Jack picked up the device, examining it. It wasn’t familiar. He sighed, and handed it to a fellow marine. “All right, bag this guy up. Find out what that device did, and let’s get out of here. Craig? With me.”
Craig followed Jack as he walked away from the group. “What’s up, Jack?”
Jack turned to face him. “I don’t really need to ask if I can trust you if this pans out to be what it looks like, do I?”
Craig frowned. “Are you questioning my loyalty, Jack?”
“Any sane commander would. You’re Umojan. The only Umojan on Zeta Squadron. Now if they’re helping the Protoss and setting up strategic military bases on Dominion soil, that’s an act of war, and I need to know that you understand whose side you’re on.”
“I can’t believe you of all people would ask me this,” Craig said, insulted. “After all we’ve been through, after all I’ve done for you.”
“Craig, just answer the question. I’m asking you as a friend first.”
“Yes,” Craig said, a hint of anger underlying the answer. “You can trust me.”
Jack smiled, putting a hand on Craig’s shoulder. It was metal touching metal, but the sentiment was still there. “Okay then. That’s all I needed to know.” He started walking toward the platoon. “C’mon, Craig. Let’s get these guys back home!”
