"The Confederacy's defensive perimeter includes the residential districts. They've even built bunkers and poured single-man pillboxes between civilian homes. That means our troops will be forced to advance through those neighborhoods. And knowing Confederacy officers as I do, they've probably laid Spider Mines along the way," Augustus said.
"All assault units have been assigned sappers and mine-clearing vehicles. The Spider Mines won't inflict heavy casualties on us," one staff officer replied.
The Revolutionary Army had never suffered serious losses from Spider Mines, but back during the Guild Wars, those deadly weapons—with their oval shells flashing two red signal lights—had delivered bitter lessons to both sides. Each weighed only a few kilograms, yet they traced back to ancient Earth technology, a branch of what the colony ships had carried with them.
Although Augustus himself had never faced Spider Mines directly, countless bloody cases reminded him and his commanders of the horrific consequences these insidious devices could bring on the battlefield.
Once deployed, a Spider Mine would automatically burrow underground. Any poor soul stepping into its trap would trigger the explosive payload—powerful enough to blast an ordinary Confederate marine sky-high.
"Civilian casualties are inevitable," another of Augustus's staff spoke up. "We sent out warnings two hours ago to residents near Backwater Station, but many refused to leave their homes. They won't abandon their property."
"The Confederacy will blame every civilian death on us," said a military advisor from Umoja.
"Of course they will," Augustus answered, turning his gaze on the advisor. "It's always the rebels' fault for stirring up riots. If only we kept to our place and lived as law-abiding citizens, the world would be perfectly at peace."
"Other than a few friends of ours at UNN who might speak in our defense, even the Old Families won't publicly support the rebels."
"Regardless, protecting civilians has always been the Revolutionary Army's highest duty. We stake our lives to shield every noncombatant—no matter their sex, age, or condition," Augustus told his officers. "No matter how UNN or other media paint us as butchers, every world we set foot on must remember us as the army that truly defends the people."
"Pass down my orders to every company: evacuate the locals first, then attack the military base."
By now Augustus's throat was dry. At just the right moment, the Ghost operative Sarah Kerrigan, standing behind him, handed him a cup of water.
After drinking, Augustus asked, "Where are Tychus's men now?"
"The Wolf Hunters, the 451st Battalion, have already entered Backwater Town and are evacuating the residents. The Confederacy forces there put up only token resistance before retreating. With the skies under our control, they must be withdrawing through the mountains."
"From what we intercepted of Backwater Station's command channel, their commanding officer abandoned the base shortly after we warned the local residents," said Augustus's military advisor.
"Move the command post forward," Augustus ordered, passing his empty cup back to Kerrigan. "No—let's follow right behind the vanguard."
The Revolutionary Army was not some loose band held together only by fiery ideals and lofty ambitions. Augustus had built it according to the structure and discipline of a regular military force, and his orders were carried out without delay.
With the skies already under Revolutionary control, Augustus boarded an ordinary transport and reached the front in minutes. He entered Backwater Town on the outskirts of Backwater Station, marching alongside a battalion moving in to join the assault.
By now, the First Brigade of the Revolutionary Army boasted an armor rate of fifty percent. Every frontline soldier carried a CMC-200 powered suit. When the troops in deep crimson armor moved in tight formation, their synchronized strides echoed with heavy metallic clacks.
That year on Mar Sara, Augustus could no longer rely on the Umojan Protectorate's imitations of powered armor. His sights had to turn toward seizing Confederacy stock instead.
He and his staff officers and advisors walked near the rear of the column, while Kerrigan, clad in Ghost combat gear, followed cloaked in invisibility. Behind them came an advance company tasked with reconnaissance and cover, along with heavy trucks hauling electromagnetic cannons. The Revolutionary ranks advanced quickly along the broad road to Backwater Station, their boots pounding over cracked and uneven asphalt.
Reports confirmed that the vanguard had already swept aside the garrison's fragile defenses like dry brush, crushing their feeble attempts at breakout.
Tychus's troops, at the very front, could already be heard over the command channel, grumbling that the follow-up forces were too slow.
Along the road, Augustus passed bunkers flattened by tanks and heavy machine gun nests reduced to rubble. Minefields had been carefully marked with warning lines and colored flags. In the age of powered armor, even the lethality of automated mines had grown to staggering levels.
Yet what startled Augustus most was that the civilians here had not fled. Instead, they stood right on roads still reeking of gunpowder, shouting Revolutionary slogans: "Augustus Mengsk, savior of the Terrans!"
"The people's welfare above all else!"
"Down with the Old Families of Tarsonis—the world belongs to the people!"
Never before had Augustus witnessed such a scene in a war zone. In the Guild Wars he had fought, both Terrans and Kel-Morians had only ever feared the armies. When the Kel-Morians captured a Confederate world, they enslaved the Terrans. And the Confederacy treated Kel-Morians no better.
Now his eyes took in a small town scarred by battle. The dark-orange prefab colony blocks lining the highway bore the marks of artillery fire. Confederate Marine corpses lay scattered on the ground. A few armored vehicles had been dragged to the roadside and left there, silent hulks. Every few hundred meters a Revolutionary banner flew, while the Confederacy's red-and-blue star flag burned in the dirt.
Still, LED billboards, holographic ad displays, and IAA robots kept running. From time to time, clueless little automatons waddled up to Revolutionary soldiers, trying to pitch them local luxury goods.
Most of those welcoming the army were miners. They wore coarse gray work clothes, headscarves, and sun hats. But they were far from ordinary laborers—nearly every man carried a semi-automatic rifle across his back, with khaki canvas ammo belts hanging from his waist.
Some of the townsfolk carried more than just ammo belts at their waists. Their belts bulged with rows of homemade Molotov cocktails, as if they had no fear of being the first to turn themselves into blazing fireballs. These Mar Sara natives were the very image of fierce, battle-hardened spirit. More than a decade ago, they had already been shouting that the Confederacy was corrupt and incompetent.
Before the Confederacy began funneling settlers into the Sara system, Mar Sara's population had been made up mostly of soldiers and miners, simple folk at heart, while its sister world, Char Sara, had served as a dumping ground for convicts.
The Confederacy garrison at Backwater Station had long since lost the people's trust, and so the Revolutionary Army easily gained their support.
Looking back, the slogans shouted by the Revolutionaries might have been nothing more than empty promises. If Angus Mengsk and his son were truly ambitious opportunists, then perhaps all of this was simply their excuse for seizing power. Yet even if only ten percent of the Revolution's shining vision ever came to pass, that alone would be enough to win the Terran people's praise.
"The Revolutionaries are here—we're free!" As the army pressed deeper into the settlements outside Backwater Station, armed locals began joining their ranks.
Though Augustus had no real need for their help, he still felt a surge of encouragement.
"Won't you step forward and say a few words to them?" Kerrigan asked over the helmet comm, still close at his side.
"I can sense their hearts. They truly support us. Every one of them believes you'll bring change to the Koprulu Sector."
"Let our propaganda officers speak for me," Augustus replied, glancing around without stepping forward to meet the people's welcome.
"There's no podium here. I've nowhere to stand tall.
"Sergeant Faraday, get those civilians back to their homes," Augustus ordered next.
As his forces advanced, the wreckage of more and more bunkers came into view. The base's anti-air towers had already fallen into Revolutionary hands, and every so often, crimson-painted Wraiths and transports swept across the skies overhead.
By the time Augustus reached the command center of Backwater Station, the battle had already been over for ten minutes. Tychus was lounging in the garrison commander's chair, idly twirling a captured electromagnetic pistol in his hand.
The office was lavishly furnished. A white wool carpet covered the floor, and silver tableware sat on the conference table, beside several half-eaten roast chickens.
"Many families on Mar Sara are still starving, while the officers here feast," Augustus said with a sigh.
"You're too late," Tychus said to him. "I've already taken the prize."
"The Confederacy troops are worthless. If this had been back in the days of Heaven's Devils—"
"Shut it, Tychus." Augustus shot him a sharp look. "Every victory we've had so far has been because the enemy are fools. Don't fool yourself into thinking we're invincible."
"Look up there—see that security camera? It's still connected to the Confederacy's satellite network." Tychus, as usual, let Augustus's words slide in one ear and out the other.
"So… say something?"
"Exactly my thought." Augustus smiled faintly, lowering the visor of his powered armor.
Then, tilting his head upward, he slowly peeled off his nano-mask, revealing the handsome face that struck fear into the hearts of countless Confederacy officials.
"I am Augustus Mengsk. I will bring salvation and freedom to every Terran in the Koprulu Sector."
"I am your nightmare."
With that, Augustus drew his P220 electromagnetic pistol from his waist and fired. The shot struck the ceiling-mounted camera dead-on.
"Distribute all the food and ammunition from the supply depots to the local soldiers and civilians," Augustus ordered, holstering his pistol.
"This revolution is about to reach its boiling point," he said.
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