The headquarters of the Revolutionary Army had been set up inside the state government building of Hinterland Region. It was a classically styled structure, axially symmetrical, its strict geometric lines and domed upper levels standing in stark contrast to the many decaying immigrant dwellings scattered across the region.
Augustus sat with his staff officers and military advisers in the building's assembly hall, which occupied an entire floor and was large enough to seat five hundred. The chamber was adorned with golden chandeliers, rose-colored marble wall tiles, and luxurious wool carpets, creating an atmosphere of regal opulence.
The building's original owner had clearly added many flourishes to suit his personal taste: slender square support columns ran between the wooden ceiling and the floor, reinforcing the retro-styled design. Yet beneath this old-world decor lay concealed arrays of precision electronics. Hidden beneath the floor and behind the smooth stone walls, an enormously costly climate-control system ensured that, despite the desert outside, the temperature within remained steady and comfortable year-round.
In just three short days, Augustus's most trusted lieutenant, Tychus Findlay, had broken the resistance of Hinterland's militia and planetary defense forces—less than two thousand in number and poorly equipped—through a series of forceful night raids. The Revolutionary Army quickly took possession of the state government and its sprawling network of subordinate offices, raising the red flag of the Whip Circle over the tallest building.
As for Hinterland's governor and the judicial officer who had once been Augustus's friend, they had already fled toward the capital aboard a private shuttle disguised as a luxury air-yacht. Their escape was short-lived: the Revolutionary Army's air corps, holding uncontested control of the skies, shot it down soon after.
"General Raynor's forces have secured complete control of Lorenzana Province. In his most recent report, he asked the operator to pass along his greetings to you," one of Augustus's military advisers reported from within the hall.
"From the intercepted and decrypted communications, it appears that the governor of Mar Sara has been sending a constant stream of encrypted requests for aid to the government on Tarsonis and to the nearest Confederate fleet. The signals span the entire frequency band—impossible to miss," said a chief of staff.
"As you predicted, he's desperate to summon outside power. He refuses to admit he has been defeated by the Revolutionary Army."
He is panicking.
"The governor of Mar Sara is a coward, a man of indulgence and excess. His retinue consists of incompetent sycophants who won their posts by pandering to his vices. No matter how absurd his behavior, I find nothing about it surprising." Augustus's face remained like stone as he addressed his subordinates. Unless Raynor or Tychus were present, he never smiled during briefings or when issuing orders.
"At present, we control eight of the major colonial provinces. Only St. Joanna and the capital district remain under enemy hands. Taking those as well is only a matter of time." His eyes burned with intensity, and everyone present found themselves listening to his every word with undivided focus.
By mid-February, the rapidly shifting tides on Mar Sara finally drew the attention of the Confederate Congress on Tarsonis. Across the many colonial worlds of the Terran Confederacy, people set aside their lingering fear over the destruction of Korhal IV and once more began to speak of revolution—and of freedom.
Even the Kel-Morian Combine and the Umoja Protectorate had fixed their gaze on a backward, desolate, and unsightly world at the very edge of the Terran Confederacy.
Though the colonial governor of Mar Sara refused to acknowledge that his office had completely lost contact with Hinterland and several other provincial governments, it was already an undeniable fact that more than eight colonies—and the over twenty million people living there—had fallen under rebel control.
Multiple military bases had collapsed, supplies from depots had been plundered, and the maglev transport hubs on the ground now served the rebels, moving troops and materiel. The government forces were powerless to reclaim lost ground; they could only retreat into the capital district where the governor's office stood, consolidating what strength remained for defense.
"The reason we haven't pressed the attack to liberate the people of these regions is simple: we need the governor of Mar Sara to keep begging the Core Worlds for help." Augustus continued, "As long as we crush the first Confederate fleet that arrives, the rest will hesitate."
"If the Confederate admiral chooses to send reinforcements only after gathering several full squadrons, then in a fleet engagement we may find ourselves at a disadvantage," his chief of staff interjected. "We may have no choice but to abandon Mar Sara."
"We'll have to leave Mar Sara sooner or later. We can't hold it forever," someone added at once.
"Then we'll force them into a ground invasion," Augustus said, his mind already playing at the level of grand strategy. "If they decide to flatten every uprising with nuclear fire the moment it appears, then we will indeed have to revise our plans."
As he was speaking, Augustus suddenly felt a finger poke at his side. Turning, he saw Sarah Kerrigan, her hair a fiery red.
"Don't stop—keep going. I need the staff to have a new plan by tonight, one concerning the seizure of the major gas refineries in the northern hemisphere." With that, Augustus left the hall.
"What is it?" he asked Kerrigan after following her out into the corridor and shutting the heavy doors of the assembly room behind them.
"Lieutenant General Warfield's fleet has arrived in the Sara system. They're currently stationed at the edge of the system," Kerrigan told him.
"That is excellent news." Augustus's eyes lit up.
Back in August of last year, Warfield and six other battlecruisers had been too badly damaged to return to combat, forcing them to retreat to one of the Umoja Protectorate's massive shipyards for repairs. Now, more than half of February had passed, and only after six months of painstaking work by Umojan engineers had the warships escaped the fate of being scrapped or retired ahead of schedule.
At the start of last month, Augustus had ordered Warfield's fleet to head to Mar Sara. Their roundabout route had delayed them greatly, but it allowed them to avoid two Confederate fleets massed along the Umojan border.
"Where is my general?" Augustus first asked Kerrigan. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Horace Warfield approaching from the far end of the corridor.
Warfield was dressed in the deep gray uniform of a Revolutionary Navy soldier, devoid of medals or ribbons. His dark face bore an expression as hard and unyielding as steel.
As soon as Augustus saw Warfield, he burst into hearty laughter, the booming voice of the Revolutionary Army's marshal echoing through the entire corridor. Even the ever-stoic Warfield could not help but show a smile.
The two men embraced, then clasped hands twice in succession.
"It truly makes me happy to see you again," Augustus said to Warfield. "I've spent more than a year in Turaxis, traveling from place to place, and then over half a year here on Mar Sara—far from my old comrades and family."
"Haha… I've heard you've been doing well on Mar Sara, digging up quite a haul of rare crystals." Warfield exchanged pleasantries with Augustus before speaking of his experiences in Umoja.
"I met your family—they're all doing well."
"Is Mother and Dorothy adjusting to life in Umoja?" Augustus's smile faded.
"Lady Catherine misses her homeland, but she's at peace," Warfield said. "Angus and Arcturus dared not send your sister to a Umojan university, so they hired private tutors instead. She doesn't seem too pleased about it."
"Dorothy excels at everything she does," Augustus nodded. "We arranged her studies according to her interests. She's especially skilled in finance, and her grasp of politics already far surpasses that of most people."
"By declaring ruined Korhal part of the Umoja Protectorate, Angus managed to secure a seat in the Umojan Parliament," Warfield explained. "He may not be able to rise any further, but at least he has found firm footing there."
"Declaring Korhal part of Umoja… in the long run, that's not a wise choice," Augustus thought to himself, convinced it would give Umoja grounds for future claims.
"Perhaps, but it was the best choice for the Korhal refugees stranded in Umoja," Warfield replied. Then a shadow of sorrow crossed his face. "I have bad news—Angus's mental state has taken a turn for the worse."
"Angus has begun to suffer from insomnia. He needs sedatives to sleep. It takes all his courage just to face his people, though they still love him dearly." Warfield sighed. "No one has ever blamed him, yet he must hold himself responsible for Korhal's destruction. His excessive self-reproach has left him deeply wounded."
"The fall of Korhal was certainly a blow to Angus, but I don't believe such a setback could break him completely." Augustus paused for a moment before asking, "Who is in charge of my family's security now?"
"Colonel Field," Warfield answered. "The Umojan Shadow Academy has assigned agents to protect Senator Angus and his family. At the same time, your elder brother has personally arranged for many loyal men to guard them as well."
"You mean the Sons of Korhal?" Augustus asked. Arcturus had never concealed from him the fact that he had founded the group.
The Sons of Korhal were now composed of the most bitterly anti-Confederate Korhalites. Arcturus had deliberately gathered them together, and with his fiery, incendiary speeches, he had turned them into extremists who would stop at nothing for the sake of revenge.
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