"Colonel Duke, have your Alpha Squadron land on Mar Sara as soon as possible." The Governor of Mar Sara was running out of patience; he feared Duke would stand by and watch the capital district fall.
"Otherwise you'll bear at least half the responsibility for Mar Sara's collapse. I'll report your cold indifference exactly as it is."
"Richard, I've always said you're slow-witted—and I wasn't wrong." Duke's swagger swelled to its peak. "A fox tumbles into the hunter's trap, and now it threatens the hand about to pull it free."
"You snake! Mar Sara is about to fall and you're still shouting here!" the governor snapped, livid and humiliated.
"Then let's see whose fault it is." Duke gave the order for his adjutant to cut the link.
Over the governor's hysterical roaring, Duke cooled, his sharp, angular head already shaping a new operational plan. Alpha Squadron was carrying a fair number of small tactical nuclear warheads—enough to flatten a medium-sized city and turn roughly 78 km² into scorched earth.
But the images on Norad III's bridge main screen—shot by Mar Sara's orbital satellites—showed that in the southern hemisphere's capital district the rebels' positions had already overlapped with those of the governor's Planetary Defense Force and organized militia, tangled together like roots.
An orbital bombardment would inevitably cause collateral casualties, and precision strikes could not wipe out rebels who were constantly on the move. To retake Mar Sara, Duke would have to put Alpha Squadron into landing craft and drop from low orbit to defeat Augustus Mengsk's rebels.
To annihilate the entire capital district, however, would bring moral condemnation; he would have to answer for the deaths of nearly 500,000 Mar Sara civilians and tens of thousands of Confederacy troops—though Duke himself scarcely cared.
When it came down to it, Duke could find ten thousand excuses to avoid a court-martial. For example: the ruthless rebels had released a terrible virus in the capital district, everyone was already infected, and Alpha Squadron had been forced to "purify" the contaminated ground.
For now, at least, Duke did not have the authority to deploy nuclear weapons at will. In truth, he was not keen to earn a butcher's reputation; massacring civilians would only create more trouble for his already rocky path to promotion, and more often than not he preferred to lead from the front to prove his courage.
"Adjutant, aside from those battlecruisers, is there any other rebel fleet in the Sara system?" Duke looked out the bridge viewport at the orange-brown planet of Mar Sara. In the Battle of Tarsonis six months earlier, twenty-six rebel warships had appeared and been recorded; fourteen had ultimately succeeded in jumping away.
That did not match the number of rebel warships now in the Sara system—unless the rebel fleet had split into several smaller task forces.
"Sir, our reconnaissance elements and radar still haven't detected additional rebel fleets in the Sara system," the adjutant replied.
"Given the sharp spike in their energy index, they're preparing to jump."
"We can't let them go," Duke said after a few seconds of silence. "Bring the fleet ahead—interdict that rebel fleet."
At that moment, the bridge's main screen lit up again.
"A comm request from the Mar Sara Marine Division command center. The officer in command is—" The adjutant hadn't finished before Duke cut him off.
"Patch him through." Duke stood ramrod straight; he had already anticipated what this might be.
"Duke. The last time we met was in the Dead Man's space. Earlier than that, it was on Turaxis." The face on the Norad III's main bridge display belonged to Augustus.
Because of the various electromagnetic interference bands in wartime, the image wavered, snow and static flickering across the holographic projection. Even so, the signature gray hair and gray eyes of the Mengsk line—and that chiseled, statuesque face—imprinted themselves on every Alpha Squadron trooper watching.
On-screen, Augustus wore a dark gray military greatcoat and a broad-brimmed service cap bearing the Revolutionary Army's insignia, seated alone on a single sofa. The cap's visor cut off the light stabbing in from the window, sinking half an eye into shadow.
Behind him stood Corporal Faraday and Sarah Kerrigan, while Revolutionary soldiers in deep-gray uniforms hurried back and forth across a wide command island.
Augustus Mengsk—the rebel leader—had, since the Guild Wars, become virtually synonymous with insurrection: he stirred riots, stoked war, and brought a black terror to world after world.
At the moment, Augustus was plainly inside the circular command island crowning a Command Center. There, the walls were panes of light-transmitting tempered glass, from which Confederacy commanders could look down over an entire encampment. A Terran Confederacy Command Center was a near-square megastructure cast from steel and refined crystal, its exterior clad in sloped plasteel plating—enough to shrug off shellfire and even small nuclear blasts.
For years, Confederacy commanders had used that raised command island to monitor, via console, every tier of barracks, military base, and combat unit. The fact that Augustus was now seated there proved one thing: Mar Sara's Marine Division had already been defeated.
"Mengsk, if you're here to reminisce, we have nothing to discuss." Duke made no attempt to hide his loathing. "For a traitor like you, the only thing I'll give is a bullet."
"Heh." A smile touched Augustus's face. He tapped the screen. "I assumed you'd be at least a lieutenant general by now. Why are you still wearing a colonel's tabs?
"Can't bring yourself to part with the old uniform?"
Veins jumped on Duke's forehead. He wanted to snap back, but the words stuck for an instant—for the simple reason that it was true. After a moment's silence, his anger burned hotter.
"Before he retired, Arcturus was already a colonel, and you've served nearly three times as long as he did. Of course, we both know that even in the Marine Corps, that pace of promotion is awfully slow."
"None of your concern." Duke's instinct was to kill the link, but that would only make him look guilty—and that, he could not swallow.
In the past it had always been Duke who mocked others, issuing orders with a crooked finger. When had it ever been this former little second lieutenant's turn to throw barbs?
"What do you think you are now? A dog with no home. Korhal has already been destroyed—do you mean to bring the people of Mar Sara to the same end?"
"Edmund Duke." Augustus did not answer him directly; he was plainly steering the conversation toward ground that favored him.
"Look at you—talent stifled and pressed down." He sighed. "With your ability, you should never be confined to a mere colonel."
"In the Confederacy Navy, even reaching colonel may be the end of the road. With me, not only will I make you a general—there will also be a seat for you in the new cabinet."
"When the time comes, you'll be an Elder of the new Terran Confederacy, a pillar of the state."
"I don't know if all madmen like you enjoy daydreams," Duke hissed through clenched, split teeth. "The Confederacy Navy has a thousand battlecruisers and more worlds besides, while you people are just pitiful wretches scurrying from place to place. The Mengsk line, with its wolf totem, is nothing but a pack of drowning dogs now."
"I am of Tarsonis's Old Families, while the Mengsks are manor lords of a minor world."
"Bring your Alpha Squadron over to my banner." Augustus spoke as if he hadn't heard a word Duke said, continuing on at his own pace.
"I'll give you everything you've wanted and failed to obtain. Or would you rather spend your life as a colonel, a joke to the rest of House Duke?"
"Hmph." Duke let out a short, scornful laugh. In a sense, Augustus's words had struck a nerve. Failing to become a general—to take the next step—was a wound that never stopped aching in Duke's heart.
But Duke cooled quickly. Staring into the screen, he said, "Why needle me on purpose? To stall for time so your army and fleet can pull out—"
"This is just a hologram you recorded in advance, and the real you is somewhere on Mar Sara—no. Someone as sly as you is probably with the fleet in synchronous orbit, ready to leave whenever you wish."
"No, this is not a prerecorded hologram," Augustus replied.
"I simply find your words both foolish and not worth discussing," he said. "My promises to you always stand."
"Join us, and you won't be merely House Duke's Edmund Duke. People will speak your name first—and only then think of your House."
"You think I'd believe—" Duke hadn't finished when Augustus's face vanished from the screen.
"Lock that command center's coordinates!" Duke shook with fury.
"We can't confirm whether this was prerecorded, nor whether even that location was genuine," the adjutant said. "Your lack of promotion isn't a secret; since the Guild Wars, new generals have their investitures in public—"
"Shut up." Duke spat the two words like ice.
"Listen. We don't know whether Augustus Mengsk is inside that command center or aboard the fleet in synchronous orbit—but it doesn't matter."
"I'll smash every force Augustus Mengsk has until I find him!"
"This is very likely a trap," the adjutant warned.
"To hell with traps," Duke roared, shaking with rage. "They're everywhere. Am I supposed to tiptoe because of that?"
"Pass my orders. Prep the landing pods. I'm going down to Mar Sara myself to crush Augustus Mengsk's rebels!"
---
I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> patreon.com/TitoVillar
---