Two standard Earth hours later, around 18:00 on February 19, Augustus, who had already been standing for more than ten hours on the command island inside the command center, heard the rumble of artillery fire—like thunderclaps.
At this time of year, February nights fell especially fast. Above Fort Martin, leaden clouds were piled high; on the black dome of sky, shafts of bright orange light flickered from time to time—orbital spacecraft and fighters plummeting from high altitude.
The artillery could only have come from Alpha Squadron, since the Revolutionary Army lacked any organized corps of railguns, howitzers, or other artillery units. What they could rely on was only powered armor and Gauss rifles.
"How's the fleet holding up, Corporal Faraday?" Augustus asked, staring at the operations map on the projection screen and drawing a long breath.
"According to the report from the Second Fleet flagship, the Hyperion shot down Alpha Squadron's Ekaterina. Norad II and seven other battlecruisers badly mauled the Napoleon and Jackson V, forcing their flagship, Norad III, to evade through a tactical warp jump." The one speaking wasn't Corporal Faraday, but Sarah Kerrigan, who never left Augustus' side.
Hearing Kerrigan's voice, Augustus suddenly remembered that Corporal Faraday had already been sent by him to take charge of Fort Martin's outer defenses. Even though the fortress was as solid as a steel bastion, its defensive network airtight, and the forest of anti-air missile towers sealed its skies, Augustus still had to guard against Alpha Squadron's airborne troops.
"Well done," Augustus said. "What about our losses?"
"Norad II had its mid-decks pierced—some men died. The other battlecruisers only need armor rework and a new coat of paint." Kerrigan added, "Our ships are still chasing Duke's new flagship, Norad III. Shooting it down is only a matter of time."
"Tell my captains to expand the results before Alpha Squadron's other battlecruisers can rush back to support." Augustus ordered, "Once the fight is over, have the tugs haul that Alpha Squadron warship back to port. Don't waste even the smallest screw. Right now we're dirt poor—we can only act as scavengers and junkmen of the stars. Every abandoned warship means far more to us than ever before."
"And one more thing—tell my soldiers that Marshal Augustus Mengsk is proud of them."
Kerrigan nodded, noting everything down. By now she had already switched to new gear from Umoja: a deep-black biodegradable bodysuit inlaid with bronze-colored malleable alloy plates. Her chest, abdomen, forearms, and shins were all fully protected, and this equipment made her signature flame-red hair stand out even more strikingly.
As they spoke, the holo-projection screen in front of Augustus suddenly lit up with Tychus Findlay's image. The feed came from the camera on his CMC powered armor helmet; the lens jolted about—clearly, Tychus was running.
"Tychus Findlay calling command center. Mengsk, I've got at least two Alpha Squadron brigades on my tail. We've been running a whole day and night—our troop transports and assault vehicles ran dry of fuel in this desert. No refuel points anywhere—we had to ditch them."
Tychus' figure always carried the aura of ice-cold beer and cigars; inside his powered armor, it was forever shrouded in smoke, its air-circulation system like the lungs of a man ruined by tobacco.
"Luckily their vehicles ran out of fuel too—they could only run."
"There aren't any high-energy gas refineries from north to south, from the Capital District to Lorenza to the Sandworm Desert to the Desolate Gorge. I made that clear a month ago when we surveyed the terrain for the campaign—didn't you attend the operations meeting?" Augustus had already led Corporal Faraday and Kerrigan on an on-site reconnaissance of the terrain a month before planning the battlefield campaign, and after repeated consideration they set the operations plan.
"Was there such a thing?" Tychus had no clear recollection; after all, he had been catching up on sleep during the meeting.
"Consider it so." He didn't care much. "Alright, I'm drawing Alpha Squadron into an encirclement."
"Heh, are you ready to clip the hawk? Once we catch Edmund Duke, I'm going to cut off his wings and stuff him into a chicken coop."
"That's exactly what I want to do," Augustus said.
"Our feud with Alpha Squadron won't end that easily," Tychus chuckled. "I hear you're going to give Duke a cabinet position—no idea why a republic would have a cabinet. Tell you what: no matter what favors you give a viper, sooner or later it'll bite you. The best method is to chop off its head and salt it."
"I know you understand this better than I do. What you want isn't Duke the man but Alpha Squadron under his command."
"Promise them high office and fat rewards," Augustus said. "That method can win over many people."
"And Duke does have his merits—he's vicious, but he's ruthless."
"Or are you angling for a cabinet seat too, Tychus?"
"Come on, Mar Sara isn't independent yet and you're already thinking that far ahead," Tychus laughed. "If you ask me, once we smash the Terran Confederacy I'll open a little bar on Tarsonis, keep some 'daughters', and let the rest be ridiculous—yeah, that's exactly how I like it."
Augustus had long known Tychus was an asshole, so he was not surprised by anything he said.
"Hey, this is Jim. My men are nearing the Desolate Gorge. At bearing 055° I have an abandoned mining outpost—I think that's the scheduled rendezvous point." Jim Raynor's portrait appeared; its frame quickly took up half the holo-projection screen like a bubble, squeezing Tychus' window aside.
" Our concealment measures worked well; we haven't encountered any Alpha Squadron recon aircraft or scouting units. The orbital stations and satellites have been disabled by electromagnetic interference—there's no way they could detect us," Raynor said.
"Gods, I never expected that relic we dug out of Perdition's Crossing could be put to such use," he added.
"Ah? That thing is far more effective than any electromagnetic jamming device—any human communications gear will be disabled."
"The downside is that it's a double-edged sword—our ships are affected too," Augustus said.
Augustus had ordered Rory Swann to build a relic vessel specifically for the Xel'Naga artifact fragment, capable of amplifying the disruptive magnetic field produced by the fragment to the point of jamming enemy communications. Of course, the drawback was that Revolutionary forces within its radius would also be affected.
For the moment, the Revolutionary Army could not yet find more uses for the Xel'Naga artifact fragment.
"This is Lundstein. My forces have reached the Desolate Gorge X-53565 outpost." At that moment, the portrait of another Revolutionary commander appeared.
"This is Mira." Mira Han's portrait occupied a quarter of the main screen: "For the Revolutionary Army—fight!"
"You don't need to shout that every time, Mira," Augustus smiled.
"My political commissar and the captain insist on it," Mira laughed loudly. No one knew what amused Mira, but she laughed until she could hardly catch her breath.
"All right, repeat your missions." Augustus swept his finger across the screen, and a flat map of the Desolate Gorge appeared: wide at the entrance, narrowing as it went deeper, like the cross-section of a beer bottle.
"I will lure Duke into the gorge and, together with Harnack's fire-bat units, block Alpha Squadron at the bottleneck," Tychus said.
"And we'll enter the gorge afterward and attack Duke from the rear," Raynor and the others said in unison.
"A pincer attack from front and rear," Tychus said. "You know how much I like playing that way."
...
Mar Sara, Desolate Gorge, local time 16:23.
The Confederacy troops were marching through the wide entrance of the Desolate Gorge. Clad in bright-white CMC-300 powered armor, Alpha Squadron's soldiers advanced across the crimson desert like a silver-white flood.
Because there were no large refineries locally, every military fuel depot and supply center had already been looted by the Revolutionary Army. Compressed fuel refined and distilled from vespene gas could only be delivered by airdrop, so few could ride in armored vehicles. Fortunately, powered armor greatly conserved the wearer's stamina, allowing them to march all day.
While Alpha Squadron's fleet was locked in bitter fighting in orbit, compressed fuel supply became a major problem. The landing troops of Alpha Squadron could only obtain fuel from the locals on Mar Sara—of course they didn't pay, relying entirely on theft, deceit, or outright robbery.
Wherever the Confederacy forces represented by Alpha Squadron passed, popular resentment boiled over. The army forcibly requisitioned all vehicles and roads, gunning down any Mar Sara locals who dared resist and branding them rebels.
Thus, in less than a day, Alpha Squadron had already killed countless enemies.
Most soldiers marched on foot, while officers rode in command cars and armored vehicles. All fuel was prioritized for heavy trucks hauling artillery, tanks, and Goliath combat walkers.
Even so, those Alpha Squadron officers hailing from the warm comforts of Tarsonis still complained about Mar Sara's wretched desert and its equally miserable food, clothing, and shelter. The wailing wind constantly whipped up rust-colored sand, staining everything in this world the same hue.
The complaining stayed only among the senior officers. Their re-socialized troops toiled without complaint, like mules and donkeys, firmly believing this was merely a trial for soldiers.
And as the number of re-socialized soldiers steadily increased, these brain-surgery-altered troops began to take on more duties. In Alpha Squadron's combat units, the highest rank attained by a re-socialized soldier had already risen to lieutenant. That meant an entire platoon, commander included, consisted solely of soldiers who could only execute orders mechanically.
Thanks to the Re-socialization Program, discipline was no longer a problem. Every troublemaker and unstable factor had been permanently and completely removed, and combat effectiveness far surpassed the past.
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