"sorry for being premature, that's a bob thing"
- CrackHeadJeb
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| Phoenix Legion Chronicles: Part IX | | | Author: | | | IP: | XXXX | | Date: | 11/12/99 05:11 | | Game Type: | Starcraft | | Labels: | Famous Reporter(1), Starcraft(1), Old Classic(1), Text Only(1), Fan Fiction(1), Series(1) | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 9, Min: 9
Lifetime Rating for .Praetor: 8.2987 |  | You know, I'm rather depressed. See, I go out and do these huge productions, like my recent comprehensive analysis of WarCraft III (www.wclegacy.com/war3/analysis), or chapters of Phoenix Legion, and what do I get? Nothing! Nada! Not even a decent flame! I start a string on the wclegacy forums to make myself more accessible. Not a single reply. I found myself immensely glad WC Town Hall has a comment function on their news items, that's the closest thing to a response I get. Though I got good news coverage on that and other things, the same goes for Phoenix Legion and Brigand, no one says anything! Soooo, I'm back here, where Mark4 starts a chant and people love me. I love you too, in the purely inanimate way a creator loves feedback.
Speaking of other stuff, my inevitable plugs, Brigand (2 chapters) can be found at www.wclegacy.com/brigand, and Phoenix Legion (7 chapters) can be found at www.sclegacy.com/phoenix. As always, if you have not read the previous chapters of Phoenix Legion: Chronicles, do a search by my name and read the previous ones.
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Ummox appears to be in complete control of the battle in the North. I still worry about his command, a small knot of panic in my stomach telling me I was a fool, and a damn fool, to place such an inexperienced officer in charge of the most important field of battle. It is when things are hottest, when the stakes are as high as they will ever be, that doubt grows within me. Mentally, I second-guess every order, wondering if a mistake will kill my entire command. I never let this show during a crisis. Oddly enough, in controlling my visceral reaction, I am outwardly more decisive than ever. It's good for morale, even if I wonder how much gray hair each battle will end up giving me.
Of course, I wonder more often if I will live to worry about gray hair. The state of the Western Front is conducive to such thoughts. The Protoss fleet descended upon my west-center valley expansion like a hammer falls on a grape. Within minutes the peripheral defense, a bunker and a missile turret, had been razed, with no damage to the fleet. The only bright spot in the whole affair was the clean evacuation of the tank and SCV's in the area.
Currently, dual-engined and dual-armed interceptors weave patterns above the burning command center, the silent, robotic fighters constantly in motion. To your average Terran, the only thing more frightening than a flight of interceptors are Zerg broods. Not because an interceptor, or even a flock of interceptors, are particuarly lethal. No, it is their nature. Silent, mechanical, unstoppable, they return again and again, beating upon anything that stands in their way. It's really the wave formation that makes them so scary. One after another, a constant battering nothing can withstand for long. What makes it worse is the knowledge in every heart that their trip back to the carrier will rejuvenate them, renewing shields and weapon charges.
They are silent, interceptors. Their engines make no sound, to the unaware, the first warning is the sound of approaching death. Interceptors use standard Protoss energy weapons. Completely clean and noiseless. Except for the sound of air violently expanding near the dual super-heated blasts. No one quite knows why the air movement causes a *thunk* sound. This has not stopped marines from telling death-row jokes about not answering the door when someone or something knocks on the bunker wall. A few wraith pilots speak of another noise from carriers, again created by movement of air. A few, incredibly, few, pilots have flown close enough to hear the launching of intercepots. They claim that small sphinchter-doors open up on the sides of the carriers. The rapid open, ejection of an interceptor, and close of the door apparently has a distinctive high-pitched sound. Hot shots and top guns theorize the ultimate kill, launching missiles just in time to enter the carrier after the interceptor leaves. No pilot has ever reported a successful attempt.
Not to say Terrans have never defeated carriers. We have, but it is these victories that make the enemy all the more intimidating. Carriers can be killed, sure, after making the awful choice of attacking the interceptor flights, or the mobile factories themselves. If you go for the carriers, your forces have to take the full brunt of the enemy fleet's offense as you wear them down, and that is after you get in range. Attacking the interceptors though, is trying to destroy a cyclopean wall. It must be destroyed brick by brick, or interceptor by interceptor. It doesn't help that more interceptors can be built on the battlefield, or that they recharge sheild regularly. And of course the carriers can just retreat anyhow.
I suppose at heart I am a pessimist. Any enemy unit is to be feared. There is not a single element of an army - any army - that is not intensly feared. I could be brooding on the horrible magic of the templar, or the sadism of defilers, or the mass of a battlecruiser. Anything capable is rightfully feared by soldiers. And any element not capable on the battlefield has long since been killed. No, carriers are frightening, but I brood on them because they have attacked.
The command center is almost destroyed, there is obviously no hope for the two officers and twenty-odd recruits stationed inside. Even if they made it outside, the poisonous gasses in the atmosphere would kill them. Repeated attacks by interceptors have cracked the outer armor, and have nearly carved their way to the internal reactor.
Away from the main fleet, six of the ten scouts accompanying the carriers and small fighters have broken off, making their way along the ridge circling the resource node. They fly lazily, their speed nothing near what Protoss technology is capable of. I watch, curious, as they suddenly brake, nice reverse thrusters there, and open fire with their cannons. From each scout, a short series of rounds spits out of their guns, the small explosives digging into the dirt. At the end of the volley, there is a bigger explosion, and I watch as one of the mines guarding the ridge is set off. Obviously guided by an observer, the scouts move again, clearing the high ground of hazards.
Major Renault has not been idle. After the tragic loss of several SCV's as they attempted to construct missile turrets during the battle, he pulled back the remainder of his forces to the Legion's main base. All save six SCV's, which are building turrets out of the range of the Protoss fleet. Simply as a delaying factor, they are not a bad idea, though six might be excessive. I smile, however, when I notice where Renault placed those turrets. Right at the base of the cliff rising out of the main valley, towards the Legion base.
"Pulling the wraith group over here to deal with a few structures deep in the Zerg valley," says Major Torino, drawing my attention over to her Eastern theatre of operations. I nod my head thoughtfully. The wraiths are already on their way, my lack of objection enough assent for action. The deployment makes sense. Tanks overlooking the valley outside the main Zerg plateau have managed to shell most of the structures in the valley, destroying a sunken colony, an extractor, a hatchery, and the hydralisk den. However, for some odd reason, the Zerg have grown two evolution chambers right at the base of the Zerg cliff. To finish razing structures in the valley with the forces she has, Torino would have to move her troops or a portion of them into the valley, making them vulnerable to attack. The wraiths can simply obliterate the growths from the air.
So far pleased with the actions of my officers, I have the main screen focus on Ummox's operations in the north. I sit shocked, the tight knot of panic tightening as I review his formation. Only one tank is sieged, slowly shelling the Protoss base. Of course, the tank is only in range of the outermost cannon and pylon. The other three tanks, and four of Ummox's eight golaiths rest to the sieged tank's left, doing apparently nothing. The other four golaiths have taken position on the ridge directly across from the mining probes. The two battle cruisers and the science vessel have moved north, swung east, and are currently approaching the Protoss base from the north.
Angrily, I shift in my chair. "Ummox! What on earth are you doing? I said I wanted that base taken out, and fast!"
I wait a few seconds for him to give some more orders. Whatever one things of present tactics, it is the height of foolishness to leave units in the field without direction. "Yes, sir. When first gaining the high ground, one dragoon had to be killed. Because of that, the Protoss knew for sure we were there. In an attempt to keep the enemy in the dark as to the force attacking, as well as limit casualties from the templar, I ordered only one tank to begin shelling. The idea is to wait until the full force can be brought into play."
Angry, I tally of points on my fingers. "Number one, your full force is split, your air is seperated from your ground. Number two, your four golaiths to the north of the seiged tank are vulnerable to psionic strom. Most importantly, number three, time is of the essence. I want that base destroyed, and I want it destroyed NOW!"
Suitably chastised, Ummox nods, his face pained. "Sorry sir, the attack is underway sir." I look at the main screen and see that Ummox has indeed been executing a plan. A slow one, but a good plan. The golaiths are maneuvering to the west side of the ridge, facing the Protoss main base. The three unsieged tanks position themselves on the other side, preparing to fire upon the sheilded buildings in the valley. The battlecruisers are charging their Yamato guns, the strange red 'sprites' no physicist can account for gathering at the forward batteries of the two cruisers.
The cannons in the south of the base pop up from their ground-level position, the varied levels seemlessly raising up upon themselves to create a perfect firing point for hitting ground and air positions. In a bright flash of light, the cannons are obliterated, large smoking craters and undistinguishable Protoss ruins the only indication they ever existed. The science vessel, which had activated the automated defenses, stops in the air over the ruins, and its batteries now glow. On the main screen, nothing happens. Glancing at the small iconographic situation map on my chair's monitor shows both templar guarding the base marked with a green glow. I nod to myself. Rather than choose one templar to hit with an Electro-Magnetic-Pulse wave, if the science vessel even had a generator installed, Ummox has neutralized both templar with the silent, wasting death of radiation poisoning.
Expecting no further significant resistance, Ummox has all the tanks on the ridge place themselves in siege mode to bombard the base. "Pulling half of the vulture response group to prevent probe evacution by the Protoss." I raise my eyebrows in appreciation. There is something to be said for slow and thourough. Still, nothing goes exactly as one plans. As the tanks pound a second cannon into rubble with concentrated barrages, the probes gather together, and are illuminated by an odd blue rift above them. Seconds later, they are gone.
Ummox looks angry at the disruption to what he surely assumed was a perfect plan. I simply shrug. If Nezalis wants to waste a recall on some insignificant probes, that's his choice. "Yeah, that's the ticket!," this from Major Renault. Ummox and I turn to look at him, and the major blushes.
"Care to explain your love of probes, major?" My voice is simply wry, making Renault know I'm not terribly upset.
"S-sorry sir, it's not that. The turrets I sent at the edge of the ridge caught the scouts clearing out the mines by surprise. We shot two down, and another is severely injured. And the carriers are still going to have to take some time to clear out the turrets." Renault is steady enough to keep embarassment from bothering him.
"Very good major, carry on." I look back at the main screen, shifting in my seat. The northern battle is still portrayed, a third cannon destroyed. "Ummox, what is that?" I point to a glowing white ball of energy in the Protoss base.
"Sir that's... what in the heavens? I have no idea sir."
Frowning, I look at my situation map to see if it has any clues. It has no idea what to make of the object either, a large U in the position of the ball, for unknown. I start to look back up at the screen, and then crack my neck in a double-take, wrenching my vision back to the situation map. Why would a ball of Protoss energy be a strong source of radiation? I think back to the godly vision I had seen from the camera of a mine, earlier in the battle. Could it be? "It's an archon." My voice holds more than a touch of awe. "I know Raynor told us they were formed when Protoss templar gave their lives, but I never thought to see it. You must have forced them to sacrifice themselves when you irradiated them, Ummox."
"Well, I'll be..." Ummox tails off, never actually stating what he'll be. He does, however, give the command for the tanks to fire upon the ball of psionic energy in the middle. Strangely enough, his golaiths also open fire. An arbiter has approached the ridge, and is taking fire from the golaiths. I doubt Nezalis had expected the golaiths to be there, as the arbiter slows to a near halt, and forms a rift beneath it, but above the ground. One golaith's missile fire is interrupted when the ordinance passes into, but not out of the glowing blue field of energy. Still, the other golaiths prove up to the task, and the arbiter takes a critical hit to its energy core, destroying the massive vessel in a blinding explosion of clean psionic energy. Strangely, no debris falls to the ground.
Rather, my forces find themselves under attack. The golaith directly below the dissipating energy field is quickly gutted by eight psi-blades from capable zealots suddenly nearby. One of the tanks takes disruptor fire from two dragoons, a deep crater now evident in the tank's turret. "Unsiege the tanks!" Ummox nods, understanding the range is far to small for the tanks to use their siege weapons effectively or safely. He leaves the battlecruisers to deal with the budding archon and the last cannon in the Protoss base. I watch one golaith get a lucky shot off. His bullets push one zealot back, tripping himself over the hands of another, unlucky Protoss soldier. The recall had not gone off perfectly, and a single zealot had been forced to hang on to the edge of the cliff for his life. Now dislodged by the zealot forced back by machine-gun fire, both fall to their deaths in the lava below. I pity them, forced to contemplate their deaths or relive their lives, or whatever the Protoss do, in the minute it will take for the heat of the molten rock to dissipate their sheilds.
I continue to fret. There is really little a commander can do to direct troops in a melee. Either they have been trained well or they haven't. Phoenix Legionaries definitely have excellent training, but that doesn't still the helpless feeling in any commander's breast during a close battle. A golaith is crippled, its legs severed from the torso. The pilot might yet survive. In a stunning move, a zealot shows that the Protoss recieve excellent training as well, or at least this one is singularly brave. Two more dragoon blasts had etched a deep crater in the targeted tank, which was still struggling to bring its standard weaponry to bear. Of course, this tactic has diminishing returns, as the deeper a crater in a unit, the harder it is for concentrated fire to hit the right place to deepen the crater. The zealot solves this problem by leaping on the tank, and diving into the new gap in the tank's armour. Visible from the waist down, the tank is rendered useless when its drive mechanism is disabled, prohibiting movement or the completion of transformation back to tank mode.
With training on both sides, and no room to maneuver, a battle simply comes down to numbers and luck. Luck is with the Phoenix today, and so are the numbers. The remaining Protoss warriors, of eight zealots and two dragoons originally warped in, are quickly killed after the tanks convert into tank mode, with a loss of three golaiths and the one tank. I am pleased to see Ummox has the situation in hand, as the battlecruisers finish destroying the last defensive cannon in the expansion, and a transport wings its way north with Space Construction Vehicles for repairs.
Major Renault interrupts the quiet in the operations center, "sir!, the delaying turrets are gone." I'm about to ask him why I need to know this, when he continues, "six carriers have peeled off, heading north east. The remaining two, the scouts, and the small fighter group have engaged our defenses in the valley adjoining our main base. And nothing is happening! The turret won't fire, and the marines just sit there! I can't do anything to stop them."
My mouth falls open. I can't think of anything to say.
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Comment, comments, comments! And sorry for any errors in the story (especially spelling). I still don't have a spellchecker. I was about to pick up Word 2000, when read the sys req's. 16megs of ram for Windows and 4megs for the program itself. I only have 16 megs total. Argh!!!!! Oh well, thank goodness for WordPad. |
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