"Newb Eye for the SC Guy"
-Newbeye
|
| Phoenix Legion Chronicles: Part XI | | | Author: | | | IP: | XXXX | | Date: | 12/02/99 10:12 | | 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: 10, Min: 10
Lifetime Rating for .Praetor: 8.2987 |  | Well, it's Thanksgiving vacation, happy turkey day everyone! (Yeah, I took a long break before finishing this one.) I'm hoping to get a PL:C, PL, AND a Brigand done over the break (PL 8 and Brigand 3 have already been uploaded to Enforcerman). (Umm... nope, didn't happen.) In case you are catching the series for the first time, this story is a side story of the main Phoenix Legion novel at http://www.sclegacy.com/phoenix/, which is over a hundred pages. I have another novel at http://www.wclegacy.com/brigand. If you haven't read the previous installments of Phoenix Legion Chronicles, search for praetor (or go to the Hall of Fame and Johnny will do it for you =).
----------------------------------------------
My eyelids have begun to feel like lead. A large, steaming mug of black coffee rests in a cup holder in the arm of my command chair. It isn't having much effect, despite the taste. I begin to wonder if staying awake for well over twenty-four hours with no more than isolated cat-naps will hamper my performance. I push the thought out of my head as best I can. Instinct tells me that the crux is now. Reason tells me that this instinct is the product of fatigue, and I can't do much anyway.
My mind slowly wanders, glancing around the command center, seeing the officers pent up with tension, the slumped forms of those catching what slumber they can. Turning far to my left, I rest my eyes on the soft form of Major Torino. I hardly notice the dark bags under her eyes, surely a matching pair for my own.
Something wet and hot splashes on my thigh, making me wince in pain. In my stupor, my hand had remained gripping my coffee mug, and spilled it when I turned too far. At least I now know the vile brew is good for something. Taking in a deep breath, I mentally focus, desperately trying to regain continuity of thought. Like a snapping support, the fog covering my brain crumbles, and I take deep breaths, struggling to retain the sudden clarity.
An announcement from Major Renault brings me to full attention, all my faculties once again alert, "we've got another Golaith ready to roll off the factory lines!" This generates a cheer from all of the officers in the operations center, waking those who were asleep.
I look at the main screen, where the factory's blast door is opening, allowing the re-assembled Golaith to walk out of the work bay on its own power. The blast door, which only opens to release completed units, closes again quickly, protecting the intricate machinery contained within the factory. Looking around the base, I see five turrets left, all rapidly emptying missiles at the six interceptors left in the air. The Protoss Scouts hover menacingly behind the Carrier, protecting it and making any escape in the two transports hovering above my command center risky at best.
I settle on what I think would be the best move, when Renault orders the Golaith to move towards the nearest Protoss unit, a Scout. I decide to intervene. "Have the pilot move behind the second factory. I want it to advance on the Carrier with coverage from the turrets we have left. Tell him to release two missile volleys at the Carrier, and retreat behind the turrets.
The southern-most turret's stucture collapses, the impact of the main body with the moon's surface causing the remaining ammunition to explode. The Golaith ignores the loss, and advances between one of the gaps in the last four turrets. At its extreme range it stops to fire, missiles rising from the small ports on the Golaith's arms. I remember one of the Confederate-trained officers, an expert in arms development, telling me that the first Golaiths ever made had enormous capabilites against air targets, firing volleys of up to twenty-four missiles in one shot. The problem, he told me, was any marine or Wraith had a decent chance of hitting one of the exposed warheads, mounted in small boxes on the Golaith's shoulders, and killing the Golaith in the blink of an eye.
An Interceptor, the first of the series, hits the Golaith with its energy blasts, damaging the torso armor. After the second volley of missiles is off, the Golaith turns quickly and retreats behind the turrets. As I had hoped, the Scouts follow the Golaith, determined to destroy the presence of the mechanical walker. The Carrier works on downing another turret, but the automatic defense mechanisms in the turrets are programmed to fire at the most valuable target in range. In this case, the Scouts. Once behind turret range, the Golaith turns and fires as well. The three cannon magazines impact the Golaith at virtually the same time, scoring a lucky hit and cracking the pilot's wind sheild. I tensely await the next volley of missiles from the Golaith, hoping the pilot was not injured due to the break of armor.
The Scout pilots think the pilot is injured, their maneuvering thrusters swivel the sleek ships around, allowing them to destroy another turret in tandem with the Carrier's relentless attack. The Golaith pilot, however, is not dead. While doubtlessly injured, and possibly mortally exposed to the moon's poisonous atmosphere, he at least clings to enough life to aim and press the firing button. His volley impacts one of the Scouts already damaged by heavy turret fire, destroying the fighter's structural integrity. His blast, and the damage from turret missiles in the air before the Scout's destruction, reduce the Protoss ship to so much debris, most of it of a very small size.
I hope the pilot got some sort of satisfaction with the kill, for the remaining pair of Scouts turned again, with that amazing precision the Protoss have, and raked the Golaith cockpit with cannon fire, completely destroying all of the contents, operating computer and pilot both. The other two scouts, in attempting to finish the rest of the Legion's defenses, are shortly downed by turret fire.
Thus, in painful fashion, my aims with the maneuver are accomplished. The supporting scouts are destroyed, and the Carrier's shields, slowly regenerating, are depleted again. There is even minor structural damage. However, Protoss bravery did not count for nothing. Only two turrets are still standing. One of those is burning, and a seventh Interceptor has joined those already in the air.
Major Torino interupts my consideration on what to do about the remaining Carrier. "The Zerg fleet has arrived at the southern valley expansion, Commander." An image suddenly flashes through my head of the shapely major in command of a Battle Crusier, resisting a Zerg horde. The image is gone as soon as I think of it. I desperately need some sleep.
"Put the battle on the main screen." Overlords cover the ridge outside the expansion. Most pass directly over, but one stops to drop off troops. The first Hydralisk on the ground immediately fires spines at the nearby mine, but had little chance of disabling the device. The powerful explosion leave little remaining of the Zerg beast. Torino intrudes on my thoughts again, due to her exclamation of surprise. With the Overlord presence, the Zerg had to have known the mine was there. Apparently, the Caretaker didn't care. Three more Hydralisks wriggle out of the Overlord's belly, moving south, presumably to destroy the rest of the mines from a better range than the first.
The turret guarding the expansion is firing on one of the Overlords when the whole fleet stops, almost touching the ground. "I want an exact count." It is always best to know exactly how much trouble one is in. The turret severely damages one Overlord before being shredded by the explosive spines of Hydralisks. I frown, "why isn't that bunker firing?"
To my surprise, it is Major Renault that answers me, "sir! Our main base!" The first *thud* echoes faintly, but unmistakeably like doom in my ears. The worst part is, I can feel it in my bones, the slight tremor of my chair, and the floor it is attached to. Even in my sleep-deprived state, I know what that thud belongs to. The Carrier has gone straight for my Command Center.
"Main screen," I request, amazed at the calm in my voice. Maybe if I act like there is no problem, there won't be. After finishing the last turret, the Carrier advanced immediately to within range of the Command Center. The only thing even looking like a fortification is half of a ruined bunker destroyed by Scouts. "Everyone to the emergency cubes," I order quietly, "the SCV's will take those they can to the dropships. With the Scouts gone, we can make it to the island."
Major Renault stops me, "wait! There are marines coming!"
"What..." I follow the blue dot of Renault's laser pointer. Eight marines make their way across the wreckage of the first turret line, suddenly developing the tell-tale staggering run of soldiers affected by stim-packs. The first four marines run right into the seemingly-ruined bunker. The wreckage is illusionary, only half of the bunker has been collapsed. The half facing away from the center of the Legion base. Uranium bullets once again fly through the air, and the miniscule shield the Carrier had regenerated is quickly depleted.
The soft thuds end, and the screen tracks the interceptors new course, streaming towards one of the unprotected marines. The first marine dies before he is in range. The others, however, drop to their knees in a standard anti-air firing position, and continue the attack on the Carrier.
There are no orders to give. The marines are in range, and the Carrier is standing its ground, intent on continuing the attack. The Interceptors pick apart another marine, continuing their reign of terror. I watch, captivated, as the continous guass fire slowly erodes the armor on the Protoss capitol ship. The Carrier moves forward after the third and fourth marines have been killed. The Interceptors return to the ship, recharging any shields they may have lost. They are launched again. Shockingly, they pass over the bunker, dropping near the ground, and skimming their way to the exposed side of the bunker. They fire inside and swerve away, rising up and moving for another run.
The marines haven't shifted fire, still hitting the same exposed point on the Carrier's hull. Something inside the Carrier explodes, blowing a fourth of the mass off, ripping the engines in two. The shorn part of the carrier crashes to the ground. Top-heavy and with half of its engines faltering, the rest of the Carrier crashes as well. The interceptors continue on whatever their straight course was, and rocket into the ground, and explode. Three marines exit the wreckage of the bunker. I immediately hail them, "Men," I check the names to see if I need to congratulate women too, "Spike!"
"Damn Straight. Seems ya' forgot about me once you went big time. Well, I hear my old pal is under attack, and do you think I'm going to stick around some moldy old bunker and let you get our base razed? I don't think so."
"Spike, men, you have my gratitude. I'd much rather have you guys in a moldy old bunker near me than far from me. Remind me to play a few games of poker with you when this is all done."
"Aw, shucks, boss. You sure know the way to make a guy happy. Not every day a sucker asks to play me."
I smile and cut the transmission. "Renault, get that bunker repaired. Ummox and Torino, report."
Ummox turns to me, "we've set up a siege on the Protoss valley. Only one bunker and turret because of money limitations, but we're shelling now. We repulsed a small Carrier and Arbiter attack with EMP and the loss of those two damaged wraiths. No Protoss losses. Next attack, the Cruisers will be ready with Yamato."
"Two sci vessels completed. Golaith in 15 minutes." The production officer sticks in his piece when he can.
"Not all of the Overlords were full, Commander," Torino looks directly at me, "but most of them were. Our last expansion, save the island, has been completely razed. Even the mines on the ridge were taken out. Only the bunker occupants were saved, having already left. The Zerg are loading back into their Overlords, heading here."
I consider that. Silence reigns in the operations center. "Storm their base. Don't take any time with sieging. I want you in NOW. Keep the tanks unsieged, kill any resistance, and focus fire on the Hive immediately. Use stim-packs. I want those marines so drugged up, they don't know how to let go of the trigger." Normally I don't advocate the use of stim-packs. Reliance on their use can deprive a Commander of an effective infantry force when he or she most needs it. In this case, I am fairly sure I need them most now. "Ummox! Get the vultures to the main base. Have them move at full speed. I don't want them stopping for some insignificant Zealot on the way."
"Yes, sir. And sir, we just got lucky and Scratched a High Templar, we caught him at maximum tank range with comsat. The Protoss are coming at us again." I ignore Ummox. Right now his situation is the least of my worries.
------------------------------------------
Hoped you like it. I could use a pick-me-up right now, so send in those COMMENTS!!! I wonder who gets first =). |
|
|
|
Home
Forum
Starcraft Tournaments
