It was the second day since the Revolutionary Army fleet had arrived in the Tarsonis system. Like every soldier aboard the fleet, Augustus Mengsk hadn't closed his eyes in 42 hours.
Augustus's forces had completely routed the Confederacy fleet stationed at Tarsonis, along with two additional fleets that had arrived at different times as reinforcements—21 battlecruisers in total. Eleven had been destroyed, and the rest were forced into temporary retreat.
But the Revolutionary fleet had paid a heavy price. Augustus had permanently lost 9 of his 26 battlecruisers. Three more were so badly damaged they couldn't keep up with the main fleet, and the rest had sustained varying degrees of damage.
At present, Raynor's Hyperion was dispatching shuttles to the battlecruisers whose thrusters had been disabled, retrieving the crew stranded aboard.
Norad II, along with nine other Behemoth-class Revolutionary battlecruisers, was firing at both the upper and lower sections of Tarsonis's stratospheric orbital platform, concentrating fire on its key installations. Through the bridge viewport before Augustus, he could see torrents of bullets pouring from the platform's automated turret batteries.
At this point, the ship's shield power had been fully depleted. Like the other cruisers, the Norad II was relying solely on its heavy armor plating to endure the barrage.
Augustus watched it all in silence. For 40 hours straight, the roar had never left his ears—the unending conversations of officers on the bridge, the thunderous symphony of coordinated fleet bombardments on the main screen. It had never stopped.
On one of the magnified screens, a Tarsonis orbital defense platform was seen breaking apart and descending into the planet's atmosphere. According to the Norad II's AI sub-commander, the platform would crash into a peninsula jutting from one of Tarsonis's continental plates—triggering a forest fire ten times the size of Tarsonis City, and unleashing quakes and tsunamis unlike anything ever recorded in the region.
"How's the situation with the landing forces, Sarah? Has Tychus's team returned yet?" As the timestamp on the main screen froze at 19:30 on June 22nd, Augustus turned to Sarah Kerrigan, his adjutant. His Umojan and other officers were either still in the main control room or already deployed to the front lines.
"Forty-five landing squads were deployed. Thirty-two have successfully returned," Kerrigan replied.
Standing beside him, Kerrigan had changed into the Umojan Shadow Guard uniform—form-fitting, black reflective combat suits typically worn by super-soldiers trained by Umojan psionic instructors.
Even though she already knew what Augustus was about to ask next, Kerrigan waited patiently for him to speak. That was how they communicated now—otherwise, Augustus wouldn't need to say anything at all.
"How many made it back?" Augustus asked.
"Fewer than 2,000," Kerrigan replied, slowing her speech slightly as she studied his expression. "Most of them were lost during transit between Tarsonis and the fleet. Casualties inflicted by Confederacy ground forces on the planet account for less than 20%."
Augustus let out a sigh but said nothing. The troops he had brought from Korhal were nearly all gone. Too many had died in a foreign star system, their bodies forever buried among the stars.
"According to intel from the Umojans and the Augustgrad Security Committee operatives," Kerrigan continued, "our troops successfully 'raided' five Confederacy research stations and weapons labs. Part of their security personnel had been reassigned to guard local officials."
"We found extensive technical data in the command centers and research stations on Tarsonis: power armor from the CMC series, Vulture bikes, Arclite tanks, Goliath combat walkers, Wraith fighters, Kel-Morian-modified Hellhound aircraft, Banshees, and APOD transport vessels."
"From conceptual designs and prototype data to full blueprints—everything's complete. As long as the data is uploaded to the network of a standardized heavy manufacturing plant, the foundries can begin producing these weapons immediately."
"The data is currently being uploaded via magnetic disk to Norad II's terminal network."
The good news brought a measure of relief to Augustus's breath. Every lost battleship, every fallen soldier tore at his heart—he couldn't help but harbor hatred for it all.
"Hey, Mengsk! I've got something nice for you." Tychus stepped onto the bridge from behind a pressurized airlock that kept opening and closing with a hiss. His deep crimson power armor was riddled with over a dozen bullet holes. Judging by the damage, he hadn't exactly had a quiet time on Tarsonis.
"A revolver—Colt Armory. Discontinued over a century ago. Only a handful remain in working condition, maintained privately," Augustus said as he took the hefty revolver from Tychus's outstretched hand. It was housed in a reindeer leather holster.
"Extremely expensive. Decent stopping power," he remarked briefly. "Jim could use a good sidearm."
"…?" Tychus blinked, then shrugged and muttered, "All right then."
"You made it back alive, brother. What about the others?" Augustus slid the revolver into his waistband.
"Lost seven or eight damn good men," Tychus rumbled. "Real hard bastards—none of 'em got taken alive. The Tarsonis police? Cowards, the lot of 'em. But the resocialized soldiers—they had the real firepower."
"We hit a research facility," Tychus continued, "but aside from a few suit-wearing 'fat pigeons,' the place was empty. I left a few guys behind to copy the files, then headed to one of the Tarsonis maglev rail hubs to scout enemy positions."
"The data's uploaded. You can check it yourself."
Augustus nodded repeatedly. While he reviewed the files, the Norad II's bridge deck continued to tremble violently. One particular scanned blueprint caught his eye—it depicted a heavy armored vehicle hovering above ground, its angular frame mounted with two symmetrically aligned railguns.
The blueprint came from a thick, leather-bound folder. On the cover was the skeletal image of a coiled, intertwined serpent, its skull pierced through with an ice-blue cavity.
"Rattlesnake—" Augustus recognized it immediately. His eyes lit up as he began reading the document. "Rattlesnake-class tank, a conceptual model still in the theoretical stage. Uses magnetic levitation tech, outfitted with Executer-class electromagnetic railguns and Fiend tank armor plating. Designed as a high-speed, hover-based tank specifically meant to counter heavy armor."
"Now that's a beauty—brand-new Confederate toy," Tychus whistled in awe.
"Send it to Chief Engineer Rory Swann. He'll know what to do with it," Augustus said decisively. "Maybe we can mount those railguns onto other platforms. But developing the power cells is going to be a problem."
"That Kel-Morian dwarf's gonna lose his damn mind," Tychus muttered.
"If you've got the money, none of it's a problem," he added with a shrug.
But a moment later, Augustus's expression shifted sharply. He was now staring at the itemized list Tychus had submitted, fuming.
"Art pieces? Antiques? A phonograph from the colonial crash era? High-purity crystals? A collection of Tarsonis adult magazines—"
"Tarsonis City was home to the most cutting-edge tech in the entire Terran Federation. And this is what you brought back?"
"There wasn't much else to grab," Tychus replied without a hint of remorse. "That research station was filled with nothing but useless scrap paper. The central city's got at least two full army groups and a mechanized division. We were never gonna get near that old hag from the Tygore family."
"I barely made it to the surface alive. Not bringing anything back would've been a damn waste." He gave a smug grin.
"My bad for not dragging back a few pretty noble ladies for you," he added with theatrical sarcasm. "Should've asked what you're into—blonde or redhead? Dark skin or porcelain white? Or maybe…" Tychus smirked, "you're into ones that come with extra equipment."
"Forget it. I never really expected you to do anything serious anyway," Augustus said, deciding there was no point in getting worked up over Tychus.
"Marshal, we've just made contact with the last landing squad that hasn't returned to the fleet," reported one of the officers. "Their drop site deviated by about 1,600 kilometers from the planned coordinates. They're caught between two Army brigades. In their last transmission, Captain Ireland—the squad's commanding officer—refused our proposal to send additional reinforcements."
"I recall Captain Ireland is the eldest son of the Lundstein family," Augustus murmured, then said nothing more.
"Why not just level Tarsonis City?" Tychus muttered, dragging the knuckle of his power-armored index finger across the side of his helmet.
The Revolutionary fleet hadn't launched a full assault on Tarsonis. Even though they'd had the capability to force their way past the upper-atmosphere and orbital defenses and conduct indiscriminate bombardment, they had instead opted for targeted strikes—eliminating anti-air batteries, military installations, and a few key government landmarks.
Augustus had only deployed around 20,000 soldiers to the surface. These landing forces were active in multiple regions across the Tarsonis homeworld, with a single objective: to sow chaos, seize control of Confederacy military command centers, and extract blueprints for prototype weapons from research facilities.
"You're not wrong. But we can't do that," Augustus replied, glancing at Tychus. His cold grey eyes reflected the vibrant colors of deep space beyond the bridge window.
"Sure, the Old Families have already fled—most likely into bunkers built to withstand nuclear strikes—but there's still a slim chance we could wipe them out completely," he said calmly.
"Drop an Apocalypse-class nuke on the city center of Tarsonis—it's an easy target. The urban layout is made up of layered, interlocking geometric grids, and the Sky Tower, where the Old Families reside, sits dead center."
"Exactly. One Apocalypse and the Old Families, along with their rotten little hearts, are vaporized. We won't get another shot like this. After today, the Confederacy fleet will definitely reinforce Tarsonis's defenses. Next time we visit, it won't be nearly as easy," Tychus nodded.
"But do you know how many people live in the densely packed commercial and residential zones surrounding that target?" Augustus asked, then gave the number: "Close to 200 million."
"More than a billion would be affected. And just like that, the Revolutionary Army becomes the 'Butchers of Tarsonis.' We're a revolutionary force—an uprising. Not terrorists."
"You say that, but what you've done isn't much different," Tychus muttered. He'd never really seen himself as part of the revolution to begin with.
"The Terran Confederacy doesn't care how many people die on Korhal. But we can't—won't—be indifferent to the civilians on Tarsonis. That's the difference between us and the Confederacy," Augustus said. "And that difference is exactly what we need the entire Terran race to see."
"I would rather let the Old Families live, let them continue rotting until they're beyond saving, than bury hundreds of millions of innocent Tarsonians with them," he continued. "It's not as if I have no other options."
"You're not ruthless enough," Tychus said, shaking his head. "If it were your brother, Arcturus, he'd have already launched every damn nuke in the arsenal."
"Or better yet—just pin it on someone else. Say one of your generals pressed the red button on his own."
"I understand the logic," Augustus replied, looking directly at Tychus. "This is a dark era. To succeed, you have to play dirty. Sacrificing a dozen people is considered a humanitarian crisis. But annihilating a billion? That's just politics."
"So, what's your plan then?" Tychus asked.
"My fleet will haunt the border between the Kel-Morian Combine and the Terran Federation like a ghost," Augustus said. "I'll remain hidden while they stay exposed. As long as we keep the Confederacy scrambling, they'll grow exhausted. And when they begin to pull back from the frontier worlds to tighten defenses around the core, that's when we'll know we've taken the first step toward victory."
"I'll spend the rest of my life fighting the Confederacy—until one of us falls for good."
"Oh, don't be so dramatic. You're only eighteen," Tychus laughed as he lit a cigar, pulling the smoke deep into his lungs. "You think the Terran Confederacy will last longer than you?"
"So," he added, eyes narrowing, "you plan to use the creatures from Vector V—the ones Confederacy scientists are calling 'Zerg'—to fight them?"
"They're the perfect extinction weapon," Augustus said. "No pollution, no trace. Use them and toss them. After the fighting's done, you can even process them into canned food—or at the very least, feed them to the beasts in the Umojan beetle ranches."
"The Confederacy really thought this through. No one would ever suspect them. Then they show up with the military to 'clean up' and get praised as heroes by the survivors."
"But the truth always comes out," Augustus shook his head. "And they have no idea how terrifying the Zerg really are. Their numbers far exceed anything the Confederacy estimated."
"The Confederacy is playing with fire, and they're going to burn themselves alive. We have to find a more reliable way to control the Zerg."
At that moment, Norad II's sensors picked up a new wave of jump signals. Although Korhal hadn't been the first planet colonized from Tarsonis, it was located at the very heart of Terran Confederacy territory—just two days away by fleet jump.
Even so, Edmund Duke's Alpha Squadron remained missing, and Captain Jackson was likely still out wandering the edges of the Koprulu Sector.
"Alert the fleet. Prepare for jump."
"Where are you headed?" Tychus asked.
"The Sara system," Augustus replied. "Transmit the coordinates to the entire fleet."
"What for?" Tychus narrowed his eyes, but realization quickly dawned. "Remote little system—ah, I get it now. That's a good pick. Far from Tarsonis, still part of the core worlds... perfect place to build an empire."
"What exactly do you think you understand?" Augustus ignored him and switched to the fleetwide command channel. "Everyone to your stations. Secure all wounded to the inertial dampening seats."
"It's over," he said quietly.
"But this is far from the end," Tychus added.
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