Just as Duke had ordered earlier, Alpha Squadron's artillery units had already opened fire on their pre-set targets before the battle. Amid thunderous explosions, the area in Duke's binoculars was now engulfed in dense bombardment. A deluge of armor-piercing shells, high-explosive shells, fragmentation shells, grenades, and missiles flooded everything within sight.
Those mysterious and exquisitely crafted altars—almost like works of art—were instantly drowned in the barrage. Smoke blanketed the entire plain, yet Duke, utterly lacking any artistic sensibility, felt not the slightest pity for antiques or alien relics.
"I just love this feeling—burying the enemy under shells, smoke everywhere, blood flowing in rivers."
The corners of Duke's mouth slowly curled upward into a grin.
"Fire is what solves problems."
Harnack, who had been sorrowful just moments ago, suddenly stepped to Duke's right side, holding a uniquely styled monocular scope.
"Do you like the smell of charring? Or maybe roasted meat?"
"Trust me—once you've roasted a man alive, you'll never go back to trying grilled beef again," Duke said.
"After the Guild Wars ended, the Confederacy's Firebats and flamethrower troopers were all re-socialized lunatics who'd been modified. But you rebels are different."
"You're the kind of madmen who never underwent brainwashing or modification—yet still volunteered to wear Firebat armor."
"When I'm hungry, I can eat anything."
As Harnack spoke, he suddenly shouted, "Do you see that? There's a huge dome over there!"
Harnack thought for a moment, then chose his words: "Like the lid of a pot."
"I'm not blind."
Duke gave an order over his comm channel: "Cease fire. Scott's division, move forward three-quarters of a mile and build bunker fortifications. Artillery positions, advance."
In the eyes of Duke and the others, an unparalleled Protoss structure appeared before them.
It was a pyramid-shaped edifice made of black alloy and crimson crystals, its surface as smooth as cut cheese. Enormous, beautiful blood-red crystals were embedded along the domed apex and the tiered walls.
From the crystals surged red light that flowed upward, merging at the pyramid's pointed spire inlaid with angular crystal facets—where the resplendent radiance converged like a miniature sunspot.
Just like the armor and weapons of the Tal'darim Protoss warriors, spikes and long blades stood like sharpened swords atop this pyramid-shaped structure, a forest of blades flashing a cold light. It was as if the Tal'darim intended to use the building itself as a weapon—ramming this spiked edifice into the enemy's face as if hurling spears of blood crystal.
This was by no means a construction welded together from reinforced concrete, prefabricated panels, or modular alloy plates; it was a magnificence grown as one, its walls inscribed with characters that conveyed a painterly sense of slaughter and wanton cruelty, symbolizing the Tal'darim's war aesthetics and the art of killing.
A Tal'darim Protoss nexus rose in the distance, towering amid the smoke of the bombardment, red light raging like a storm within the thin, bubble-like plasma shield that enveloped the magnificent edifice.
Light bridges composed of sculpted energy extended down from the top of the Protoss nexus, connecting dozens of other black Tal'darim structures bristling with spikes, while enormous crimson, faceted crystals stood between the imposing buildings.
Hundreds upon hundreds of Tal'darim clad in black armor and wielding crimson blades manifested within the crystal towers' emanations; from Duke and the others' position they could even hear the Tal'darim's dizzying psionic war cries.
"Compared to these things, the Sky Tower of the Tarsonis Old Families is child's play, like blocks piled by kids or the little houses of dwarves," Raynor said, standing on Duke's other side with binoculars in hand, marveling. "Nobody's figured out yet who built the pyramids on Earth—maybe it was these aliens."
"What are they shouting?" Harnack asked.
"Guess." Raynor said.
"Ah! Today we'll kill those human bastards, because they actually dared to crap on the pointy-heads' turf!" Harnack cried out.
"Country bumpkin is still country bumpkin," Duke grinned.
"In any case, this is all ours now." Raynor's brigand spirit gradually emerged; he had long adhered to Augustus's take-it philosophy—what belongs to the enemy is naturally ours.
"All right, when can we get these buildings under our control? Swann and the Kachinsky old geezers will go nuts."
...
The war between the Terrans and the Protoss on the northern hemisphere of Bel'Shir had reached a fever pitch from April 22 to 24, 2490, with both sides drawn deep into the quagmire of battle, unable to extricate themselves.
The Revolutionary Army deployed more than fifty thousand fully armed soldiers and mechanized forces, including Alpha Squadron, mercenaries, and special tactical units. By contrast, the Tal'darim Protoss fielded fewer than three thousand warriors, several hundred Dragoon mechs, and only a small number of High Ascendants and their slaves who possessed formidable psionic power.
Under Marshal Augustus Mengsk's orders, frontline commander Edmund Duke restrained his impulse to lead Alpha Squadron's elite guards into a direct clash with the Tal'darim Protoss, instead exploiting their advantage in firepower to avoid their weaknesses. At the very least, Duke would not engage the Tal'darim in bayonet combat or carve into enemy flesh himself—though even so, such impulses still lingered within him, like an instinctive urge to destroy something.
The Tal'darim Protoss retaliated with their powerful plasma shield technology and particle cannons whose calibers rivaled those of Terran warship main batteries. Making use of their sub-warp fields and shuttles, they deployed warriors and assassins behind Terran lines and into the gaps between formations, inflicting losses that could not be ignored.
Even so, the numerically superior Terran army continued its steady advance. The Tal'darim Protoss, whether in technology or individual combat ability, far surpassed an ordinary Terran soldier—a single formidable warrior known as a Tal'darim Blood Hunter could, before his plasma shield was depleted, kill dozens of enemies without suffering a scratch.
Yet their main disadvantage lay in their sheer lack of numbers. The Protoss were a long-lived race, but their reproductive rate had always been exceedingly low. The Tal'darim branch, adhering to the creed of survival of the fittest, suffered even more from internal strife—their brutal internal conflicts had left their numbers dwindling, far fewer than their kin on Aiur and Shakuras.
Supported by the firepower of Alpha Squadron's elite, fearless re-socialized soldiers, mercenaries, and Raynor's Raiders, the Tal'darim Protoss began to falter and contract their defensive lines after thirty-six Terran Standard Hours since the outbreak of war. The plasma shields protecting their structures grew visibly thinner.
Although the Tal'darim Protoss continued to warp in additional forces from forward bases and outposts across Bel'Shir through their incomprehensible gateway technology, by the early morning of the 24th, Duke's Alpha Squadron had already begun its steady forward advance.
...
"The Tal'darim point-heads have begun to retreat." Inside Alpha Squadron's command center, Duke, Raynor, and Harnack were staring intently at the multiple windows on the main screen—feeds transmitted from frontline command vehicles and fighter aircraft cameras.
It was a bright, sunny morning. Several Alpha Squadron Banshee fighters were flying overhead, swaying their fuselages like albatrosses gliding with the wind. Part of the Tal'darim Protoss architecture had already been completely destroyed, and the black alloy debris lay scattered across the upheaved earth like shards of shattered glass.
Sunlight poured over the ruins, and the wreckage of the buildings shimmered with an obsidian-like sheen. A particle cannon mounted atop a Protoss nexus suddenly fired, and a thick crimson beam swept across a large stretch of Alpha Squadron bunkers and marching infantry formations in an instant—leaving behind on the ground a black trench nearly 0.8 km long and several meters wide. The Alpha Squadron soldiers caught in the sweep were vaporized in a flash.
"Those bastards." Raynor's face twitched; in that single strike, Alpha Squadron had lost at least several hundred men and five deployed Arclite Tanks.
Duke's expression, however, remained unchanged. He did not even blink at Alpha Squadron's losses, nor did he harbor the slightest regret for the deaths of those soldiers—who were, after all, criminals to begin with.
To Duke, his soldiers were merely pieces on the wargame board, tools for simulation and execution. He cared nothing for the lives of soldiers or civilians. For the sake of victory, he would use any means necessary—an ailment common among many noble officers of the Terran Confederacy.
"Hard to believe there'd come a day when we'd be at full-scale war with the Tal'darim Protoss," Raynor said.
"What worries me most," he continued, "is that this isn't even the first alien race humanity has encountered."
"For the Terran Confederacy, more enemies will only force them to mobilize greater strength to defend the fringe worlds," Duke said, utterly indifferent to the losses of his subordinates.
"This works to our advantage," he went on. "The Revolutionary Army doesn't have many planets to defend, while the Confederacy—after annexing most of the Kel-Morian Combine's colonies—already controls hundreds, even thousands, of worlds."
"Looks like you've settled into your role fast, Duke," Harnack said with a shrug. "But how do you know those cone-heads can tell the difference between us and the Confederacy?"
"They don't care whether you're a grasshopper or an ant, Hank—but I'll bet they're not about to take out their anger on Confederate troops."
Raynor said, "Unless their leader's some lunatic who's gone mad from inhaling too much Terrazine—but honestly, what happened on Bel'Shir is entirely their fault. If they didn't want us colonizing this planet, they could've warned us in advance instead of massacring innocent civilians."
"But regardless, we've now made the Tal'darim Protoss our mortal enemies."
"We've lost so many people—this isn't over." Harnack's thoughts, however, were the complete opposite of Raynor's. While Raynor worried about the Tal'darim Protoss seeking revenge, Harnack was instead thinking that this time, the Tal'darim were the ones in real trouble.
As the generals under Augustus discussed what consequences their conflict with the Tal'darim Protoss on Bel'Shir might bring, the command center received a string of reports from frontline units. The reports indicated that the Tal'darim Protoss had abandoned their bases and begun to retreat.
One of Alpha Squadron's companies, composed entirely of re-socialized soldiers including its officers, was the first to breach the Tal'darim Protoss defensive line—bringing a rare moment of glory to their commander, Brigadier General Duke.
"See that? That's Alpha Squadron." Duke tapped the chestplate of his powered armor with his iron gauntlet, showing off the golden eagle emblem upon it.
"The Tal'darim can't withstand our assault—they're retreating!"
On the screen, the Tal'darim Protoss warriors could be seen withdrawing into the sub-warp field surrounding the crystalline spire that shimmered with psionic radiance. Their shuttles and elongated fighter craft, capable of high-speed flight without any thrusters, soared into the clouds like gusts of wind.
"Impressive." Although Harnack's words carried no hint of sarcasm, Duke's face still darkened with anger.
"Send a report to the Marshal's headquarters—tell them Edmund Duke is presenting him with a palace made of Tal'darim point-heads." Duke, with his own pointed head and prominent forehead, said to his adjutant.
"Whether I become a Major General or not depends on these point-heads. When that happens, you lot can start serving me tea."
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