Note: This is Un-Beta'd, as I have to get some sleep, but want to post this before I do. There may be excruciating errors hidden within. Ye Be Warned.
Chapter 2 (Snip 1)
The command center was almost empty now, having been cleared of aides and orderlies that were more useful in CMC armor.
Dust motes swirled around in the light, having drifted in from the barren badlands through before the airlock had been sealed.
Alone for a moment, Jim Raynor took a long look at the storage compartment of his CMC armor, where he knew a bottle of whiskey was waiting to be drunk.
Raynor shook his head to clear those thoughts from his head, then looked back at the holomap in the center of the room.
While Raynor was busy inspecting enemy positions and making notes in his head, the blast doors hissed and clunked open again, admitting Colonel Benning and Fred Jax.
"Commander Raynor, we've finished hooking the command center up to the sensor grid." Benning reported, stiffening to attention and saluting. "That includes an exact list of all combat-ready troops."
"Good, let's take a look-see." Raynor replied, flipping a switch on the holomap's control board, not acknowledging Benning's salute.
Another button press brought up a long list of units and projected it above the table, showing Raynor all his available men.
Raynor scowled at the low number of Siege Tanks, having expected that number to be higher. It looked like the birds had taken a worse toll on his armored corps than he initially thought.
"Sir, the birds look like they're retreating." Benning noted, drawing Raynor's attention back down to the holomap.
Dismissing the unit list with the wave of a neosteel hand, Raynor scrutinized the map, as the crude representations of the bird-like infantry fell back in an organized manner, across all fronts.
"Tell the boys to do the same. I want a defensive line here, here, and here, across these streets. SCV squads are to strip away neosteel from the surrounding buildings for basic bunkers – no time for anything fancy." Raynor ordered, using the tip of a neosteel manipulator finger to trace his chosen lines on the map, before tapping the execute button.
The map flashed once, then the machinery in the command center rumbled as the Adjutants inset in the walls began stirring, sending out Raynor's orders to the troops, allowing Raynor to focus on the larger issues. It was a big improvement over the old way of having Raynor and his comm techs issue every order themselves, one that the defectors from the Dominion had brought over when they joined the Raiders.
"Why not press forward?" Benning questioned curiously, his well-groomed mustache curling with his frowning lips. "There's a risk from any reserve elements setting up a trap, true, but isn't keeping the birds off balance worth the risk?"
"Not this time," Raynor said, his hands flying across the map as he ordered units to and fro. "If we had a concentrated force, then you'd be right. Problem is, our Marines aren't the elite force they used to be. A tight unit cutting int'a the enemy is useful, but a less disciplined force'd lose speed and cohesion, leaving 'em open for a counter."
"I think I see." Benning murmured, gazing at the map. "So we'll pull back, reinforce the lines, and prepare a proper strike? Doesn't that concede the initiative to the birds?"
"It does." Raynor admitted. "It's a big risk, givin' 'em time to regroup and think, but I'd bet money that these folks'll can adapt faster than we can to a fast-paced slugging match. Better to play it a little slower for now, give our boys a chance to arm up properly."
"That may be, but-" Benning began, only to cut himself off as a new set of images popped up on the map. "Enemy armor, sir!"
"Relax, I see it. No need to get stressed." Raynor assured the Colonel as he noted the positioning of the column of enemy armor.
The birds were crafty bastards, Raynor had to admit; they'd decided to rush a large portion of their armor and air support straight at the weakest spot in Raynor's defenses.
"It'll take too long to send reinforcements on foot…" Raynor mused. "And our air units are too spread out to be effective. Siege Tanks are out, so we need our Marauders if we're gonna have a chance of stopping that column."
"What if we loaded up a company of Marauders into Medivacs, then used our reserve Vikings to escort them?" Benning speculated, drawing up the figures. "Make it six Medivacs and all twenty-four Vikings, and they should make it."
"I'm not so sure…" Raynor murmured, rubbing his goatee lightly.
Benning didn't even bother to ask why, as he was too busy watching, horrified, in case Raynor accidently crushed his own chin; a possibility that the Commander didn't even look worried about!
"We don't know enough about these birds to guess how well their tanks work. For all we know, those tanks could blast our Medivacs out of the sky and shred our Marauders before they could hit the dirt." Raynor contemplated, his irritation starting to show. "Damn it – there's too many unknowns!"
"Not like fighting back in the Koprulu Sector, is it Marshall?" Sergeant Jax spoke up from across the room, where he was inspecting the map.
"No," Raynor answered, shaking his head. "Back home, we had to fight those ways, or we'd get crushed. Marauders and Marines, Medivacs and Vikings, no deviation allowed."
"Hell, Marshall, we aren't in Koprulu no more." Jax said in his broad southern drawl, shrugging his Confederate CMC armor's white shoulders. "Why fight like it?"
"Because it worked, Sergeant." Benning replied disdainfully, glaring at the former Confederate.
"Wait a minute…" Raynor whispered, his head jerking back at the map. "Wait just one damned minute… we can do that."
"Sir?" Benning asked, hesitant.
"These aliens don't have any idea what we can do, Colonel." Raynor explained, as he fiddled with the map's controls and started sending out orders. "We don't have to stick to standardized tactics: we can use whatever we have."
Benning didn't reply, choosing instead to lean closer to the green hologram, his brows furrowing as he read Commander Raynor's latest orders. His eyes went wide, and then his mouth moved jerkily, like an engine trying to start.
"You're not serious, Commander!" Benning protested. "Those things are death traps, even before they come under fire!"
Raynor grinned, punching in the last orders.
"Why not? They're fast enough to get there in time and avoid any direct action, and they can leave a nice little surprise for 'em."
"What if the birds can detect mines?" Benning demanded.
"Then we lose some mines." Raynor shrugged. "They can't stop every single one."
"Colonel, with all due respect, have you ever seen a spider mine rush?" Jax questioned, his grin widening. "No faster way in the galaxy to stop a column of armor."
"Alright then, even if we grant that, what about the birds' air power? They'll chew right through those unarmored bikes!"
"We're not gonna send 'em off alone now, they'll be going along with two squadrons – one of Vikings, one of cloaked Wraiths. If we cloak 'em as soon as they launch, it should last until they get into dogfightin' range, at which point they tag-team the birds alongside the Vikings."
"That… could work." Benning said slowly, thinking about it. "It's a big risk, but it could work."
"Oh, it'll work. 'Sides, Vulture jockeys get snippy if I don't let out to play every now an' then."
