A Starcraft Story: The Mission on Hell
Before he could even think, Striker withdrew his grandfather's old .50 Desert Eagle, and fired a shot between the renegade's eyes. The bullet impact to his skull, sent the Marine over the ledge to the cavern...
Falling to his knees, Striker winced as a fresh stream of blood flowed forth from the bullethole. "At least it went clean through" he mumbled, beginning to patch up his wound...
"It's 1600 now sir. Shall I tell the men to move out sir?" "Not yet Private" said Striker. Having surveyed the area, he knew there was a narrow ledge that would take them to the top of the valley, away from the lurkers below. The only problem was, were they still there? "I'm going to scout ahead of you. Watch me when I get to that ridge over there. If I'm doing anything other than shooting or running back, it's clear. We'll continue that pattern until we're within 100 kilometers, at which time we'll attempt radio contact with the Protoss/Terran base." wiping his brow of sweat, "It's too goddamn hot here. If any of the men have trouble moving, contact me on radio frequency 192.87." Looking up, the blackened clouds ominously blocked the sunlight overhead. A dark gloom settled over the once proud landscape. Hostile Environment Suit flashlights blinked on as the troops began to take their mind of what was ahead... a 300 kilometer hike across mountainous terran, at best, through hostile territory. Finally, assuming they did make it there, there was no guarantee the base hadn't been overrun, and the mission was already lost.
Inspecting his new toy, a C-10 Canister Rifle taken from the renegade Marine's belongings, Striker turned to his 2nd in command, "You have 840 Gauss rounds, and 22 Canister Grenades, should anything happen, make sure all of that is put to good use. Take as many down as you can." Though not very reassured, the Private acknowledged Striker's orders and checked his Rifle as Striker turned about face, and headed up the valley cliff...