StarCraft: Lord of the Empire

Inside the Palatine Forum, which had been converted into the Revolutionary Army's temporary command center, Augustus stood alongside his Umojan staff officers at a long table—brought in from the main chamber of the Assembly Hall. A sprawling planetary map of Korhal lay spread across its surface, with small flags marking the positions of both Confederate and Revolutionary Army forces.

Augustus remained silent as he stared at a flag near Styrling City, representing a Federal Marine encampment. Around him, the staff officers were locked in heated debate.

Even a week before Angus's speech announcing the Declaration of Independence earlier that morning, soldiers from various Korhal divisions had already begun mobilizing. Using the orbital rail transit network that spanned the continents of Korhal, they were transported into position across key cities. And yet, the corrupt and ineffectual Korhal government had not been completely unaware of these movements.

However, upon learning of the mobilizations, the lower-level officials either had no response at all—failing to grasp the implications—or chose to cover it up, shifting the responsibility onto others in hopes of avoiding blame.

By the time the Korhal Governor received credible reports about a large-scale civilian force gathering, the man—who was a distant relative of the Old Families of Tarsonis—still refused to accept reality, his mind dulled by long-standing complacency. Only after a steady stream of intelligence poured into his office did he finally contact the commanders of the Korhal Defense Force and the Federal Marines, requesting reinforcements from Tarsonis.

Yet when it came to deciding how to suppress these armed forces, the Korhal Defense Force and the Marines—representing separate, often conflicting interests—began shirking responsibility. Each side sought to preserve its own strength and instead pinned their hopes on the Federal Army reinforcements that had yet to arrive.

Amid the delays, Augustus—well aware that speed is the essence of warfare—had already deployed large numbers of troops to critical strategic points, including major heavy industry complexes and starports that had to be seized immediately.

The local Korhal Defense Force was composed entirely of native Korhalans. Most of them, without hesitation, defected to Augustus's side. Those who remained loyal, when combined with the Marines, numbered fewer than 100,000 troops.

Although this combined force was poorly disciplined and inadequately trained, Augustus did not dare underestimate them. The Federal Army's advantages lay in their fortified defenses, powerful powered armor, and heavy weaponry. Moreover, some of the aging Avenger fighter squadrons stationed at orbital platforms and starports—soon to be decommissioned—could still provide formidable air support.

Within the Revolutionary Army, only Lundstein's 1st Division and Kydd's 2nd Division had completed outfitting two brigades with powered armor and C-14 electromagnetic rifles—altogether totaling just 60,000 soldiers. Augustus positioned these elite units in areas heavily garrisoned by the Federation—Styrling in the north and the heavy industrial city of Balic in the southern hemisphere. The coordinated assaults began simultaneously, launched at the exact moment Angus began his speech.

Fortunately, the performance of the Federal Marines stationed on Korhal IV did not "disappoint" Augustus—they proved even less effective than newly deployed recruits on the front lines, let alone the re-socialized soldiers.

Korhal had eight cities with populations exceeding one million and fourteen Federal military bases. In five of these cities, the Revolutionary Army didn't even need to initiate an assault. Overwhelmed by revolutionary fervor, rioters took to the streets, defecting Defense Force units switched sides, and spontaneously organized militias seized control entirely on their own.

Roughly 50,000 Federal Marines were scattered across multiple military bases, city garrisons, and orbital platforms. Of these, fewer than 30,000 actually participated in combat. When Revolutionary troops stormed a Confederate outpost, they even found Marines passed out drunk, snoring on the ground.

In just one day, the fire of revolution had spread across Korhal like a prairie wildfire.

Victories poured in from all fronts.

And yet, Augustus and his comrades had no time to celebrate. The Federal Marines, though disorganized, were not entirely without merit. Some units that had recently returned from the front lines displayed fierce combat prowess. Using the city walls, bunker complexes, armored vehicles, and heavy weaponry as defensive anchors, they launched effective counterattacks in several sectors—briefly pushing back Revolutionary forces. Lacking widespread powered armor, the Revolutionary Army suffered heavy casualties in these areas.

By the fourteenth hour of the war, combined casualties on both sides had already exceeded 100,000—and the numbers continued to climb. Privately owned hospitals across the cities began admitting wounded and disabled soldiers.

That day, cries of jubilation were interwoven with the wails of those mourning lost loved ones.

By the afternoon of the third day, Augustus—who had gone sleepless through the night—finally felt a tremendous weight lift from his shoulders. He received word that Raynor, leading his squadron of Raider air units, had successfully seized the Federal synchronous orbital base. Without a trace of fatigue, Augustus immediately ordered Chief Engineer Rory Swann and his team to begin construction of orbital platforms and space-based weapons stations.

Of the twenty-two main battlefronts, fifteen had been decisively won by the swift and powerful offensives of the Korhal Revolutionary Army. On the remaining fronts, the Federal forces were already showing signs of collapse.

When the casualty reports were finally delivered to Augustus, he fell into a long silence. He tried to commit to memory the thousands upon thousands of names listed—but found himself utterly unable to do so.

By dawn on the fourth day, Korhal's largest military stronghold—the Fortress of the Martial Field outside Styrling City—officially fell. With the support of Umojan-supplied railguns and high-powered orbital laser weapons, Division Commander Lundstein of the 1st Division led his troops into the fortress, where they eliminated the enemy's commanding officer.

The Martial Field held deep symbolic meaning for the people of Korhal.

This wide-open expanse faced directly toward Styrling. A ribbon-like river meandered through it, with both shores preserving a healthy balance of flora and fauna. Yet the tourists and painters who once came to admire its serene beauty had long forgotten what the Martial Field truly represented—forgotten the first war between the Korhalan colonists and the Tarsonian government.

It was also on these very plains that Korhal IV's earliest settlers reached a formal peace agreement with the Federal Government of Tarsonis and submitted to unified rule. From that point forward, the Federal Marines had garrisoned the Martial Field, maintaining undisputed control over the region for generations. Now, as the people of Korhal reclaimed it, the event signaled a formal and complete break from the Federation.

It was only at this moment that Augustus seemed to collapse from exhaustion, sinking into his chair like his strength had been drained away. His weary aides carefully helped him onto a field cot to rest.

He slept less than six hours before rushing to Styrling's City Hall, where he presided over the appointment of officials selected for the newly formed Senate elections. These officials were drawn from the Pan-Terran National Front (PTF), including a few who had previously served in the old government.

This was not because they had proven themselves particularly honest or capable—but rather, in contrast to their thoroughly disgraced peers, these individuals were at least not beyond saving. The new government still needed them, if only to maintain the most basic functions of administration.

Afterward, Augustus boarded a shuttle and flew to Styrling Hospital to visit the wounded soldiers of the Revolutionary Army. The fatality rate among those hit by electromagnetic rifles or spider mines was alarmingly high. He could only watch in grief as dying soldiers, while still conscious, dictated their final wills or called out their mothers' names before closing their eyes for the last time.

...

Sixteen-year-old Sarah Louise Kerrigan bent down as she stepped into the half-open cockpit of a Wraith fighter. Her blue-and-white adaptive combat suit clung even tighter to her skin as she crouched and moved her legs.

The graceful arc formed by the curve of her slim waist and perky hips was fully revealed in that moment. Her flat abdomen displayed the faint outline of toned abs—a glimpse of her alluring, well-proportioned figure.

Kerrigan seated herself in the height-adjustable pilot's chair and began configuring the systems, efficiently calling up the Koprulu Sector star map and testing the sensitivity of the sensors. The seat cushion was thin—she could almost feel the steel support beneath her.

Beyond the aerospace glass, the blinding sandstorm over the Victor V Military Base airfield had finally passed, though the sky remained dark and heavy.

This planet, tucked away in a remote star system on the fringe of the Terran Confederacy, was ignored by nearly everyone. For most of the year, it saw little difference in events or weather—and even the latest UNN Express reports arrived here a week late in this so-called 'God-forsaken place'.

The soldiers stationed here were re-socialized marines, the only kind of people capable of enduring this soul-deep loneliness. As for Kerrigan, who had left her family at the age of eight and began Ghost training at twelve, loneliness and pain were emotions almost alien to her.

Every Ghost operative had a psionic inhibitor implanted in their brain that suppressed most unnecessary emotions. They were cold and ruthless, like true specters or humanoid weapons—exactly as the instructors at the Ghost Academy had trained them to be.

Ghost 24718 climbed in from the other side of the cockpit. He handed Kerrigan a fully enclosed helmet and a C-10 canister rifle before taking the main pilot's seat and gripping the control stick. His voice, transmitted through the helmet, sounded as if it came from another world—hoarse and metallic, like someone gargling with liquid nitrogen.

"Coordinates reset, Lieutenant. Korhal system, Korhal IV," Ghost 24718 said. "Requesting clearance from control tower. Wraith fighter AG-18 preparing for departure. Over."

All Ghosts referred to each other by their ID numbers, shortened names, or codenames tied to their specialties or personalities. Their communications were always brief and efficient. That was what it meant to be a Ghost: a killer who required neither sentiment nor small talk—cold as steel, and, once forged, deadly as a blade.

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