Horace Warfield

Chapter 18: Horace Warfield

The late-night street racers in Braddock had finally faced the consequences.

The military police reacted quickly, efficiently setting up checkpoints at all four gates of Turaxis. Even so, when Augustus strolled in with a group of Marines, they nearly managed to slip past unnoticed.

It was only after Augustus was locked in the holding cell that he learned from a military policeman that, to catch any stragglers, the military had installed personal information terminals at the entrances and inside every bar in Braddock. Everyone's facial features had been recorded.

None of the soldiers in the Bloody Mary could have escaped from the start, but at least the experience gave Augustus and his gang something to brag about to the others.

For stealing a Vulture, Augustus and the others had their detention extended to a week. But Augustus knew the military police could only hold them for another two days at most. The frontline units, desperate for new recruits, wouldn't let them enjoy another five days of vacation.

"Max! Move your foot!"

Augustus and the other nine men in his squad were crammed into the same holding cell, forced to sleep on a concrete floor covered with hard wooden boards. And since they weren't actually there on vacation, they had no food or place to wash all night, and could only go to sleep in their damp clothes.

That wasn't all. Second Platoon, First Squad also had to share a single, completely exposed flush toilet.

"Don't blame me. You'll have to ask the guards why they didn't make this place bigger," Zander Marks retorted even louder.

"I don't care whose fault it is. Move!" Benjamin Crando said, his face livid. Pinned between Zander Marks, Tom Omo, and Ilya Kurovsky, he couldn't move at all. Benjamin had once been a monk at a monastery back home, but he had a much worse temper than the others.

"Damn it, we're not criminals!" Arland Londerstein complained.

The noise woke Augustus. He checked the time on his watch. "If you need to piss, hurry up. Visitors are coming in soon, so don't stand around naked in front of the guests."

"If you need to take a dump, hold it," Raynor added. "Gentlemen, keep it steady when you take a leak. Don't piss on the floor."

The detention block had once been an armory. Its weapons and armored vehicles had been cleared out, and metal partitions now divided it into roofless cells for holding unruly soldiers and criminals. Above Augustus and the others rose the armory's tall, vaulted framework.

The only light came from the sun shining through the vents and windows. The emergency lights in the holding block were switched on only under specific circumstances.

There was a three-foot-wide fingerprint-locked door in each of the north and south walls. The upper third of each door was made of highly transparent tempered glass, offering a clear view inside from the outside—and just as clear a view out from within.

As Augustus glanced toward the southern door, he suddenly saw a figure moving. It was a military policeman in a black uniform.

"Is that Hank and Josephine?" Jim Raynor, standing beside Augustus, had noticed the figure too, but he clearly didn't believe his own guess. "Knowing those two, they're probably drunk out of their minds right now. They won't find out we were rounded up by the military police until they return to the barracks tonight. Then they'll just go right back to sleep without a care."

The fingerprint-locked door opened, but the person who entered wasn't the military policeman. It was a Marine officer whose silver bars marked him as a lieutenant.

The lieutenant had a lean, dark, angular face, etched by years of exposure to wind, sun, and harsh conditions. He wore a short mustache and a close-cropped haircut. His hair was black.

"Are you Augustus Mengsk?" The lieutenant pressed his broad lips together and stared into Augustus's cold gray eyes. The man had the stern, hard-edged bearing of someone who had truly experienced war and death. Augustus guessed he was no older than thirty, yet none of the careless levity of youth remained in him.

"I am." Augustus met the lieutenant's gaze without backing down.

"I'm Horace Warfield, commander of First Company, Fifth Battalion, Fourteenth Brigade, 33rd Ground Assault Division." A smile briefly crossed the lieutenant's iron-still face, then vanished.

The name reminded Augustus of the veteran general from the Terran Empire who died during the Heart of the Swarm campaign in the Game. He tried to match the image in his memory to this young officer, but soon gave up.

"Arcturus's division," Augustus suddenly realized.

"That's right. Your brother's." Warfield nodded and continued, "According to the replacement order from division headquarters, your new recruit platoon has been assigned to the 33rd Ground Assault Division as of today."

"Sir, I believe that means the military police at Turaxis-Prime Base can no longer keep us locked up," Augustus said.

"That's why I came to collect you first thing this morning." Warfield didn't bother putting on a friendly face. "Kid, this isn't something to be proud of."

"At least I wrote four reports of self-criticism." Augustus shrugged.

Augustus then woke the few men still fast asleep and followed Warfield out of the holding cell. The recruits, still groggy and unsure what had happened, were overjoyed to be released.

Faced with Lieutenant Warfield's stern expression, the recruits had the sense not to ask whether they could keep enjoying their vacation.

Warfield's Sabre Command Vehicle was parked outside the armory. It was spacious enough, but squeezing in ten people, including one of Warfield's adjutants, was still a tight fit. Fortunately, Harnack Hank wasn't there, so nobody complained.

"You drive. Take us to the starship launchport," Warfield told Augustus. "The military police said you were a pretty good driver."

"I'd be happy to try the command vehicle, sir." Augustus climbed into the driver's seat with practiced ease, completely at home. Driving this model was easy for him, and the navigation system was already set to show him the destination.

"Assuming you don't mind if I drive it into a ditch."

"Heh—you'd better not." Warfield chuckled from the passenger seat. Perhaps because he had once been a new recruit under Augustus's brother, Arcturus Mengsk, and because Augustus had made a good first impression, Warfield was quite easygoing around him.

"I remember Arcturus's last letter said he was on Onuru Sigma." As the vehicle started up, Augustus brought up his brother.

"That was last month," Warfield replied. "The Kel-Morians have withdrawn from the Sigma system, so we were ordered here as reinforcements."

"That's a good sign. The Kel-Morians are on their way out," Augustus said as he drove.

"I hope the war will be over by next year at the latest," Warfield said.

"I don't think that'll be difficult," Augustus replied with a nod.

The two fell silent. Augustus drove the command vehicle toward the boarding platform at Turaxis-Prime Base. Along the way, he saw many transport trucks packed with soldiers and company after company of Goliath Combat Robots. The designations and insignia of these units were all unfamiliar to him.

Meanwhile, far in the distance, at the very limit of their vision, a magnificent battlecruiser slowly emerged from the clouds, casting a vast, moving shadow over the horizon.

"Sir, two of my men are still in Braddock," Augustus said, only then remembering the pair he had nearly forgotten.

"Where exactly?" Warfield frowned.

Augustus named a strip club.

Thanks to Coughing to Death, Xia Juan Qiu Fa, Booklover Alimu, Clement001, and zerostart for the monthly tickets and support.