Crystal Mine

Although it seemed somewhat unnecessary, Augustus still issued the ceasefire order again after the gunfire had completely died down.

Augustus led Raynor and several soldiers from First Squad down from the train tracks. The wrecked Assault Cavalry scout cars were littered with mangled limbs and chunks of flesh beyond recognition. It was the first time these recruits had seen such a bloody scene, and even Augustus, who had been mentally prepared, looked deeply shaken.

"That was one hell of an ambush." Raynor felt his stomach churning.

"Go see what's in that truck." Augustus forced himself to endure his physical and mental discomfort as he inspected the damage to the scout cars. He soon realized that unless they could find water to wash off the gore and repair the damaged engines and fuel tanks, the vehicles would be useless.

The driver of the truck at the end of the Assault Cavalry convoy had also been hit by a stray bullet and blown apart. Augustus walked to the back of the truck, and he and several First Squad soldiers swept the cargo bed with gunfire. Only after emptying two magazines did he open the cargo doors under the others' cover.

"A few crates?" Raynor slowly lowered his Electromagnetic Rifle and joined Augustus in examining one of the metal containers.

There were five enormous metal shipping containers in all, each marked with the KM flag. They were eight and a third feet long and five feet wide, and when laid on the ground, they came up to Augustus's waist.

Besides combination locks, each metal container had fingerprint and genetic locks. They were extremely sturdy and heavy, and even after struggling for ages, Augustus and Raynor couldn't move a single one.

"Government strategic supplies. Highest priority." Augustus found several lines of text on one of the containers: "From the Raffin Brothers Vein, bound for a starport on Brutus, a moon of Moria."

"I'm guessing it's gold, or something else valuable. Those Kel-Morians never do anything unless there's a profit in it for them," Raynor said.

"The Raffin Brothers Vein. I've seen that place name on the news... These must be Ardien Crystals. Crate after crate of Ardien Crystals." Augustus couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from lifting.

"That's worth a whole lot more than gold." Raynor and the other recruits exchanged delighted smiles, though they still didn't know what this meant for them.

"All of this is probably worth around two million Confederacy credits," Augustus said, then dropped onto one of the crystal-filled containers.

"Holy shit!" Raynor and the recruits erupted in astonished cheers. Harnack and Josephine threw their arms around each other, even happier than they had been when they'd learned they'd won the battle.

In the world of StarCraft, high-purity crystal ore was not only a hard currency more precious than gold, but also the foundation of Terran human industry and technological development. Refined crystals were high-quality raw materials for forging weapons and building vehicles, spacecraft, and interstellar warships.

These precious and expensive crystals were among the most important mineral resources in the entire Koprulu Sector and even the Milky Way Galaxy. Every human regime valued them as a strategic resource.

The Terran Confederacy and the Kel-Morian Combine had gone to war precisely to fight over these resources.

"But we can't get our hands on that money." Augustus looked at his jubilant soldiers, dousing their excitement.

"We have no way to sell these crystals, so we can only hand them over to our superiors. Then, if the officer in charge of captured supplies has a change of heart and writes us a report, we might each get a little bonus. If these containers were full of cash, then we'd really have struck it rich."

The cheers died away in an instant, and the soldiers' interest in the containers plummeted.

"Ah, those useless idiots ought to give you a medal for this, Augustus," Raynor teased. "We not only wiped out an Assault Cavalry squad, we also brought them a fortune."

"That's only right," Augustus joked.

"This truck should still be usable. I reckon it can carry thirty people without any trouble." Raynor pulled his gaze away from the crates. Like many of the recruits, he'd thought of claiming the crystals for himself when Augustus named the figure, but almost immediately, he'd come to despise his own greed.

Raynor couldn't help thinking that if he could get his hands on that money, the farm back home could pay off the debts it had taken on because of soaring fuel prices, as well as the cost of the operating permits the Terran Confederacy government had forced all farmers to buy. Once all the taxes were paid, his family could live comfortably and securely.

But that was only wishful thinking. Old Raynor had told him countless times what "justice" meant, and his mother had taught him from childhood that people should earn what they deserved through their own hard work.

With Augustus setting an example, the soldiers didn't let themselves get carried away.

"Check whether those scout cars can still run. If not, we'll squeeze more people into the truck. If Command hasn't sent word, we have to get out of here as soon as possible." Augustus climbed out of the truck and called for the other soldiers on the platform to come down.

The soldiers up above hesitated at the sight of the mangled flesh and flying limbs, but they glanced at Augustus and finally climbed down anyway. Their faces pale, they gathered up the remains of the Assault Cavalry troopers and cleared the weapons scattered across the ground, along with the vehicles smeared in blood and gore.

The acting squad leaders from each squad came to report their casualties to Augustus. It had clearly been an exceptionally successful victory: by the end of the battle, not a single recruit in the platoon had even suffered a minor injury or scrape.

Just then, Omo came charging down from a platform to one side and ran toward Augustus. Augustus had assigned him to tend to the wounded and keep an eye on the messages coming over the radio.

Augustus could only pray that Omo had good news.

"The Pride of Boke command center sent a message five minutes ago. The closest unit to us is a scout company, designation 3423. Command says they'll arrive in fifteen minutes at the earliest," Omo panted as he ran up to Augustus.

"Thank God." Raynor breathed a sigh of relief.

"How's the critically wounded man? And Lieutenant Warfield?" Augustus asked.

"Lieutenant Warfield is the same as before, still unconscious, but he's breathing." Omo's face fell. "The critically wounded man isn't going to make it. He's passed out several times. I'm afraid he won't wake up next time."

"Jim, clean up here and set up the sentries again." After giving Raynor his orders, Augustus followed Omo back to the waiting hall where the wounded had been laid out. Only Zander was left there, surrounded by medical bags and boxes that had been rummaged through and left in disarray.

"Squad Leader, I couldn't save him." Zander's eyes were wet as he knelt before the critically wounded soldier lying on the stretcher, unable to stop himself from wiping his eyes.

"You're not a doctor or a savior. You did everything you could, Zander. It was those damn Kel-Morians who took him from us, not you." Augustus knelt beside the soldier, whose eyes were already closed, his young face still so calm.

"Did he say anything in his final moments? I want to know what he wished for."

"He said he was going to die. He said he was turning into a snowflake, and the wind from his hometown was carrying him away." Zander wept as he spoke. He was so kind and sensitive that he could hardly bear the pain of losing a comrade—even though they hadn't spoken before today.

Zander Marks had been born and raised in the slums of Tarsonis City. He had never gone to school, and was practically illiterate. Even so, unlike the other people in the slums, Zander hadn't grown increasingly cold and indifferent. On the contrary, he still loved the world.

Augustus's noble classmates often called people from the slums dregs, but he never saw them that way. He believed that a person's origins could never determine the virtues they possessed.