You Must Be Ruthless

Raynor's tears were on the verge of falling.

"It's just a minor wound." Augustus felt something block his throat, causing a dull ache.

"We have to do something for Tom," Raynor said. "We need to take him and Benjamin with us."

Before Augustus could make a decision, another Confederacy unit approached from behind. There were about a platoon of them, led by a lieutenant who, judging by the unit insignia, belonged to the 2nd Brigade.

"Who is your commanding officer?" The lieutenant walked up to Augustus, his troops halting behind him. The lieutenant clearly noticed the Goliath walker lying to the side.

"I am Corporal Mengsk. Regardless, as you can see, we need a medic here, and the sooner the better." Augustus stood up and said to the lieutenant.

"Now you can tell me the situation here, preferably in a concise sentence or two." After a two-second pause and a brief exchange over the comms channel, the lieutenant spoke.

"A Kel-Morian Goliath ambushed us from an underground parking garage in the alley," Augustus said. "As you can see, we took it out."

"Are you in command of these men? Good work." The lieutenant glanced at the Goliath. "The Kel-Morian Goliaths cause us far more losses than their Rippers ever could; no matter the cost or sacrifice, it is worth it."

"Bring your men and follow me. We still have a long way to go to take the Kel-Morian command center. This city is crawling with Kel-Morian bastards, just like rats in a sewer. Too many have already sacrificed their lives to reclaim these ruins, to take back this godforsaken gutter," he said.

"We have no choice but to see this through to the end, young sergeant."

"That is the hell of war."

While Augustus reported to the lieutenant, four medics emerged from the company with a stretcher. They used laser components to strip away Omo's chest and abdominal plating, taking a few more minutes to remove the remaining parts.

After a simple dressing, they lifted the unconscious Omo onto the stretcher and headed back the way they came. As they left, the medics dropped several body bags.

"These bags are made with the latest nano-textile technology, designed to preserve the remains until recovery," a soft, emotionless female voice emanated from a loudspeaker.

"Recovery? Recovery of what?" Raynor picked up the body bags.

"The Power Armor," the medic replied.

"What kind of injury does he have? Where are you taking him?" Zander asked, chasing after the stretcher.

But the medics only shook their heads, offering no answer.

After placing Benjamin and the other fallen marines into the body bags, Augustus led the survivors to follow the lieutenant's unit. No one spoke for a long time; everyone's spirits were low, especially Raynor's, who trembled with grief for quite a while.

Grief and self-reproach also tormented Augustus, but it was not enough to break him. On the contrary, the pain made his thinking clearer and more meticulous than ever before.

Gradually, they drew closer to the exit of the A-220 commercial district. The exit was a central plaza composed of large buildings like a bookstore, an electronics mall, and a department store, with a dry fountain at the center of the cobblestone square.

Once they crossed this plaza, Augustus and his group could return to the main road. By now, bright light was drawing nearer, and the sounds of gunfire and artillery in the surrounding streets grew more intense; every Confederacy unit that entered the commercial district had been ambushed by the Kel-Morians.

The lieutenant from the 2nd Brigade walked at the front, being the first to step out of the commercial street. At the exit, the officer waved his hand forcefully toward the back before turning to continue forward.

"Don't stop!" he shouted.

But suddenly, without warning, the officer stumbled a few steps and collapsed to the ground. Almost everyone saw the lieutenant fall, and from Augustus's position, he could see the bullet hole in the officer's helmet.

"Sniper!" a sergeant in the lieutenant's platoon screamed. This triggered a chain reaction; unsure of where the sniper was, the marines opened fire on the surrounding shops and high-rises. Only after shattering the few remaining windows in the area did the gunfire finally cease.

"Rick, can you take him out?" Augustus asked over the comms channel.

"I can, but I need to pinpoint the enemy sniper's location," Rick replied. "See those high-rises on the plaza? He could be on any floor of any one of them, with his muzzle trained on this street entrance. He might have already left, or he might be sitting there quietly, waiting for the next target worth a shot."

"That last shot might have been his final one; he only needed to let us know that a killer is watching our heads."

While Augustus spoke with Rick, the squad leaders under the lieutenant were arguing heatedly on their own platoon channel, though they were mostly debating who would take command after the lieutenant's death.

"We have no choice but to push through," Harnack said.

"If we don't take out that sniper, we'll lose as many men as he has bullets before we clear this street," Raynor said.

"What about going around through other streets?" Zander suggested. "Or we could wait for units from other streets to clear the way first."

"But what if that bastard is already watching us? As long as he stays there, who knows if his next shot will hit one of us out of hundreds," Ward said.

"Rick, how do we pinpoint the enemy sniper's location?" Augustus asked.

"I need him to fire again." Rick had already climbed to the top floor of a department store at the commercial street exit. He set up his sniper rifle at a window, aiming at the central plaza, his crosshairs moving slowly from left to right at a rate of half an inch per second.

Rick's sniper rifle was designed specifically for soldiers in Power Armor, built for assassination. The trigger of the Boatswain FN-92 was designed with a two-stage pull; after the first stage was engaged, the slightest touch on the second would release the firing pin in the chamber.

Augustus fell silent after hearing Rick. His most rational mind told him they couldn't stay in this commercial district for too long, or who knew if a Ripper unit or another Goliath might suddenly emerge.

"Laird." While the squad leaders were still arguing, Augustus suddenly turned to the few Resocialized Soldiers he had encountered earlier; there were three of them left. Without any hesitation or doubt, Augustus chose what he believed was the most effective way to solve the problem: he would have these Resocialized Soldiers draw the enemy sniper's fire.

Benjamin's death and Omo's critical injury were turning Augustus cold.

Laird immediately walked to Augustus's side.

"Rick, you have three chances," Augustus said.

"One is enough," Rick said. "What are you planning to do?"

"I can try to bait him into firing, but it won't be without risk."

"From now on, Rick, focus. Find the sniper's position and take him out before he can run." Augustus cut the comms channel.

"Private Laird, come here."

By now, Augustus was very close to Laird. He found a small ID string on the Resocialized Soldier's helmet. After inputting the number, Augustus accessed the following information via the built-in computer:

Laird Gain, murdered ten adult men, consumed six of them, and pickled the rest with salt.