"Hanrack, Amy, take this guy to the Military Police Department." Augustus waved, and the soldiers behind him, Gauss Rifles in hand, immediately stepped forward.
It wasn't that Augustus hadn't recognized the infamous "man-fucker" Tychus from the Game. He just didn't want anything to do with him. If possible, the farther away Tychus got, the better.
The only person a selfish bastard like Tychus Findlay truly considered a friend was Jim Raynor. Someone like him would never have done anything as selfless as sacrificing himself for another person.
"I'm sure this is just a tiny misunderstanding, sir." Tychus's voice was always deep and forceful. "Just now, I was only trying to straighten his tie. Maybe I wasn't being very gentle, but surely I don't have to go drink coffee at the Military Police Department just because I hurt him a little?"
"Amy, fix bayonets," Augustus said.
While Tychus was still arguing with Augustus, Raynor turned his attention back to the computer screen in front of him. Normally, Raynor couldn't be bothered to check the identities of people coming to collect supplies, but today he had to take a look. He'd made an enemy of Tychus, and although Raynor had no intention of getting back at him, he had to be careful in case Tychus held a grudge.
The next moment, Raynor's eyes went wide. "Augustus, which company is the Garrison Company?"
"There's only one company left at this fort. Which Garrison Company do you think it is?" Augustus looked at Raynor, one hand on his hip.
Fort Howe had originally been home to the 2nd Marine 3rd Battalion stationed on Turaxis II, along with three battalions from the 33rd Ground Assault Division's 4th Brigade, including the 5th Battalion. But last week, Kel-Morian forces in the area had suddenly attacked several cities around the fort. The troops stationed there had all been sent out to reinforce them, leaving only Warfield's company behind to recover from its severe losses.
"Holy shit, this bastard is the convict who's supposed to join our squad," Raynor swore.
"Hell, are you serious?" Harnack cried, prodding Tychus with his shotgun. Tychus glared at him. "Why do we have to take in a convict? I could've sworn I told that Warfield guy the boss wanted a pretty, refined woman with a nice ass."
"Augustus never said that," Amy said, lowering her rifle and shaking her head in exasperation.
"Fine. Anyway, aside from being a guy, he's not that bad," Harnack said with a shrug.
"So you're the squad I'm supposed to join?" But Tychus quickly forgot about Harnack's little provocation. He was unlucky, but lucky enough that at least it meant he wouldn't have to go to the Military Police Department.
"Like I said, this is just a small misunderstanding. That dark-haired kid and I had a minor disagreement. In the Marines, that's nothing. There's nothing a cigar and a bottle of Number Eight whiskey can't fix."
"Jim, I still don't know this bastard's name." Augustus's mouth twitched twice. Then he took off his cap, pushed Harnack aside, and stood in front of Tychus.
Tychus was half an inch taller than Augustus, but he quickly realized that didn't make him any more intimidating.
Augustus stood ramrod straight in front of the towering man, the two of them perhaps no more than an inch apart. Those cold gray eyes stared at him—icy, imposing, poised to strike—and reminded Tychus of the giant eagles that circled above the little town back home.
"His name's Tychus Findlay," Raynor said.
"Mr. Findlay, this matter ends here. As the squad leader, I expect you to make peace with Jim." Augustus stared into Tychus's eyes.
"But don't mistake me for a soft touch. I know you're a complete bastard and a selfish piece of trash. You have no sense of honor or camaraderie. All you care about is making money in the military, and the only thing that might matter to you in this life is the number in your bank account," he said.
"I won't let one bad apple spoil the whole bunch. Whether I'm watching or not, you'll keep your head down and behave. Otherwise, I'll kick you out. Do you understand?"
"Loud and clear." Tychus had a pretty good read on the sergeant by now. The man was no pushover. Young and capable, he wouldn't tolerate the slightest nonsense, nothing like the old sergeants on Reading III who'd spent so long in the rear doing nothing that they'd gone senile. Pulling the wool over Augustus's eyes would be difficult.
In Tychus's experience, young sergeants like him were usually ambitious. They cared more about getting promoted than about money or women.
Tychus didn't understand why Augustus seemed to know everything about him at their very first meeting, but that didn't really matter.
What bothered Tychus most wasn't any of that. Augustus's idea of "making money" didn't seem to include Tychus's own interests. And if Augustus really was an honest, upright Marine who followed the rules to the letter, then Tychus was royally screwed.
Sergeants like him were paragons of loyalty and excellence, both to the Marines and to their subordinates. But Tychus wasn't keen on serving under one.
Contrary to what Augustus had said, Tychus was "a selfless, good-hearted man and an utterly loyal soldier of the Confederacy." His ideals and ambitions were "so noble and sacred they defied description."
Tychus was engaged in a truly great undertaking: robbing the rich to help the poor.
The Confederacy and the Marines were the rich, and he—the poorest man in the entire Milky Way Galaxy—was the poor. Nothing made Tychus's heavy heart pound faster than money, getting more money, and hearing his money bag jingle.
To that end, he'd stolen Confederacy supplies more than once. By colluding with quartermasters, he'd sold truckloads of weapons and armor from captured-goods warehouses to pirates, mercenaries, and even the Kel-Morians, then destroyed the records of the captured supplies.
If nobody knew a unit had ever captured a shipment of supplies, then it simply didn't exist. And if any of it came to light, Tychus would be shot a hundred times over.
Other than that, Tychus hadn't done anything particularly outrageous. He'd never harmed civilians, since they didn't have much money anyway. He liked beautiful women, but he'd never gone after married women; he only spent money at legal bars and with sex workers.
Now, Tychus's great undertaking was facing a serious challenge. He was only a private, a grunt. If his new squad leader was cut from the same cloth, everything would be easy. Sure, there'd be more people to split the profits with, but he'd also have someone to cover for him.
As long as the war continued, Tychus would always find a way to make a buck. Years of work had built him an extensive network of contacts and informants. As long as he had something to sell, he could get a good price for it, no matter where it came from. There was always someone willing to buy.
"I won't treat you unfairly under my command." After putting Tychus in his place, Augustus's tone softened considerably, though he still gave him no friendly smile. "You're a big guy, and we can use someone like you around here. Come with me to haul supplies. Then go find your own gear. We don't have any pampered young masters or ladies here. We're a unit. No one gets special treatment."
"Harnack! Pick up your cigarette butt, then clean this spot. There are already enough assholes in this squad. Don't cause me any more trouble."
"Oh, what's the big deal? I'll do it right away, little Amy."
"Hmm? Why are you dragging me along?"
"Everyone gets a share, right?"
It's Children's Day today, so let's wish the Hierarch of the Daelaam, Artanis, a happy holiday! Rally the troops with one click!
If the Dark Templar are knocking at your door, you'll receive the following gifts: the Dark Prelate's Blade of the Master, Raynor's Star-Shattering Little Revolver, and a one-day trip on a one-way teleportation platform.
Before you continue