Umojan Mercenary Graven Hill

Chapter 50: Umojan Mercenary Graven Hill

Fort Wait was a Terran Confederacy city about fifty miles from Fort Howe. A highway that had gone unmaintained for years led straight to its utterly razed city center.

After the armored personnel carrier carrying Augustus's 3rd Platoon left Fort Howe, the convoy had been driving through the cold, dark night on Turaxis II for nearly an hour. Several stretches of road had been blown up, making the journey far from smooth.

The region was close to the arctic zone. At this time of year in the northern hemisphere, the temperature dropped below ten degrees below zero. The cold wind blew in from the south, across the only ocean on Turaxis, which was gradually freezing over. The thick waterproof canvas at the back of the truck flapped noisily.

"I'd like to know why we had to come all the way out here at this hour to scout for Kel-Morians who aren't even around," Harnack grumbled inside the personnel carrier assigned to Augustus's squad. "And the landing pads at the fort are full of transports. Why are we riding in a truck?"

"Maybe they were afraid the locals would shoot us down with their little pistols, whose effective range is only a few dozen yards?" Raynor said. "Vandersp has always been considerate. He's a gentleman and a good man."

"I'm saying, the important thing is to wrap this up and get back to bed," Tychus said. His Power Armor was even larger than the standard model. "Or we could go find some fun at a local bar?"

"Sounds good!" Harnack cheered.

"Enough," Augustus said, glaring at Harnack. "Do you even know what kind of place that is? And if there really are Kel-Morians around, I'm not risking a few lives to rescue you when you get drunk."

The bright excitement in the eyes of Harnack, Josephine, and Tychus immediately faded at an astonishing rate.

Just then, after a bumpy stretch of road, the convoy entered Fort Wait's pothole-ridden, crater-pocked streets and continued toward the city center. Eventually, it stopped at an intersection with traffic lights.

Augustus sealed his helmet visor, then was the first to lift the canvas flap and jump out of the armored personnel carrier, a Gauss Rifle slung in his hands. A gray wolf-head insignia decorated its stock. The other Marines climbed out one after another.

Snowflakes landed on Augustus's visor, melted, and promptly froze. He looked toward the few places where lights still shone. Before him stretched a series of undulating black shapes, like a cluster of hills pressed together.

But Augustus soon realized the truth was far worse: this was the ruin of a city. High-rises had collapsed, rubble and car wrecks littered the ground, and snow had swallowed everything. The bustle and bright lights of a lively city had fallen silent, leaving only a white wasteland.

Fort Wait had once been a city of two hundred thousand people. During the years of the Guild Wars, it had narrowly escaped being consumed by the flames of war several times. But a few months ago, it had suffered the same fate as Pride of Boke: the Kel-Morian Haigolong Legion had invaded, looted, and destroyed it.

"So where are we supposed to go catch some Kel-Morian ass?" Tychus rumbled. "We have no plan, and barely any intel."

"Doesn't something feel off to you? What kind of enemy would make us come out scouting in the middle of the night? The Kel-Morians aren't blind. Wouldn't they hear the vehicles and run? That lieutenant colonel really is a naive fool. I can't imagine how he got his position."

"Captain Warfield's point was that we had to come, at least," Augustus said. "After all, a few thousand people still live in these ruins. They're refugees who refused to leave their homes. We should at least make sure they're safe."

"Oh? That doesn't sound like the Marines I know," Tychus said with a laugh. "You know how the Marines on Reding III protected their people?"

"They killed them all, then blamed the Kel-Morians. That way, the war correspondents from UNN could write a lavishly illustrated article denouncing the Kel-Morians' wickedness and stirring up hatred for the enemy among the Core Worlds' residents. Then the Confederacy could issue war bonds on a grand scale," he said.

"And who would have to pay those bonds back in the end? The defeated Kel-Morians, of course."

"Tychus, I hope you understand this. We may not be angels, but we shouldn't be devils, either." Augustus led his squad toward one of the few sources of light in Fort Wait. Reagan, the 3rd Platoon's sergeant, ordered his squad to investigate one of the others.

Augustus followed an obviously cleared path past a church with only three walls still standing. The shattered stained-glass windows refracted colorful light under the beam of his armored spotlight. A huge cross had fallen from the top of the church and now stood at an angle in the snow, as if it were planted atop a massive grave.

By order of the Turaxis II governor's office and the Northern Hemisphere First Main Continent Command, every city and town in the region was supposed to strictly enforce a blackout and curfew. Fort Wait's residents clearly didn't care about the rules.

Fort Wait had become a ruin, but most of its residential buildings could still draw power from solar panels. Electricity wasn't exactly the scarcest resource in this age. But the ruins were a lawless death zone. The Terran Confederacy and the Kel-Morian Combine had both washed their hands of the area, leaving it full of all kinds of people.

Homeless locals, wanted fugitives, and space pirates and mercenaries who stopped to rest and trade with the locals for supplies and fuel. In the depths of winter, hungry wild animals also attacked people at night. You had to watch out for beasts—and even your neighbors, who might climb your garden wall for a scrap of food.

Only a handful of buildings kept their lights on all night. They were usually the lairs of the biggest local gangs or bars open to space pirates and mercenaries.

Augustus was heading for one such bar, a small place. A few sentries stood outside, but no one dared fire on the Confederate Marines in their Power Armor—or even managed a proper challenge. To the long-suffering locals, the Confederacy and the Kel-Morians were no different.

After observing the place for a while, Augustus went inside with a few soldiers, leaving the rest to set up a perimeter.

The bar was surprisingly clean and tidy. The pleasant scent of incense mingled with the dry, cold air from outside. The floor was made of repaired wooden planks, and there were a dozen or so tables with chairs. Only four or five people sat inside. The others had probably run off as soon as they heard that Confederate Marines were coming.

Augustus went straight to the owner behind the counter, his armored boots creaking on the floorboards.

"I want to buy information about the Kel-Morians." Augustus tossed a thick wad of cash onto the counter.

"Sergeant Mengsk has that much money?" Tychus asked in surprise over the comms. He accurately estimated the sizable sum from the thickness of the stack.

"Of course," Raynor said smugly. "Augustus might be the richest man on this planet."

"What's it to you? What are you so smug about?" Tychus said, though what he was really thinking was that he needed to learn more about Augustus. If Augustus was truly someone important, Tychus wouldn't mind sucking up to him a little.

"Ah! Sir, I don't know anything!" The bar owner was a middle-aged man with one hand missing. At first, the thick wad of cash had startled him, but after thinking it over, he decided his life mattered more.

"You're afraid of retaliation, aren't you?" Augustus asked.

"Come on, come on. This guy doesn't know half as much as I do." Just then, a strangely dressed man came up to Augustus, leaned over the table, swept up all the cash, and excitedly began counting it with a companion.

Augustus turned to look at him. The man dressed like the locals, in a thick wool military greatcoat, dark brown fleece-lined military boots, and a fur-lined three-eared cap. The dark coffee-colored coat fell almost to his ankles.

If all that seemed normal, the sunglasses he wore in the middle of the night were decidedly strange. Judging by his face and youthful voice, he looked to be in his twenties.

"Seeing you really brings tears to my eyes. You probably don't know this, but Remy and I are starting a business." After counting the money, the man finally looked at Augustus. He enthusiastically shook his hand, undeterred by the height difference between them. "Oh, my name's Graven Hill. I'm from Umojan, and I'm a mercenary. Here's my card. It has my email address."

"I see. Then why are you so sure your information is worth this much?" Augustus took the business card and put it away. Behind the visor, where Hill couldn't see, he smiled.

Graven Hill was the mercenary leader from the Hyperion in the game, the man who specialized in selling mercenary contracts to Raynor.

"It's definitely worth it, sir. A Kel-Morian Haigolong strike team is preparing to raid Fort Howe. It's happening tonight," Hill said.

"How do you know that?" Augustus's expression changed.

"I'm a mercenary. I used to take mostly jobs from the Kel-Morians, and some of the mercenaries I helped with their dirty work are still among them. I'm never short on information," Hill said. "Of course, I've signed plenty of mercenary contracts with both the Confederacy and the Kel-Morians."

"The Kel-Morians are under a lot of military pressure right now. Sigh. It's hard for us, too. Demand's higher than supply, so naturally the price goes up, but they can't afford to pay. They're behind on their bills." Perhaps because he was young, Hill was especially talkative. "Mercenaries have to eat, too. They have parents and children to support. So many families can barely put food on the table."

"So you really can't blame me. It's not like I'm selling them out because I want to."

"Jim, come on. We need to find Reagan. He's the only one with equipment that can contact Warfield directly." Augustus turned and left at once.

"Hm? You trust me just like that?" Hill was taken aback.

"Either way, we need to confirm it." Augustus left the bar with Raynor and the others, who were still bewildered. "We'll be in touch. If this is true, I'll pay you double what I just gave you."

"I'll be in touch."

"That's a wealthy potential client," Hill's companion Remy said. "We should stay in contact with him."

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