Guoguo, You Have to Believe Me

Like a boat rowing against the current, the White Star pressed through a surging tide of millions of Zerg and void creatures. Its heavy titanium alloy armor plates were being torn apart and disintegrated under void energy beams, highly corrosive spore clusters, and even direct impacts from massive objects.

Augustus had changed into a commander-model Power Armor, but the heavy protection did little to make him feel safe.

Tychus was already seated in the cockpit of the Odin, waiting to be launched like an oversized shell. He might already have taken off by now.

Above the star map console before Augustus floated a scaled-down holographic model of the White Star. Most of its hull glowed an unhealthy yellow, while the sections that had been completely destroyed were prominently marked in bright red. There might not have been anything left there long ago.

The hull integrity displayed on the screen kept dropping. The bridge had completely lost contact with several decks. Zerg and void creatures had already entered the ship, ruthlessly harvesting every life they could find. Broken corpses and groaning people lay everywhere. In the compartments that had not yet been slaughtered clean, brutal fighting continued.

At regular intervals, Augustus received a flood of reports, and every single one told him that he was losing his flagship. At least several hundred voices spoke over the communication channels at once, filling them with questions, requests, and orders.

The gun batteries and J23 missile launchers lining the exterior of the White Star had also been almost completely destroyed. Their former emplacements had either become ruins of twisted scrap metal, or melted and collapsed inward, leaving enormous black holes large enough for fighters to fly through back and forth.

The more fatal wound ran from the White Star's port midsection to the armor