TitoVillar
patreon
SCL Chapter 64: Arms, Armor, and Alliances
🕑 Added 2025-05-11 21:16:09 +0000 UTCAugustus's unreliable father, Angus, might have been a brilliant politician and agitator, but he knew nothing about military affairs. He was stubbornly convinced that Korhal’s population of several tens of millions and a mobilized force of fewer than 250,000 troops could stand up to the powerful Terran Federation government. But in truth, even with Umoja’s weapons support, it was nowhere near enough to level the playing field.
The Terran Federation had fleets and resocialized soldiers, while Korhal IV lacked even basic powered armor.
A year from now, Korhal IV would inevitably become a brutal battlefield.
Naturally, the more he thought about it, the clearer it became to Augustus—he and the Mengsk family were as fragile as candles flickering in the wind.
Now, Augustus had begun to gradually step into the role of rebel leader in his mind, thinking about how he should respond to the grim future and the ever-shifting political landscape.
Reality was forcing him to plan far ahead. He had to take the long view and lay out a strategy that spanned more than a decade. If Augustus had to enter another war, then he would make absolutely sure he emerged victorious and overthrew the Federation government.
This had nothing to do with hatred, faith, or ideals of liberating the people of Korhal or the Terran sector. Augustus was simply being forced into this path.
He had to make contact in advance with anyone—or any force—that might be able to help him. He knew well that Umoja’s support alone would never be enough.
At present, the only people of that sort Augustus had encountered were future mercenary leaders like Hill—a man worth exploiting. Tychus, too, just barely counted—he controlled a black-market network of unknown value.
In the near future, Augustus would no doubt need to resell confiscated military supplies taken from the Federation. The Kel-Morian Combine and Umoja would be major clients, but he couldn’t rely on them completely.
After circling the town a few times, Augustus finally brought the buyers to an abandoned underground garage that had long since been left unattended. Raynor stood guard with Brandon, and a few others, armed with coilguns and watching over two trucks loaded with weapons.
A rotund man jogged over and lifted the tarp on one of the trucks. His face lit up with surprise and delight the moment he saw the neatly arranged equipment. He turned to his subordinates and said, “Quick! Come check the weapons. See if they’re usable.”
Then, unable to help himself, he affectionately stroked a suit of powered armor as if caressing a lover.
Even though all the suits were outdated CMC-200 models, and many bore signs of wear and tear, they could still fetch a high price. As for the two well-maintained but officially retired Goliath combat walkers—they were priceless. Plenty of people would pay handsomely for these heavily armed bipedal machines, but Augustus intended to keep them for his own men.
After all, both the Terran Federation and the Kel-Morian Combine prioritized recovering powered armor from the battlefield above all else—sometimes even ahead of treating the wounded or burying the dead. To prevent technological leakage, some of the Federation’s exclusive high-tech weapons—such as prototype drop pods—were even fitted with autonomous self-destruct mechanisms that activated one minute after landing.
As a result, standard-issue gear rarely made its way into the wild, and fully recruitable retired Marine units wouldn’t emerge for another decade or more.
In the Federation’s current climate of intensifying class conflict, peaceful protests in cities were increasingly escalating into looting, arson, and violent riots. Meanwhile, the ever-present, unextinguishable Revolutionary Army was inciting labor uprisings in fringe sectors and sabotaging military supply routes.
By this year, such chaos had forced local governments in multiple regions to deploy Marines and expand police forces. At the same time, wealthy tycoons, corporate magnates, bankers, and major shareholders of listed companies were urgently seeking elite private armies to protect their assets from looters—and to guard against assassination attempts by the Revolutionary Army.
So arms trafficking wasn’t just profitable—it was often wildly lucrative. That is, assuming Augustus had the right channels and the proper backing.
“Not bad at all,” he said. “Mr. Nicholas, you really didn’t let us down.”
“The servomotors, fusion core, and armor skeleton are all intact,” Augustus said. “The internal computer has also been reprogrammed—it runs on a third-party system.”
“I’m very satisfied,” the rotund man replied, turning to glance at the armed soldiers flanking Augustus.
“Perhaps we can deepen our cooperation in the future,” he added, extending a hand toward Augustus. “We’re Cerberus Engineering. Right now, we’re just a small, obscure biotech company—but one day, we’ll be known across the world. We’re going public.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard.” Augustus remembered the name. Cerberus had once been a classified program under the Terran Empire, focused on resocialization, limb modification, and Zerg control. Still, it was unclear whether this company had any real connection to that imperial Cerberus Project—especially since the actual project wasn’t rebuilt until after the year 2500. The name was probably just a coincidence.
In Greek mythology, Cerberus was the three-headed hound of the underworld. Unsurprisingly, both the Kel-Morian Combine and the Terran Federation had named weapons or special units after the creature.
“What’s your company’s main research focus? Genetic engineering? There’s a strong market for that in both Tarsonis and Korhal.”
“Uh…” The man looked a bit embarrassed. “Right now, we’re researching how to control Umojan cattle—to get them to produce milk according to our specifications. But the technology we’re using is absolutely cutting-edge. Our scientists have managed to implant a unique organic growth into the third temporal lobe of the cow’s brain, which lets us manipulate its gestational responses.”
“That sounds like it has potential.” Augustus asked casually, “Would this work on humans too? Not that I’m planning to get any girls pregnant, of course.”
“No, no, no!” the man waved his hands hastily. “We would never test on living humans—that would be unethical.”
“I’m just asking,” Augustus said lightly. “We should each leave a permanent point of contact—one that won’t change easily. My boss will definitely be interested in your project.”
“You can reach me anytime.”
Whatever the case, Augustus found the company intriguing. If possible, he wouldn’t mind taking the lead on the next-generation Cerberus War Pigs Program.
“Delighted to hear it.” The man offered a stiff ceremonial gesture, one that seemed to mimic the etiquette of old noble families from a core world.
Once the guards had finished inspecting the gear and reported back to the rotund man, Augustus and he exchanged contact details. Next, Augustus’s men began verifying the money.
The price had already been agreed upon. The equipment sold for a total of approximately 12 million credits—most of it from the powered armor alone. That was enough to buy a 60-square-meter apartment in Styrling’s Queen’s District on Korhal IV.
The Cerberus Engineering team quickly drove off with the trucks. According to Ryk’s report, at least ten armed personnel had been dispatched to escort them.
“We need to move,” said Tychus, eyeing the two Raptor armored vehicles in the lot. “In this business, betrayal’s a regular occurrence.”
“No need to panic,” Augustus replied calmly. “We’re on vacation. At the very least, let’s get a meal before we head back.”
With that, Augustus led the Heaven’s Devils out of the parking garage, and Tychus followed behind—clearly not lacking in nerve himself.
They turned onto a commercial street that wasn’t entirely deserted and entered a Gothic-style hot spring hotel. From the outside, the tall structure looked extravagant. Its arched windows gleamed with warm amber light, lined with slender radiating stone columns. The shell-colored balcony railings bore carvings of Byzantine lions.
Everyone was armed, so no one dared lay a finger on the contents of their cases.
...
From low orbital altitude, the vast Uranus Mountains looked like a long, snow-colored scar etched across the land—a magnificent range separating the First and Fourth primary continental plates on Turaxis II. Long rivers born of glaciers surged across the yellowish surface of the planet, nourishing cities, towns, farmlands, and the herds of wandering shepherds.
By September, battles across Turaxis had all concluded in victory for the Terran Federation Army. Thanks to support from the fleet, massive squadrons of aircraft swept unchallenged over Kel-Morian cities and fortifications, forcing the enemy into hiding underground or retreating into the wilderness. One city after another gradually fell back under Federation control.
The fleet’s capital ships monitored geosynchronous orbit, ensuring that any Kel-Morian spacecraft attempting to flee the planet would be destroyed the moment it broke free of gravity. On the ground, the Terran forces were steadily gaining overwhelming dominance.
The Kel-Morians were in full retreat. Even the rural towns had been retaken by the Marines—except for the Uranus Mountains.
The Sea Dragon Legion’s remaining forces were still hiding within the mountains. They had hollowed out several peaks, carving bases that extended deep underground. Numerous Sea Dragon mountain squads lurked in the valleys, gorges, and snowy expanses, ambushing any Terran Federation unit bold enough to enter.
So far, nearly three hundred Marines and their guides had died there, buried beneath the unending wind and snow.
Outpost lay between two peaks on the edge of the Uranus Mountains, straddling a 12-kilometre-long saddle-shaped ridge. The ridge consisted of fourteen connected hills of varying elevation, with the lowest point barely reaching 90 metres.
Each hill hosted a fortified emplacement built from pre-cast steel walls, bunkers, and barbed wire. Every bunker was linked by air raid trenches and fortified dugouts reinforced with wooden planks, each roughly 5 to 6 metres deep.
This was home to the 1st and 5th Battalions of the 4th Brigade, 33rd Ground Assault Division—along with engineers, radar technicians, and artillery crews—amounting to over a thousand personnel in total. Just 8 kilometres away, two army brigades were stationed alongside a starport capable of launching and landing atmospheric and interstellar craft.
On one of the high points of the ridge stood a silver-gray command center, flanked in four directions by eight towering anti-air missile turrets.
