Untitled, in progress short story. Constructive criticism please.

Been thinking about sending this to the Blizzard creative writing contest. Tell me what you think.

Notes: I have not read a single one of the canon novels based on the Starcraft universe. All my knowledge of the game's fiction comes from the campaigns of the game itself (and the handy wiki dedicated to it).

The story takes place during the mission "True Colors" in "Brood Wars."

The concept comes from the film "No Man's Land" and Garth Ennis' one-shot comic "War Story" in that the plot revolves around a group of soldiers on opposing sides trapped in a trench together who bicker amongst each other in addition to finding common ground

For people who know French, understand that some phrases comes from a mere two years of high school french. I'm well aware that it would normally be inappropriate for one of the characters to use informal grammar in that situation, and I decided with this technique to complement her liberal use of argot. I'll post a translation for some of the phrases later (if the reception to this is positive).

Again, I've been working on this for the past two hours and remains far from finished (my current word count is about 1200, and I'm planning for it to go the whole 10,000 permitted for the contest).

Anyhoo: The story:

Second Battle of Augustgrad, Grid K-57, 1800 Hours

“Did you have to bring ‘it’ into this trench with us?” One voice, that of a male, said. Despite the cacophonous orchestra of gunfire and Arclite shells exploding all around, Akvavit could still make out a conversation as his eyes slowly opened.
“He, not ‘it.’” Another said, a female’s.
“And you can tell that it’s a ‘he?’” Yet another male voice quipped.
“Seigneur, the last thing we need now is the lot of you bickering.” This was another female’s voice, laden with a thick accent. “Mais, il est vachement bandant…” She said in a mischievous tone, “if you can get past the scaly skin.”
“Guess the rumors are true, the Ghost conditioning really does cross your wires.” The other female voice responded.
Akvavit finally forced his eyes wide open. Four Terrans sat in the trench, the tension between all of them evident.
One of the males, the one who spoke first, was encased in a CMC-400 PCS with an emblem of two white cubes with black dots imprinted on the sides; one of the cubes had the side with three dots on top, the other the side of four. The Terran was gruff and imposing, a sneer seemingly eternally present on his face, much like other Terrans who fought alongside him. His features told of the many battles he fought in and bore witness to. In other words, the type of Terran the Protoss could respect. Akvavit remembered that the Terrans referred to them as “Marines” Their weapons were surprisingly effective, but Akvavit had to say that they’re dedication and training could not even come close to that of the Zealots.
One of the females wore an almost identical powered combat suit, but it was white and had a strange insignia of a red cross painted in strategic locations for ease of identification. She held a C-14 “Impaler” Carbine, though its rounds were expended. Akvavit deduced that she was an inexperienced fighter, judging by the soft, compassionate look on her face, also by how her hands shook when she grasped the rifle.
Yet another Terran was encased in that neo-steel armor of what Akvavit and his Zealot brethren saw as metal coffins. This one’s skin was somewhat darker than his brethren, and he wore a military-style cap with a flap hooked onto the back, evidently to prevent the burning heat from beating on the back of his neck. He too also looked as if he had seen his fair share of combat. Yet, he appeared apathetic and disillusioned, as if battle had hammered out any fear for his life or care for the cause he was fighting for. His rifle lay in the middle of the trench, jammed and useless.
The last Terran did not wear a bulky suit of armor, but she still sported a tall and imposing stature to go with her lithe and svelte figure. Various cybernetic implants lined her cloak-suit, and a menacing-looking blade was holstered onto her ankle. She wore a neo-steel vest with: “48 CON + APRX 700 UNCON +” scrawled on it, along with a series of ordered etched lines that could not have been made by the unwieldy swipes of the claws of a zergling. Akvavit then realized that she was one of the infamous “Ghosts,” whose psionic powers could match, if not surpass, the potent abilities of the Templar of the Akilae tribe. While Akvavit esteemed the experienced human, he was disturbed by the presence of this one, who gave off a terrifying aura that spoke of homicidal madness.
“If that ‘thing’ is dead, I’d ‘suggest’ (obviously, it wasn’t a suggestion) that you took it out of this trench and took a Firebats torch to it,” the most experienced Terran said, “I don’t even want to think about how bad aliens smell once they start getting ripe.”
“Well, since I’m a medic, I wouldn’t have brought him in here if he was dead.” The compassionate human said. “Besides, I don’t take orders from a dog of Mengsk’s.”
“In that case, would you prefer it if I shot you instead?” the experienced Marine took out his sidearm. “I was hoping to save the one bullet here for myself if an Ultralisk came by, but I think the satisfaction of killing a ‘reb’ like you would make up for the pain from dying at the hands of the zerg.
“Easy, jefe!” The other male Terran exclaimed and pointed at Akvavit, “Mira! He’s coming to!”
“Tiens, salut, mon biquet!” the other female said excitedly, “Comment Ça va?”
As a Protoss, able psychics that they are, Akvavit was able to understand the gist of the Terran’s speech, though evidently, she spoke a different dialect than her companions.
“Who are you?” were the only words that Akvavit could manage.
“Well there’s an idea, I didn’t get all your names.” The oldest Terran said. “Captain Jonathan Winters, 10th Dismounted Infantry of the Dominion Marine Corps.
“Corporal Alvaro Vega, 177th Airborne.” The tanned-skinned Terran replied.
“Lieutenant Junior Grade Laure de Marais, 5th Ghost Detachment, UED Expeditionary Fleet.” The tall woman said and looked at the other female Terran. “Et toi? Tu avec les Rangers de Raynor, n’est-ce pas?”
“Ummm… Mais oui.” She answered with her limited French vocabulary, “Specialist Randall Flood, Raynor’s Rangers.”
“Ah! Parler-tu français?” Laure perked up.
“Uh… Comme ci, comme ca.” Flood answered. Laure gave her a puzzled look then realized that her hopes had been dashed. “And you’re with the UED?”
“C’est vrai.”
All four of them then turned to Akvavit. “Guess that leaves you” Randall remarked.
He held off for a moment, then, “Akvavit, Zealot of the Akilae Tribe.”
“Well, Protoss or Terran, UED or Dominion, we’re all in the same boat.” Vega observed.
“Don’t you mean ‘trench?’” Akvavit asked. “What happened?”
“You tell me.” Corporal Vega said. “Here I was, thinking we made nice with the Zerg when all of the sudden, every Hydralisk between here and Char start rolling all over us.”
“Point is, our units are done, and I’d imagine, so are yours. We’re all cut off from anything that wouldn’t shred us to pieces on the first sight ‘a us” Winters said. “Right now, we’re in the wake of the main Zerg advance and we’ve all hopped into this trench to save ourselves from being shelled by our own siege tanks.”
“You needn’t worry.” Laure said, “I’ve been doing some long-range telepathy scans. This is all for a good reason, tes amis are getting ready for a big push.”
“No guarantee it’ll succeed, but at least it’ll give us a chance to link up back with our units.” Randall said. “And you, et vous?” she said in a patronizing tone to Laure.
“Eh, merde.” Laure said, “Well… I suppose I could surrender to the Dominion if I don’t get picked up by mes frères. I don’t see why they wouldn’t take me, they’ve never done anything to me before.
“Maybe that’s because we never seem to be able to see you’s types.” Winters said, “then again, nobody is as good as surrendering as you froggies.”
“Salaud.” Laure hissed. I could cause your brain to hemorrhage for that. Maybe you would like to be another tally on here.” Laure said as she pointed at the marks scrawled on her vest, “Mais, I must save my strength for when it matters.”
“You mean because of the Zerg?” Randall asked?
“Évidemment.” Laure replied.
"Well..." Vega said, "the bombardmen ain't going to end any time soon. If nothing better to do, how about your story?"

 

Dude I'll read that in the morning....

 

Then do not comment just to get your postcount up! Dude...
-----
The story theme is great, as well as the stories you based it on. I have never read the starcraft novels either, but here are some suggestions that can improve the story imo:
- Use quotation marks when someone speaks. Basic writing rule and much more easy to read.
- If the story is seen through the eyes of that zealot, you should show people how he got there, why he got there and what he is thinking.
- You started of really, really well with the ambience of the story, -sounds in the area etc- but that kinda faded away. It would be cool to have things like, shells of siege tanks impacting very close. Either to scare the people -since you have no thoughts of them this helps giving them a personality, they can al react in a different way.- It can also be an indicator of the troops coming closer.
- Use not only a spell check, they do not get everything. -A firebats? You are only talking about one of them. etc.-
- Some reason for the battle there. Was the planet overrun by the zerg, where they -terran- mounting an attack? etc.
- Some zerg sounds or any indication of them being nearby to add to the ambience and worries of both the terrans, as well as the immobile protoss.

I hope this helps you to make the rest of the story, it has great potential so far. And I have read my fare share of war-themed novels.

 

Please use more spaces between paragraphs or indentations, that'll make it easier to read. Note that, when speaking, you generally end up splitting the text into numerous paragraphs.

Ex:

“Did you have to bring ‘it’ into this trench with us?” One voice, that of a male, said. Despite the cacophonous orchestra of gunfire and Arclite shells exploding all around, Akvavit could still make out a conversation as his eyes slowly opened.

“He, not ‘it.’” Another said, a female’s.

“And you can tell that it’s a ‘he?’” Yet another male voice quipped.

The spacing prevent the "wall of text" problem. Fix that, and people will actually read it

 

I said that the story takes place during the mission "True Colors," when Kerrigan launches a surprise attack on Edmund Duke and Fenix. The story assumes that the battle lasted for at least a day (instead of as little as a few in-game minutes).

Your suggestions are great, I'll take them to heart

 

I meant that you should include the location and reason for that battle in the story itself. In most contests you are not allowed to have side-notes. However, when they are allowed, it looks kinda messy and distracts people from the story. You will get less votes or lower ratings because of that.

 

purée !

j'ai juste pigé ce qui était écrit en français !

 

You have written mashed potatoes in France? Or what does it mean? My French is a bit rusty... :s

 

The next portion:

Augustgrad Forward Observation Post, Grid Kilo 4-2, three days earlier.

“Watch stands relieved…” Commander Burke announced. Tents lined the perimeter, as well as a complement of Vultures for fast transport. The slow wind echoed through the night, with several bouts of the Korhalian desert sands kicking up.

The Ghosts on guard duty made their last telepathic scan, which in some cases, could detect life-forms better than any detectors the Terrans used. They roused the sleeping Ghosts up, then performed any rituals they had before going to bed, often times choosing to meditate.

Laure was one of Ghosts under Burke’s command, the 5th Ghost Detachment. Despite her elegant figure, beautiful gray eyes, long blond hair, and cheerful flirtations, none of her male compatriots could warm up to her. After all, its not easy to befriend someone who has a habit of making people’s head explode. But there wasn’t much they could do about their sentiments; Laure was a Psi-index 10 Ghost, a telekinetic, and the detachment’s XO at that.

Laure looked out onto the horizon, the capital of Augustgrad in the distance. Truly a propaganda coup in the face of the Dominion and the other factions in the Koprulu Sector, but it was far from the UED’s biggest prize. Laure closed her eyes, a common technique among skilled psychics, when…
“Mon dieu! How did we miss that?” she exclaimed. This immediately brought everyone in the camp to attention.
“What do you have, Lieutenant?” Burke inquired.
“Zerg moving into the Southwest quardant, and… something else.” Laure concentrated even harder, “Est-ce qu… Terrans?” This baffled the Ghosts.
Minutes later, contacts started coming within visual range of the observation post’s snipers and spotters. Oddly, what seemed like Marines, Zealots, and Zerglings marching alongside each other..
“Well that’s not something you see everyday.” One remarked; a masterpiece of understatement.

Radio reports spread like wild-fire across the UED communication network. Outposts were falling out of contact by the minute, and desperate requests for support overwhelmed the primary UED garrison stationed in Augustgrad.
“We… -eed… air support!”
“I have wounded in need of immediate transport to aid station! Please acknowledge, over!”
“Delta 5-2, this is Eight-Ball. Signal is bad, please repeat co-ordinates for Arclite fire mission, over.”
“Colt 1-1, coming to about 6,000 ft. Cluster bombs set to low ire… pickle.”
“What the hell?! What are Dominion and the Protoss doing helping out the Zerg?!
“This is Charlie 2-1, we’re down to six effectives. Game set and up yours!”

Commander Burke, visibly shaken, slowly hung-up the radio.
“Je ne comprends pas, Commandant” Laure said, “Le Dominion et les Protoss, pourquoi ils aident les Zerg?”
“Hell if I know, but we’re going to have to make ourselves scarce.” Burke said sternly, “Rally at Augustgrad, mount a counter-offensive.”

The 5th Ghost Detachment, 3rd ODA, was made up of twelve Ghosts. A convoy of four Vultures with three Ghosts on each traversed the treacherous canyons, hoping to make it to Grid Kilo 5-7, where the Reserve Armored Cavalry was preparing for a tactical retrograde. It was only until they reached open ground where their problems started, armed.

A pair of Dominion Wraiths gave chase, strafing the column with their 25mm laser cannons. One of the Vultures high-sided, taking out another in the process.
“Hamilton, take care of that!” Burke shouted.
One of the Ghosts pulled out a tube with a guidance module attached to it, an E-11 lockdown device. He took aim at one of the Wraiths and let one fly. The missile hit home. The engines of the Wraiths powered down, and the deliverers of death from above plummeted to the earth. One was able to pull out of a stall just in time; the other wasn’t so lucky.
“He’s coming around for another pass! I don’t think he appreciates us shooting down his buddy!” Burke cried out to Laure on the other surviving Vulture.
“La vie est trop courte.” Laure laughed, she was known to be quite jovial when the situation didn’t call for it. She took aim with her FN92 rifle at the cockpit of the Wraith and pulled the trigger. With her optical implants, she could even see the pink mist emanating from the hole in the pilot’s skull, as the Wraith nose-dived into a fiery death.

The Ghosts had little time to celebrate, as once they reached the rally point, they discovered that the area was already under heavy bombardment. One Siege Tank shell found its way onto Burke’s Vulture, sending Laure flying as the two Vultures disappeared in a brilliant flash. Soon after, Dominion Marines began sweeping through the sector and Laure silently skulked into the auxiliary trench, praying for respite.

-------------------------------------------

Grid Kilo 5-7, 1839 hours.

“I’ve been in this trench for the past few days. Maintenant, you sit before me.” Laure finished her story. In the midst of the artillery barrage, the four humans and a Protoss were in a world of their own.
“Well that’s all well and good,” Vega said, “but when I asked you how you got here, what I meant was how’d you become a Ghost, not how you got into this hell-hole in particular.”
“Comment?” Laure asked quizzically, “Surely you would prefer tales of héroisme et aventure. I don’t want to waste your time with that trivial nonsense.”
“Its not as trivial as you think, human.” Akvavit finally said. “Please, tell us. I am interested as well.” The Protoss were notoriously reserved, but when they did speak, their words were authoritative and packed to the brim with meaning.
“Yeah, time we’ve got plenty of.” Winters said.

“I was born in La Rochelle, off the western coast of France…”
“Wait,” said Randall, “aren’t Ghosts supposed to be mind-wiped before they go through conditioning?”
“Un moment, ma biquette, I shall get to that shortly. Anyways, I had a happy family, even if I was an only child. My father was a foreman at the nearby shipyard that built Behemoth Class Battlecruisers, my mother worked as a desk clerk there as well. I had thought that I had everything, the security of a stable household and all that. Alas, that wasn’t the case. My mother died in an automobile accident when I was young, and my father was never the same again. He always came home late drunk; he preferred the cheap bottles since he could buy enough to drown himself. If I didn’t have his dinner ready by the time he got home… well… you can guess what happened next.
“Madre de dios” Vega said disappointedly.
“Effectivement,” Laure added. “It wasn’t until some men from the government pulled up in a car alongside me while I was walking home from school that I was recruited. They told me that even among the other psychics, I was very special; I registered as a Psi-index 10 psychic. They did their research and they knew where I came from and the lengths I would go to get away, I was only seven years old.”
“Difficult upbringing.” Akvavit said.
“There were of course other children. Some came from the same background as I, others were lured by promises of fame and glory, some were even kidnapped from their homes. They lock away your memories, your past, so it makes everything they tell you that much easier to take in. The training was hard; the conditioning got so intense that some candidates couldn’t make the cut and had to be ‘terminated’.” Laure went on “But, the other psychics and I became very close; we had to in order to keep each other’s spirits up. Some of you may know that psychics find it very easy to ‘empathize’ with other psychics. Anyways, the instructors told us that if we graduated, we could have our memories back. I hungered for all those years I had seemingly lost, and before you know it, I graduated at the top of my class…”
“And?” Winters asked.
“I got my memories back all right, but it wasn’t a pleasant experience. I had seen what I had become and realized that there was no way to go back home, back to my father. Don’t you see? They do this on purpose; make you think you have no home or family that would take care of you to go back to. And so, I decided to fight for the UED; I have nothing else outside of that. With this, I could get away from my past, from Papa.

 

Laure looked down pensively. A silence fell over the trench as the shelling finally subsided. Cries of pain emanated from Terran, Protoss, and Zerg alike.

“Uaahhh God! Momma help meh!” Screamed a wounded Terran. The barrage was so heavy that no Zerg was left to capitalize on the easy prey.
“Alright, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to go see to that guy.” Randall said.
“And the next thing we know, you’re going to drag a Zergling in here with us.” Winters wryly remarked. “Besides, I’ve seen Arclite strikes last for weeks, there’s a helluva lot more of where that came from.”
“Well I can’t just leave him out there.” Randall shot back and climbed out of the trench, immediately, a whistling noise was heard.
“Incoming!” Vega yelled. Explosions rocked the battlefield again and the barrage seemed to be even heavier than the last. Luckily, Randall was able to crawl back into the trench. “Looks like we’re in for the long haul.”
“Well crap.” Randall said. “Maybe we should all pull straws to who should get out there and get the Siege Tanks to stop shelling their own guys?”
“And have him run into an entire swarm of Zerg, screw that. We ought to wait for the big push.”
“Geez, this is starting to sound a lot like those old war stories my daddy used to read to me when I was kid.” Winters observed. “Next thing ya’know, we start passing out cigarettes or something.”
“Holy crap!” Vega cried out, “I almost forgot, my ‘Top Hats!’” He pulled out a small packet of cigarettes from his suit. “Merry Christmas, boys and girls from jolly old Saint Vega!”
“Joyeux Noël!”
“Well, its against regs to partake in consumption of contrabands, but okay.” Winters said as he took two from the bunch Vega offered to him.
“Tu peux me filer une clope, s'il te plaît?” Laure asked.
“Ah hell, why not?” Vega shrugged and gave her one, he offered some to Randall as well.
“Please, those things’ll kill me.” She said, before conceding, “Well, there’s a first time for everything, especially where we are now.” And took two.
“La vie est trop courte.” Laure said again in response.
“I’d offer you some…” Vega said to Akvavit “But seeing as how you Protoss have… errrr… certain anatomical deficiencies…” He was talking about the Protoss’ lack of mouths.
“No, thank you.” Akvavit said, and waved off the tribute.
“So what about you?” Winters motioned to Vega, “What’s your story?”
“Well, if you want to get into that…”

 

LOL it's true ! purée = mashed potatoes. But what's the relationship with what I meant ?

Well you must know I meant "Oh crap!", "Damn!", etc ... but I wanted to use a polite expression. In French, if you don't want to say "merde !" (you know what this means, don't you ) just say "purée !"


Each day we learn something. Even useless things .

 

Lol, I have spend two summer vacations working in a rose nursery. -needed a dictionary there- There was a French guy there who did it as his real job. He tought me a bit more then you get at school, so... Yeah. He said it 20 times a day with all those thorns in his fingers. XD

 

Aïe ! Le pauvre ! Je le plains ! XD ça a dû faire mal ...

= Ouch ! Poor guy ! I complain with him (not sure this is like this) ! XD it must have hurt ...

 

It did, I kinda got a lot of thorns in my finger as wel, but we have different words for that here in Holland. hehe

Anyway, I think we should get back on topic now. This story is turning out great. Some comments:

You really need to use quotation marks if you even want to make a chance. This goes for any writing contest, but especially for this one. There will be a lot of experienced writers who take part in the contest. Further, I like that you added some humour, it is something that all people with hard jobs use to stay calm. Very good addition to the characters in the story. Before I really go into detail: are you really participating? I do not want to waste time on giving advice to people who do not even really need it. You should really use quotation marks. I cannot stress this enough.

 

Well, I'm quite sure I'm using quotation marks right, indicating a conversation. Do you mean putting a space between all the quotations. I suppose I'll send it in for laughs, though I'd imagine the competition might be stiff with all those WoW roleplayers out there.

Anyways, here's the next part:

“I came from Tarsonis. We didn’t exactly have it well off, but my parents made sure that the entire family never went hungry. Anyways, by the time of the Zerg invasion a few years ago, my dad was able to get us a ride on one of the evac ships to Agria. My dad never told us how he managed to get us onto that ship, but all these years, I had a feeling that he knew the guy in charge of the evacuation of our housing block, and he had some dirt on him.”

“You had it lucky.” Said Randall, “From what I heard, barely even half of the Terrans living on Tarsonis were able to make it off.”

“True,” said Corporal Vega. “Anyways, my family got shuffled between colony worlds until we finally got re-located to Korhal IV, that’s when things really started getting tough.”

“By the time the radiation from the nuclear bombardment by the Confederates subsided to a level where you wouldn’t be glowing after spending no more than a few weeks living there, Emperor (Vega said this title with a venomous tone) Mengsk deemed it appropriate to start rebuilding the Terran Empire on Korhal IV. He had guys working around the clock scrubbing the residual radiation, ‘beautifying’ the world.” Vega lost his composure for a moment. “Everyone in our family had to work in order to make ends meet. Imagine seeing everyone come home, broken and exhausted, just to see crap barely edible in the eyes of a Scantid on the table.” Vega went on. “And it took another 18 months for 150 million workers to make the planet fit for the bastards upstairs before our ‘glorious Emperor’ decided to settle down here. God knows how many died for that bastard.”

“Trade one oppressor for another…” Randal snidely commented.

“My parents encouraged my four brothers and sisters and I to study hard and make a name for ourselves, anything so that our kids wouldn’t have to be like this.” Vega continued. “But at one point, some Marine recruiters came through our housing block, promising better lives for our families. When I told my dad about it, he wouldn’t hear it.”

“A good father, looking after you like that.” Laure said. Familial bonds were not foreign to Akvavit, but tribal people as the Protoss were, Akvavit was used to these ties on a grander scale.

“But one day, I found some stuff that he hid under his bed.” Alvaro went on. “There was a bunch of memorabilia, combat knife, .75 automatic, and a bunch of photos of a couple of Marines. One guy was in all the photos; I don’t think I have to ask you guys if you know who it was.”

Everyone in the trench nodded.

“When I brought it to my dad, it seemed as if it brought back a lot of fond memories to him, how he talked about his buddies and him with their hearts in their throats when they were making the orbital drops and about the ‘fireman’s’ drill whenever the regimental commander was in his staff car on his way to the officer’s club.”

“Qu’est-ce que ‘fireman’s drill?’”

“Don’t ask. Anyways, the way he talked, I didn’t see why he didn’t want me to join up. The money seemed good and some of the recruiters said that if I signed up with him, he’d guarantee that I got some desk-job posting on Tyrador IX or something. I asked him why he never called any of them up, and do you know what he said?”

Nobody knew.

“He said that: ‘There’s no one to call, I’m the only one left in Golf Company.’ Golf Company was his unit. That’s why he didn’t let me join up, he couldn’t stand to let his kids see the things he saw back in the Guild Wars.”

Another stunned silence filled the trench, but it was broken by Winters.

“If he didn’t let you join up, how in the hell did you end up in that armor?” Captain Winters asked.

“If you’d let me finish. My dad died in a construction accident a few months later, but what he said stuck with me. And then, God knows my mom took up the reins. Even if I couldn’t bear the sight of the years disappearing on her face, I kept studying, hoping everyone in our family could hold out until I could get them a better future. But when I turned nineteen, my life was turned upside-down.” Vega paused, “Have any of you heard of ‘resoc’ quotas?”
Everyone except for Captain Winters shook their heads.

“Korhalian police precincts have a quota of ‘miscreants’ they have to have ready for neural resocialization whenever recruitments are below the cut. Even then, people are so afraid of going out on the streets when those mothers are around that everyone in town behaves. So, they either arrest you for jaywalking, or beat some drunkard and say it was you. Its all the proof the recruiters need that you’re an ‘anti-social’ and a ‘miscreant of society.’

“I can see where this is going.” Said Randall.

“An officer saw me walking down the street and said that he’d bet my family and I were hungry. He gave me a bunch of almonds he said he got from the store down the street. I didn’t pay it any mind, a free lunch is a free lunch. I walked for a few more blocks and the next thing you know, the same officer, his partner, and a storekeeper pulled up beside me and asked me where I got the almonds and if I had a receipt. At first, I looked at him the same way a deer looks at a car when he’s in the headlights and I told him that he gave them to me. The storekeeper says he never saw me in his life and the officer is all smart and goes ‘Well, maybe that’s because he never went through the register with those almonds.’ Faster than I can ask for my phone call, I’m beaten over the head, shaved bald, and plopped into ‘Hell Week’ like a baby in the woods.”

“Bastards.” Randall said under her breath.

“That’s all Mengsk was all about.” Vega said. “He talked about freedom and all that jazz, and we kept buying into it while they ride on our backs.” Vega’s knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists.

“Does your family know about what happened.” Akvavit asked.

“It took them a few weeks while I was in boot camp before they finally got a straight answer on where I was. I called them up and told them that my drill-sergeant said that if I didn’t join up willingly, he’d have me resocialized and sent to the field anyway. I told them this way, I’d at least have a chance of a family to back to, or at least, a family I had memories of. Still, I didn’t give a rat’s ass about fighting; went AWOL a couple of times. The company first sergeant said that I could get put on ice if I didn’t get my act together, but she worked out a deal and put me in a disciplinary duty, and that’s how I ended up here…”

“Disciplinary duty?” Laure asked naughtily, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Stretcher-bearer.” Vega said, in stark contrast to Laure’s comment.

 

-------------------------------

Grid Kilo5-7, twelve hours earlier.

Flamethrowers formed a conflagrating wall of inferno in the face of the Zerg advance. Firebats made short work of the Zerg and there was hardly a platoon in the Dominion Marine Corps that left for war without them. Indeed, their flamethrowers were powerful weapons, but they are too few.

One Zergling managed to break through the perimeter, albeit it was still burning. It managed to pounce on one of the unsuspecting Firebats. The gap was enough for more to force open this hole, and the Firebats were soon overwhelmed. Some burst into flames themselves when the mindless Zerg pounded on the napalm tanks mounted on their backs.

“Displace!” Cried SFC Christopher Gaines, as he continued to fire from his C-14 Impaler rifle. The Zerg had already braved the minefield of spider mines by simply tossing enough of their own onto the mines for their brethren behind them to advance, and now, the 177th Airborne, 2nd Battalion, Charlie Company, fell back to the defensive bunkers.

“Bloody hell!” hollered Private James Turtle, one of the stretcher-bearers, “You’d think the Zerg had enough?”

“Let me tell you,” Corporal Alvaro Vega said, “The Zerg haven’t even blinked.”
The Marines rested the barrels of their rifles on the sandbags that lay outside the slits of the bunker through which the Marines could fire. As soon as the Zerg came into view, a withering hail of gauss needles eviscerated their ranks. For a brief moment, the bestial Zerg seemed helpless in the face of overwhelming firepower.

“Blimey! These Zerg ain’t up to much!” Turtle exclaimed.

“Just don’t let up!” the sergeant in the bunker yelled. “Wax ‘em!”

A terrible cry, however, echoed through out the network of bunkers.

“Stretcher-bearers!” cried Sergeant First Class Gaines, “wounded in supply trench number 6!”

The bunkers were connected by a series of supply trenches for easy transport of supplies and ammunition, as well as safe transit of medical personnel.

“That’s us, Turtle!” Vegas shouted. The two Marines rushed through the trenches until they happened upon a wounded Marine and a medic tending to him, SPC4 Thompson.
The dismembered scythe of a Hydralisk was lodged in the stomach of the Marine. The medic was working furiously on stopping the bleeding. The air was filled with the wounded Marine’s obscenities and blasphemies,

“Any of you got a spare serrate ‘a ‘stims’ on ya.” Thompson asked.

“Will it help?” Private Turtle asked

“No, but at least it’ll shut him up t’il we can get ‘im to an aid station.”

Vega handed one to her. Extras he had plenty of; he never liked needles.

“Put him on the stretcher then,” Vega said, “think we can get someone from the 10th Dismounted on our flank to escort us?”

“Don’t bother, they’ve got enough on their plate as it is, just see if there’s still someone in reserve behind the line that can help you out. I saw an auxiliary trench on my way here. Maybe someone’s in there.”

Both Vega and Turtle dashed across no-man’s land. Had they looked back, they would have known that the Zerg already overwhelmed the bunkers. As soon as Charlie Company of the 177th fell out of the radio contact, and Delta from the 10th Dismounted were ordered to fall back by their company CO, the Arclite strike began.

A shell exploded ten meters behind Vega, the concussion nearly knocking him out cold. He staggered up and looked for his comrades.

“Turtle! Sound off!”

However, all that was left of Turtle was a red stain in the mud, as was the Marine they were carrying. And so, Corporal Alvaro Vega sought cover in the auxiliary trench Specialist Thompson told him about. The same trench one Lieutenant Junior Grade Laure de Marais took refuge in.

 

I don't get that last sentence, but this is much easier to read. Can you edit the previous entries?

 

It's not that noticeable here because it's in installments, but why did it go from the protoss' point of view to third person?

 

Very very impressive maybe instead of a short story you should make a novel

 

Have you ever read For Whom The Bell Tolls? Hemingway incorporates many Spanish words and sentences in a way that feels more natural than what you're doing with the French words and expressions. Et en passant, je parle le Francais courrament (le Francais du Canada), donc ce n'est pas une critique gracieusete d'un Anglo qui ne reussit pas a saisir le sens du texte ou des expressions.

Another thing that bugs me is your employment of British expressions. While I'm not British, I am an Irishman with English relatives, and so I'm familiar with how the English speak. You are American, correct? Your spelling suggests so, at any rate. May I suggest that you stick to expressions that feel natural to you? StarCraft uses American slang to great effect, and I think it'd still be grand if you'd stick to that. It's just that how you're using those British colloquialisms, well, you sound like an American who learned some stock British expressions with John Cleese or some such.

Mais ne lache surtout pas, c'est bien pour le reste!