There were two Kel-Morian assault squads attacking Fort Howe, totaling more than 500 men. After several hours of brutal combat, they had already lost over half their number. The second squad had gone around to assault the last fortress tower that had yet to fall, and it was clear these wounded soldiers had mistaken Augustus's team for them.
It was nighttime, and under the poor lighting conditions, it was difficult for them to distinguish any differences in armor paint between Augustus's men and their own.
Each Kel-Morian assault unit had white spray-painted markings on their shoulder plates to indicate their squad number. Technically, this should have been a major oversight on Augustus's part—but in the dim lighting, the wounded soldiers failed to notice this difference.
Even if someone did notice, at most it would spark mild suspicion. It wouldn't cross their minds that someone might be impersonating them.
There had been precedents of Federation troops disguising themselves as Kel-Morian Rippers. After all, the differences in their power armor weren't drastic—a simple repaint could easily do the trick. The Kel-Morians themselves had pulled this stunt more than once.
Still, in most cases, all it took was a brief conversation to blow the disguise. The Terran Federation had been established early on as a relatively loose confederation, while the original Morians were a people of adventurers and gold-seekers whose society was held together by blood ties and family clans.
The cultural differences between the Terran Federation and the Kel-Morian Combine subtly influenced how they thought and spoke. If anyone got suspicious, a few simple questions would be enough to expose the imposters.
"No doubt about it—their saviors have arrived," Raynor quipped over First Squad's channel.
"I'm so happy for them," Tychus said dryly.
Augustus ignored the wounded. He climbed up the landing gear and onto the side of a tiltrotor transport that formed part of the second defensive line.
From his new vantage point, he could see that dozens of Kel-Morian soldiers had taken the third perimeter and were now using it as cover to fire at the hangar. The Federation soldiers inside had stopped returning fire.
Augustus jumped down from the transport and jogged forward toward the Kel-Morian soldiers near the third line, Gauss rifle in hand. His movements were calm and steady, as if confident that this last-minute reinforcement would tip the battle decisively in their favor.
"You're just in time," said a Kel-Morian soldier crouched between two barriers. Due to the angle and lighting, he failed to notice the unusually pristine and freshly repainted power armor of the supposed reinforcements.
Augustus quickly reached their position. Behind him, the Marines split off, each moving to a different piece of cover. They stood shoulder to shoulder with the Kel-Morian troops, resting their rifles atop the barricades.
"Who's in command?" Augustus called out loudly.
Though clearly confused, the assault squad's leader turned and replied, "I'm Oleg Benson. I request—"
The next instant, the squad leader's helmet was struck by a round from a marksman rifle—fired by Ryk, the squad's designated sniper. A .50 caliber armor-piercing bullet punched straight through the helmet.
For nearly a full second, the Sea Dragon Legion soldiers turning to look at Augustus froze in place. The others—those still firing at the hangar—didn't notice anything strange about the sound of the gunfire until the shots around them grew chaotic and their comrades began shouting in rage. Only then did they glance behind them.
For a moment, the Sea Dragon soldiers stood stunned, unable to tell where the enemy was. It was deep into the night, shadows clashing with light, and all they saw were Marines in dark blue armor—it looked as if someone among them had gone mad and was trying to kill everyone, enemy or ally.
They stared blankly as a fellow Sea Dragon soldier, carrying a heavy machine gun, gunned down one of their own at point-blank range, riddling his helmet until it was nothing but shrapnel.
"What are you doing?! Are you insane?!"
"They betrayed Sea Dragon!"
"Who are we supposed to shoot?!"
The enemy was right in their midst. Chaos filled the Sea Dragon comms. In just a dozen seconds, the ground in front of the third defensive line's bunkers had become a river of blood.
"They don't have unit numbers on their shoulders." Only after more than twenty Sea Dragon soldiers lay dead did someone finally notice the difference between Augustus and his men and their own forces.
But it wasn't daylight. To confirm their identity, they needed the spotlight mounted on a Gauss rifle or some other light source. Most of the time, before they could even get a good look at friend or foe, they were taken down by a grenade from behind.
The battle unfolded in a flash. The Sea Dragon soldiers' first instinct was to fire flares instead of switching their power armor's friend-or-foe recognition system. By the time the first flare was launched into the sky, too many of their comrades had already fallen.
Amid the chaos, Augustus's HUD display inside his visor clearly distinguished between friend and foe. The internal computer of his power armor could send out a query signal via the comms system to the rest of the squad's suits. Upon receiving a valid response, the armor would immediately mark that Marine as an ally, highlighting them in red.
Gripping his Gauss rifle, Augustus fired a sweeping burst at a Sea Dragon soldier charging toward him. Raynor stood back-to-back with him, fighting at his side.
The soldier before him was massive. His modified power armor rivaled the size of Firebat suits, but one of his arms had already been blown off by an electromagnetic grenade, and the one that remained held only an old-fashioned revolver.
Without a word, Augustus aimed at the man's helmet. The laser rangefinder on his Gauss rifle tracked the target, who was closing in like a rampaging bull.
Suddenly, a spike round struck the man's chestplate, ricocheted upward, and slipped into the gap between helmet and chestplate. It entered through the chin and pierced up through his skull.
As Augustus turned to the other side, he saw Ward's missile slam into another Sea Dragon soldier, blowing the man to pieces.
It was only then that Warfield's federal troops finally arrived. Clad in silver-gray armor, the Marines leapt down from the cover near Augustus. Low on ammunition, they engaged in brutal hand-to-hand combat, tackling the Sea Dragon soldiers to the ground and smashing their helmets with fists, rifle butts, and whatever weapons they could find.
Thanks to their synchronized recognition system, they didn't mistakenly strike their allies.
"Augustus, I've gotta say—I didn't expect you to be the first one here," Warfield said as he jumped down from an armored vehicle.
"We moved out as soon as we got the call, Captain," Augustus replied, tossing him a rifle magazine loaded with bullets.
"I heard you brought a whole battalion. So where are all those bastards now?" Warfield asked, snapping the new mag into place with a clean click.
"The bunch I brought can each take on ten men by themselves," Augustus said with a grin.
"Didn't expect anything less," Warfield replied before sprinting toward the other flank, followed closely by four or five Marines.
"Thank heavens, we're saved."
At that moment, another Marine jumped down and walked up to Augustus.
Augustus recognized that voice—it belonged to Acting Lieutenant Colonel Vanderspool, whom he had seen earlier in the command center.
Vanderspool's power armor gleamed with a pristine polish, clearly well-maintained with daily upkeep by dedicated personnel. Augustus even suspected that if Vanderspool weren't in an actual battle but attending a military parade instead, he'd be sure to hang medals and flowers all over his dazzling suit of armor.
"Colonel, the battle isn't over yet. The armory, the engineering station, the command center... we still have a lot of ground to take back," Augustus reminded him.
"We've got a battalion now, and more on the way," Vanderspool replied, glaring at Augustus with obvious displeasure. The colonel hadn't bothered to remember a sergeant who'd only spoken twice in his presence—there was no way he could recognize Augustus just by voice.
"The battle is already over."
"Those damned Sea Dragon bastards will pay in blood!" Vanderspool declared, his voice ringing with hatred, completely unrestrained in expressing his loathing for the Sea Dragon Legion.
"..."
While swapping magazines, Augustus added flatly, "I believe I should remind you that that battalion is still on its way."
If Augustus had said he'd brought only a platoon, Warfield would've told him to get lost immediately.
But if he had a whole battalion behind him, the situation changed entirely. The remaining federal troops would cling to the hope of incoming reinforcements and fight to the death to hold their position. At the same time, Augustus's unit wouldn't end up recklessly charging into an already fallen stronghold and getting themselves killed.
"How far out are they?"
The fury and spite beneath Vanderspool's visor faltered at once. He glanced back in the direction they had come from, as if contemplating returning to the hangar.
"Any moment now."
With that, Augustus turned and walked away. He had to return to his own unit immediately—he had no time to keep squabbling with Vanderspool.
At 04:00, Augustus and Warfield's troops eliminated a Sea Dragon Legion assault squad and reclaimed the landing platform. But compared to the entirety of Fort Howe, it was a mere drop in the ocean.
At 04:40, good news finally arrived.
Alpha Squad, stationed in synchronous orbit above Turaxis, dispatched several assault ships. The transport vessels touched down on the platform, bringing in two full companies of airborne troops.
Alpha Squad wore white power armor and were known to both the Kel-Morians and their fellow Terrans as the Blood Hawks. Within the entire Federal military structure, Alpha Squad was infamous for their savage charges and ruthless brutality.
Leading the unit was Major Edmund Duke of Alpha Squad. Augustus and Warfield met him on the landing platform.
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