"Order that fleet to identify itself," Augustus said.
"This is my first time coming to Umoja," Kerrigan remarked, gazing at the blue-and-silver lights flickering on the screen. "Because the Ghost Program director was worried the Confederacy's Ghost training technology might be obtained and copied by the Umojans."
"This is the Umojan fleet? It looks beautiful."
"That's right," Augustus said. "The Umojans have been doing everything they can to develop new types of warships to deal with possible wars in the future. They have always known about the existence of the Protoss and the Zerg. The Protectorate's sense of crisis is indeed commendable."
"But," Kerrigan said, looking at the holographic projection screen ahead, "how did they end up being pressured by the Terran Confederacy Navy to the point that they only dare to patrol within their own borders? During the Guild Wars, the Umojan fleet didn't even appear in the military news broadcasts."
At this moment, aside from dozens of technicians and navigators, the only one standing beside Augustus on the bridge was the red-haired beauty, Sarah Kerrigan. Harnack, whom Augustus had dismissed as too noisy, had been sent by the Revolutionary Army Marshal to the fleet kitchen to bake bread. Raynor was busy taking care of his child, while Lundstein, Warfield, and Duke each had their own ships.
Everyone had their own life, work, and worries. Only Kerrigan revolved around Augustus every day, busy to exhaustion—watching over him as he completed his daily tasks and training, until he finally closed his eyes and fell asleep.
At the same time, Kerrigan was also a powerful aide in Augustus's work. Her exceptional foresight could keep pace with his grand strategic vision, understanding that the Revolutionary Army's future enemies were far more than just the Confederacy.
Kerrigan's command ability as both a squad leader and a military commander was displayed to the fullest while assisting Augustus, and Augustus had also been striving to cultivate her as a commander in her own right.
"You mean these warships are all show and no substance?" Augustus chuckled softly. His understanding of Umojan technology far surpassed Kerrigan's.
"To some extent, yes. The Umojans don't know how to wage war—or rather, they don't understand, as the Confederacy does, what kinds of weapons and what kind of military system are needed to win one. What the humans of Koprulu need are steel giants capable of mounting more weapons and more gun barrels—warships with enough reinforced steel plating to withstand enemy fire, not just thin metal coatings."
"Warships must also be able to be produced quickly and deployed swiftly across multiple battlefields, with components sourced from the Confederacy's vast territories and all of its foundry worlds," he said.
"Except for fleet commanders and captains, the Confederacy Navy doesn't need sailors with subjective initiative. The re-socialized soldiers produced in re-socialization factories can learn everything needed to serve aboard a warship in just a few seconds. They mesh together like gears in precision machinery—never making mistakes, never feeling fear, and ready to be expended like weapons when necessary."
"By comparison, although Umojan warships possess certain advanced technologies, their numbers are far too few. Their number of subordinate colonies is nowhere near that of the Confederacy, making it impossible to build and maintain a fleet capable of matching the Confederacy Navy. And the simple task of defending the Protectorate's not-so-wide borders already strains their fleet to the limit," Augustus concluded.
"Even when warships of the same class exchange fire, the Umojan ships do not hold the advantage. The defining traits of the Umojan fleet lie in their greater speed and plasma shields capable of withstanding more damage."
"As long as the Umojan fleet doesn't join the war, their military strength will remain shrouded in mist—enough to make the Tarsonis Confederacy Congress hesitate," Kerrigan said.
"I know the Umojans don't like expansion. For more than a hundred years, they have rarely had territorial disputes with the Confederacy or the Combine, content merely to develop within their own sphere of influence."
"The Umojan engineers have poured their hearts into upgrading their technology, striving to build faster and better warships—but the results haven't been very impressive." At that moment, the Umojan fleet on the screen drew nearer, the blue-and-white paintwork gleaming brighter, the triangular stacked markings on the ships' prows becoming ever more striking. Augustus stood quietly, waiting for the Umojan fleet commander's response.
"They've never been able to understand why their ships, though more advanced than the Confederacy's fleet, keep suffering losses in real combat. In truth, those warships lack powerful firepower; the technologies they're equipped with are often impractical, serving mostly to make the soldiers aboard live more comfortably."
"The humanized considerations and emphasis on the soldiers' quality of life—even their emotional state—are indeed manifestations of the Protectorate's democratic superiority. But the combat effectiveness of the Protectorate Defense Force soldiers isn't as high as their elected parliament expected," Augustus said.
"The amount of technology packed into Umojan warships far exceeds what you might imagine. They almost never use solid ammunition, relying instead on plasma and beam weaponry. The exorbitant cost of Umojan ships isn't merely because they have money to burn, but because they pursue perfection in everything. Building one battlecruiser-class warship takes two to three times longer than constructing a Behemoth-class battlecruiser of the Confederacy."
"To be honest, Umojan performance is still quite excellent—certainly not the way the UNN media portrays them, as giant civilian cruise liners with guns bolted on," he said.
"The Confederacy Navy, however, has always emphasized that the Umojan Defense Force poses a tremendous threat—that its operational range could span the entire Confederacy. Even though they've never actually engaged the Defense Force in battle, the Confederacy Army has consistently insisted that the Defense Force's ground troops possess immense firepower." Kerrigan shook her head.
"All for the military budget."
"I am Lieutenant General Aion Stamford, Fleet Commander of the Aurora Sector. Marshal Augustus Mengsk, welcome to the Umojan Protectorate. The Defense Force fleet salutes all soldiers of the Revolutionary Army."
As Augustus and Kerrigan were speaking, a general of the Defense Force wearing a dark-blue Umojan naval uniform appeared on the main screen. It had to be said, the general's well-tailored uniform looked vivid and elegant, with golden tassel epaulettes on his shoulders—clearly he had made careful ceremonial preparations for his meeting with Augustus.
The Umojans had always conducted themselves with great rigor. For now, apart from combat, Augustus could find no fault in the manners or etiquette of any Umojan he had encountered.
"Lieutenant General Stamford, thank you for having your fleet escort us," Augustus said, showing his signature smile. Whether facing civilians, nobles, soldiers, or generals, Augustus's attitude toward everyone was always the same. He respected each and every person—and he practiced that respect in both word and deed.
Everyone could feel that Augustus truly valued them, and before long, they would willingly go through fire and water to earn Augustus's approval or to prove that his trust in them was well placed.
The sight of the Umojan fleet escorting a force far larger than itself looked rather comical, but ultimately, it was nothing more than a routine military mission. The Umojan Protectorate and the Korhal Dominion had already formed an alliance, and after Korhal's destruction, the Korhalans—who had been forced to rely on the Umojans for survival—had almost become a part of the Protectorate. The relationship between the two sides was now ambiguous, like that of lovers deeply in love.
This bond—virtually erasing any sense of separation—allowed the Umojan Protectorate to permit a massive Revolutionary Army fleet to jump into its core worlds and enter Umojan ports and shipyards for repairs and resupply. By contrast, the Kel-Morian Combine remained far more cautious toward the Revolutionary Army fleet.
Then, under the guidance of the Umojan fleet's flagship, the Revolutionary Army fleet jumped into the hyperspace corridor.
On January 22, after more than a dozen short-range jumps and several days of voyage, the enormous joint fleet finally crossed half the Protectorate's territory and arrived at the Umojan homeworld, docking within a massive mobile fortress in synchronous orbit, comparable in size to a moon.
After more than a year apart, Augustus could not conceal his joy at the thought of soon seeing his family again.
During the long-distance expedition with the Revolutionary Army fleet, various restrictions had prevented Augustus from sending letters to his family. Yet he still retained the habit he had formed when he first enlisted—writing one letter every week to his mother and sister.
The electronic files of those letters were stored on Augustus's personal laptop, accumulating over time, growing more and more numerous. In some of those letters, Augustus would even complain to his mother—those were usually the times when he felt the most depressed.
Now Dorothy was already eighteen years old, yet Augustus was still telling her some galactic legend—a story that always began with "Long, long ago, in a distant star system."
At this time, the Hyperion had already entered the internal port of the Umojan mobile fortress. Augustus led his subordinates through Dock No. 1 into the grand structure of the moving fortress.
The surface of the Umojan mobile fortress was as vast as land, and the light sources overhead were so distant that they appeared as faint, blurred points.
"Damn, finally a place with some people! Life on the fleet is pure torture. No wonder Edmund Duke ended up the way he is—trapped in endless darkness, circling around a bunch of brats all day. I've had enough of it! Umojan ladies, old Tychus is ready for action!" Tychus burst out laughing as soon as he stepped through the docking hatch.
"Life never goes as one wishes, Tychus. Maybe this is exactly the kind of life you should be living—training by the book, burning off your excess energy over poker games." Augustus glanced around, but when he didn't see his family, a look of disappointment crossed his face.
Augustus was not as unbreakable as the soldiers of the Revolutionary Army imagined—not a great man forged of iron and steel. As a man of flesh and blood, he could be wounded, and he could feel sadness and pain.
"When we take back Korhal, I'll take you hunting on horseback outside the forests of Styrling," he said, forcing a smile despite his disappointment at not seeing his mother and sister.
"Instead of shooting birds with rifles and shotguns, I'd rather sweep them down with a chain gun—or better yet, shell them," Tychus grinned.
"I'm not used to your nobles' refined lives. After all, I'm a bad guy."
"Haha, I'm a bad guy too!" Harnack shouted gleefully. "Today I'm going to do bad things like a real bad guy!"
"Don't mind them. After I retire, I'll definitely go hunting with you," Raynor said to Augustus.
"Me too," Kerrigan added.
"Hehe!"
Just then, a young girl in a light-blue dress sprang out from Augustus's blind spot. She had delicate features, long straight dark-gray hair, and wore a pair of beautiful shoes as she ran toward him. Closely following behind her was Valerian, dressed in a matching outfit. He was now ten years old, his shoulders broader, no longer as frail as before—his body lean and agile from diligent sword training.
---
I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> patreon.com/TitoVillar
---