The Cap That Knows Where It's At

He'd only had three years of retirement.

Frankly, he knew that he should be grateful that he'd had those three years at all. There was a saying that no-one died in their bed in the Koprulu sector, and while there were plenty of people that actually did, he couldn't disagree with the point behind that statement. In this lonely corner of the galaxy, there were plenty of ways to die, and no shortage of means by which you could. Bullets. Nuclear warheads. Bayonets. Come the emergence of alien species, the means of dying horribly extended to teeth, claws, spikes, energy blades, anti-matter weaponry and beams of lightning from the sky. All of that was terrible enough, but if the past five years had shown anything, it was that just because there were new and terrible ways to die, it didn't stop the old ways from being used. Terrans could fight aliens pretty well, but they were still much better at fighting each other.

And now, stepping aboard the bridge of the Bucephalus, he anticipated doing both. Delivering death, seeing death, and seeing it dealt by terrans and non-terrans alike. In hindsight, he should have known that retirement would have only been temporary. And having entered the bridge, hindsight also reminded him that he was a fool to have thought that he'd have been able to take command of the Dominion's flagship without having a fuss made over him. Because the bridge staff were there, and they'd all started clapping.

"General Warfield," said one of the officers. He walked over, holding his cap under his arm, and looked up at the general. "A pleasure to have you aboard the Bucephalus, sir. Really."

Warfield didn't smile. He looked down at the captain, deducing that even if not for the power armour he was wearing, he'd have still been taller. "You're Captain Everett Vaughn, correct?"

"Sir, yes sir. Ready to serve sir."

Warfield looked the man up and down. "Hold old are you?"

"Thirty-five, sir."

"You're a captain at thirty-five, entrusted with command of the most powerful warship in the Dominion Fleet?"

Vaughn's face fell. "I..."

Warfield put a hand on the captain's shoulder. "Well, I'm sure Emperor Mengsk made the right decision."

Vaughn's face lit up like a Christmas tree - well, the type that had been put up on Tarsonis at least before most of the trees on the planet were burnt up. "I hope so sir."

Hope so too. Warfield looked around the bridge crew. I really, really hope so.

Vaughn put his cap on the tac-table that occupied the centre of the room, though Warfield barely noticed. He was too busy getting the lay of the land. The people on the bridge were young, and while youth didn't guarantee inexperience, that wasn't to say that there was a lack of correlation. Especially since so many senior command staff had been lost in the war four years ago, and while he hadn't been privy to the intricacies of the military for the last three, he knew a thing or two about recruitment. There was no shortage of manpower within the Koprulu sector, but you could only get so much experience in four years. Especially when the scope of that experience had been confined to skirmishes, and mostly against rebel miscreants at that.

"So," Warfield said. He put his hands behind his back and looked over the command crew. "You all know who I am. You also know that as of three standard days ago, the zerg launched a massive assault against the Fringe Worlds. We are, plainly speaking, at war."

No-one spoke.

"I'm also assuming you watch the news, so yes, Emperor Mengsk has seen fit to take me out of retirement and put me in command of all Dominion forces in the galaxy. The emperor has utmost confidence in my ability to contain this new threat. And looking at you now, I…have the same confidence as well."

A lie, but seeing one of the crew smile, he could tell it had worked.

"So at ease. Every man, woman, and child in this corner of space is relying on us, and I don't intend to let them down. Zerg want a war, let's give them one."

It wasn't the most eloquent speech in the world, but given how they clapped, he could tell it had worked. A fact that didn't stop him from dying inside. He hated this bullshit. He could give a rousing speech as much as the next man, and understood the need for them, but those speeches had at least a golden nugget of truth among the dirt of their words. What had he done here, apart from assure people that this was a war, when in reality, it was a looming slaughter?

"General Warfield, sir?"

He didn't have the answer. But he did see one of the bridge crew walk up to him, removing an earpiece as she did so.

"Emperor Mengsk on Alpha channel for you sir. Black-level briefing."

Warfield smiled. He knew this was coming. He'd only wondered how long it would take. he looked around the room. "Clear the bridge," he said.

No-one objected, not even Captain Vaughn, who was now less a captain and more a stand-in. He waited for them to leave, the bridge doors closing with a heavy clang, before he sighed, and walked over to the tac-table. He knew this was coming. It didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

A hologram spluttered into life, revealing the head of Emperor Arcturus I Mengsk. Ruler of the Terran Dominion, Saviour of Humanity, Former Leader of the Sons of Korhal, the Scourge of the Confederacy, and a man with more titles than Warfield had fingers. Titles that he rarely used in public, content with terms like "Emperor Mengsk," but titles that existed nonetheless. The only title he'd ever achieved was "Hero of Torus," and given the shit that had gone down there...well, he'd hardly felt like a hero by the end of it.

"General." Mengsk took out a holographic cigar from his holographic mouth, and blew holographic smoke in Warfield's non-holographic direction. "See you're still wearing your armour."

"Yes sir."

"Any particular reason why?"

"Seen good men die fumbling for their armour, both on the ground and in space. Besides, it's a reminder - that this is war, and we can be dragged into it at anytime."

"A reminder for yourself, or your men?"

Warfield's mouth stiffened. "Both."

"Hmm." Mengsk took another puff. "Well, you look the part, I'll give you that. Larger than life, in every sense of the word."

"Is that why you dragged me out of retirement?"

Mengsk frowned and lowered the cigar, extinguishing it outside the holo. "Don't do this Horace. Not now."

"Do what?"

"Question me. I've got more people than I care for doing that, even excluding the jackals on UNN. And before you put that silver tongue to use, I'll remind you of the facts of life. One, is that you're a war hero, and right now, we need heroes."

Warfield winced, trying to forget about Torus. "And the other fact?" he murmured.

"That you're a damn good general. Best I've got. Probably the best I've ever hand, frankly."

Despite everything, Warfield smiled. "Bit harsh on Edmund, wouldn't you say?"

"Save your condolences. The Norad III Memorial brings in millions of credits each year, but neither of us loved the man. Officially, Edmund Duke, like you, is a hero."

"And unofficially?"

"Unofficially, I'm telling you what only my top generals know. Telling you what you likely already know, granted, but I'll do it anyway - the zerg are here, and we're not ready for them. Four years, millions of soldiers, and trillions of credits, and we're still not ready for them."

Warfield remained silent. The news in itself wasn't that unexpected. But to hear Mengsk admit it, even over an encrypted channel...

"So despite the howls and protestations of the small people, I've pulled my forces back to defend the Core Worlds. Zerg might be like water on rock, but put enough rocks on the beach, you can hold the water back."

"And what of the people in the sea?" Warfield asked.

Mengsk frowned. "Don't go soft on me Horace."

"I recently had a report sent my way about Agria. Some rebel group evacuating the people there, after the Dominion forces-"

"James Raynor can portray himself as a man of the people, and on a good day, even save some of them. But all he can do is shoot a gun. Put the pen in his hand, and he'll consign us to oblivion."

Warfield blinked - he'd known that some group had operated on Agria. He'd had no idea that it was Raynor's Raiders. Which begged the question as to how Mengsk knew? And the more important question of why that had twisted his tail so much. He knew the two men had history between them, but...

"But back to the point in hand," Mengsk said, composing himself. "Good news is, the Dominion has a lot of rocks. And the better news is that people smarter than either of us have done preliminary analysis."

"Smarter than you, Arcturus?"

"Damn well better be, giving what I'm paying them. But yes, the Dominion's best and brightest have analyzed the zerg. So rocks or no rocks, they're not focusing on us."

"Sir, I don't follow."

Mengsk sighed. "I've called it a war. Officially, it's a war. The unofficial truth is that the zerg are expanding in all directions, regardless of actual targets. Don't know why yet - I can't even call it search and destroy, because I've got deep space craft that have reported that they've landed on planets without any terran or protoss presence. So either their queen has lost her touch, or there's a method to the madness. Either way, you're going swimming."

Subconsciously, Warfield picked up Vaughn's cap, fingering it in his gloves as the tac-table pinged. A data package had been sent.

"You'll find the latest information we have on the Sara system," Mengsk said. "I'm entrusting you with Operation Burnout. Get them off Mar Sara, and any other rock they've put their webbed feet on."

Warfield frowned. "Is the Sara system that valuable now?"

"I need a victory. The Dominion needs a victory. I want that victory to come from you, so that the citizens of the Dominion will be more willing to enlist to give us more victories." Mengsk smirked. "Something tells me you want that too."

"Sir?"

"If one will wear a cap."

Warfield looked down in embarrassment. He was fingering the captain's cap. But instead of putting it back on the table, he turned it upward, the eagle of the Dominion Fleet looking up at him. An eagle he'd once worn on ships just like this one. Back before he'd put on this power armoured uniform with the intent of keeping it on.

"Don't treat yourself too harshly, General. The military life doesn't leave us. And besides, neither of us have a choice."

Warfield winced - Mengsk had said that to him when he'd been on Torus. 'We don't have a choice.' Which was odd, because he'd thought that the most powerful man in the Koprulu sector had plenty of choices.

"Anyway General, I'll let you get to it. Mengsk out."

The channel terminated, leaving Warfield with a cap, a data packet, and the most powerful ship in the Dominion Fleet. A ship that would be doing a quick jump into the Sara system to put its firepower and his skills to the test. All in the name of a moral victory rather than a tactical one, in a war that wasn't really a war, but had to be called one to keep morale up.

No pressure, right? He walked over to the plasteel that separated the bridge from the vacuum of space. Before him was Korhal. He could see the lights of Augustgrad shining. Warships standing in silent vigil. Defence platforms locked in geo-stationary orbit. He was orbiting the most fortified planet in the Dominion...and had never felt so vulnerable. Not even when, wearing a cap like the one he'd held, he'd been on another ship, outrunning UED picket groups.

He sighed - time to get the crew up to speed.

And to keep the damn armour on as well.

A/N

In case you're wondering, yes, this is me doing a oneshot based on Warfield's shifting appearance from Ghost to StarCraft II.