"Wang micros like a drunken goose"
-Satan'sCookies
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| Lone Ghost, chpt. 1 | | | Author: | | | IP: | 64.208.1XXXX | | Date: | 01/24/01 07:01 | | Game Type: | Starcraft | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 4, Min: 4
Lifetime Rating for LupeeNoire: 4.0000 |  | The harsh winter air blew over Collin’s masked face, sending shivers down his spine. It had nearly been three weeks searching through this wretched planet surface, looking for any signs of protoss encampment. The first week hadn’t been so bad, as Ryan had accompanied him on his trek, but an edict over the radio deemed they should split up and search different quadrants. They couldn’t complain, of course, as a radio silence was strictly enforced up until actually spotting the enemy.
Collin was used to being alone, though. It was the cold that he didn’t like. Most of his life had been spent in an off-world jungle. This desolate wasteland was unbearable. His Yaito brand ‘thin suit’ was no match for the sub-zero degree temperature.
He took a quick look at his digital forearm LCD display, marking his position through the global tracking unit controlled through a few satellites that constantly roamed the atmosphere. His travels had gone horribly slow. Between the large snow drifts and lack of communication with base, every inch that he had to travel had to be taken with extreme care.
The other problem was supplies. Very little could be stored in the thin suit and what couldn’t be stored there had to be in a position to discard with little time and effort. The cloaking ability of his suit linked with his psyche didn’t include any such thing as a backpack. Living on squirrels and rabbits had lost him about twenty pounds on his already thin 170 lb. frame.
His mission was important, though. He knew that. Recent protoss attacks on a nearby terran controlled galaxy had suggested that they had a close way point. Finding that way point meant finding a way to cripple the protoss offense and possibly set an ambush. This would help clear the way for the eventual terran build up to eliminate the zerg threat.
Collin didn’t know the politics of it. Collin didn’t care either. Protoss gave him a funny feeling in his stomach and that was reason enough to exterminate them. Even so, Collin thought, I’d rather be facing the zerg. They were the real enemy in Collin’s mind.
It was almost two more weeks before Collin found what he was looking for. After climbing a low hill he noticed some movement in the distance. Taking out his binoculars he identified the town as protoss. He carefully crept his way about a half mile closer, taking regular looks out his binoculars for any sign of offensive units. None came.
The occupants of the town were like none that he’d ever seen. None that he’d ever read about or even heard in rumor. They weren’t nearly as big as the zealots he had seen, nor did they have the robes that signified a high templar. They were garbed in non-remarkable clothing.
“Civs” Collin said to himself as he saw a few children running the streets. Collin punched in the authorization code to use his radio. “Beta 5, this is yeoman, do you copy?”
A crackle issued out of the radio, “This is Beta 5, we copy yeoman, do you have confirmation on a protoss mark?”
“Affirmative, I need a scan at quad 5, 46 degrees, 5 minutes and 20 seconds, copy?”
“Copy” the radio crackled back.
Collin brought out his binoculars, searching the sky for any observers that would be revealed by the scan. The sparkling blue haze appeared minutes later. The skies were clear. Collin lowered his visor and checked a visual satellite picture of the encampment. No cannons appeared. In fact, other than a beat down nexus, all the buildings there appeared to be civilian.
The radio buzzed out again, “Nexus and probe presence affirmed, yeoman, proceed to spot warbird 5 hammer to center just outside the north side of the nexus, copy?”
Collin took a quick look at the town again, spotting the dormant probe.
“Encampment is non-threatening, Beta 5, please advice, copy?”
“Confirm last command, yeoman, proceed to spot warbird 5 hammer to center just outside the north side of the nexus, copy?”
“Copy. Out.” Collin cut the transmission. Not exactly the action he had wanted to see, but Collin wasn’t going to argue; at least, not more than once. He punched in a code on the small keypad at his belt and muttered ‘clear out’. A wave of dizzieness fell over him as the thin suit linked up with his psyche and changed the appearance to blend in with the almost all white ground.
Unslinging his sniper rifle from his shoulder, Collin headed closer to the enemy camp. About 50 yards from the closest building, Collin stopped and knelt down on one knee. He laid the rifle on his lap, sliding a lid on the scope back. The small screen was empty until he pressed the green button.
CONTACTING GPS…
GPS CONTACTED, ESTABLISHING COMMUNICATIONS…
COMMUNICATIONS ESTABLISHED, READY FOR INPUT:
Collin brought the gun up to his shoulder, looking through the digital scope, marking the distance in his head. Easily out of range of the shockwave. The newer scopes were equipped with a digital enhancement that allowed the spotters to safely spot the warbirds. Before the scopes were developed, a spotter had to get in closer and run back out of the shockwave range after the warbird had entered the atmosphere and was descending.
Collin found the nexus easily. Targeting the ground near it, he pulled the trigger. Instinct tensed up his shoulder to feel the recall of the rifle, but nothing but a soft beep emitted from the gun. If Collin could, he would seen more messages come out of the screen, but he kept his sight locked on the target. This was necessary as the warbird needed constant realignment and would be moving too fast for a consistent communication with the GPS satellite.
After five minutes the scope beeped again, signaling that the warbird had entered the atmosphere. A thirty second count-down meter replaced the status messages that had appeared on the screen. Collin relaxed the gun back onto his lap and took out his pack of cigarettes. He only smoked after a successful spot. He pulled the fourth cigarette out of the two-year old pack.
The warbird came down in almost utter silence as its rockets fuel was all used up and it was using mostly gravity for its propulsion. The camp was covered by the plume of its explosion. Collin squinted to see through the dust as the wind suddenly changed directions and blew his cigarette out of his mouth.
“Beta 5, this is yeoman, target eliminated, advise, copy?” Collin barked over the wind.
“yeoman, proceed back to base, copy?” the radio came back.
“Will that be a pickup, Beta 5?” Collin questioned back, a little concerned.
“Negative, yeoman, current units are not available, proceed on foot” The radio’s response.
“Damn,” Collin said to himself, “Damn damn!” Collin was sick of this place, sick of the diet of dried meat, and sick of walking for days. At best, it would be another week before he would be able to get back to base. It didn’t seem worth it, nuking a civilian encampment just because of a dead probe and falling apart nexus.
Collin slung his rifle back over his shoulder, standing up and heading back in the direction he came. As he walked, he reached down to his belt, turning off the thin suit’s protective camouflage and reliving him of the nagging psyche headache he was starting to get.
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