"Ghosts are awesome vs. protoss, but only if they are alive:)"
-Makeadeathwish
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| Just a thought . . . | | | Author: | | | IP: | tb-104-8XXXX | | Date: | 02/27/01 07:02 | | Game Type: | Starcraft | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 8, Min: 8
Lifetime Rating for Nice^0ne: 8.0000 |  | Author's Note:
An indulgance in another fac-fic, but sometimes you have a mental image . . . .
You'll see what I mean.
First draft, so comments and crit. welcome.
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Lieutenant Carmine could barely hear her captain over the pounding din of the Arclite cannon nestled up to the command center, only meters from her post. "At least those damn tank gunners are issued acoustically-dampened helmets," she grumbled to no one in particular.
"This is it, people. I want a go/no-go from every post. We make it or break it right here. You all know the strategy—I’ve made it no secret. Tech hard and fast, then hit them with something they don’t expect. It’s a gamble, one we can’t afford to lose," Capt. MacDaniel’s voice was loud and resonant against the metal walls of the Command Center. Though dented and scared from an early barrage of plasma fire, the only real damage sustained was to the 22nd Light Infantry’s pride. It was time for payback.
"Ops:"
"-GO!"
"Intelligence:"
"-Go."
"Tactical:"
-"GO!"
"Special Forces:"
"-GO!"
"Launch the mission," affirmed MacDaniel.
* * *
"Saddleup, par-dner. We gonna drop the sheeeeit on those orifice-lacking, psi-packing, Luke Skywalker-wannabe-lightsaber-hacking muthafuckers!" one of the marines exclaimed.
"Settle down, we gotta mission here. We get in and get out fast," said a medic, nimbly grabbing hold of the dropship’s access ladder.
"I got a mission for you, sister," flaunted another.
"Shut. Up." Demanded a voice from over his left shoulder.
"Jeez, man, you gotta sneak around on base like that?"
"I have orders to engage cloak before loading. The electric field generated by the dropship’s repulsors would prevent me from doing so onboard," explained the ghost.
A terse command from MacDaniel on the squad’s com channel halted the chatter. "Listen up. This is a hit and run on their expansion’s mineral gathering operation. We all know that the good book says never to allow the Protoss more than one expansion. I don’t intend to allow them any. You are to shut this operation down and evac before any response can be mobilized. Good luck, and good hunting. MacDaniel out."
The dropship’s repulsors built up to a bone-penetrating vibration, then suddenly the jets erupted in an ear-piercing roar. Though not as fast as the pilots would prefer, the drop ship bridged the distance between the Terran encampment and the Protoss base in less than an hour. Inside, each was left to his own devices. Some bantered loudly, while others sat and thought in silence. Corporal Hertz, the ghost, already invisible to the eye, made no attempt to bring himself to the recollection of the others. Rather, he reviewed the tactical data sent to him via the com system in his helmet, and when thoroughly apprised of the upcoming engagement, began the mental conditioning his training required.
Upon landing, he struck out away from the brawling, stimmed marines, hoping to put as much distance between himself and them as soon as possible. No matter what his commanders said, he knew the awful truth. They were not coming back. Ideally, he could remain cloaked, while circling the expansion in order to target with the laser built into his weapon, while his comrades provided a distraction for the Protoss Executor.
He alone would bring the real weapon--a 100-megaton tac-nuke prepped and ready for launch beside the command center. When the Captain decided on this course of action, he abandoned the chance to install and auxiliary Comsat station, opting instead to attach a nuclear silo to the grounded Command Center. The downside was, their intelligence wasn’t perfect.
This was not an undefended expansion, as they hoped.
Detached, Hertz watched his comrades cut into massive Nexus, bringing their Gauss rifles to bear on a seemingly insignificant corner of the enormous structure. He remained hidden when the base’s defenders counter attacked with a vengeance. Zealots and Dragoons pounded mercilessly on the small strike force. Within seconds, twisted pieces of battle armor and bloodied gore littered the ground.
Still, Hertz waited.
As he registered the formation of multiple Warp Beacons, recalling pre-built defensive cannons from the Protoss homeworld of Auir, Hertz radioed in, "Sir, the time to launch is NOW! I repeat . . . launch the weapon!"
As the missile rose, ever accelerating from its silo, Hertz calculated the time he had until the warping cannon was fully functional. By his best estimate, the missile would not impact until after it was active. That meant he would be exposed to its advanced sensing equipment for several dangerous seconds. "Time enough for a response?" he wondered.
As the missile drew nearer, Hertz communicated his dilemma to the Command Center.
"We cannot abort now, Corporal, we are committed. You know your duty. You will remain in position," MacDaniel responded. "Ops, has that Science Vessel been completed yet," MacDaniel demanded of his staff.
"Yes sir, about a 10 minutes ago. It was sent to the forward positions to cover our advance team while missile turrets are still being constructed. Idly, MacDaniel wondered whether the report that crossed his desk about new engineering advances resulting in a 25% reduction in turret construction cost was just hearsay.
"Re-route it to provide tactical support to Corporal Hertz," MacDaniel ordered, "That tac-nuke is our primary strategic goal right now."
Hertz began to wonder if he was having hallucinations from focusing on the target for so long. His vision was starting to blur. "Arrrrrrgh!" he exclaimed, falling to the ground on one leg, his other having already gotten there. Through grim determination and intensive psychological training, he managed to keep not only his target lock on the Nexus, but also make a tactical decision. His invisibility already compromised by the now fully functional nearby cannon, his imperative was to survive. Not for his own sake, but for the success of the mission. "Request Defensive Matrix, ASAP!" he cried into his com. Almost simultaneously, a shimmering blue fluorescence surrounded him, while the blur of motion he had seen resolved itself into the emaciated form of a dark templar. The psionic being attacked again, this time only enraged at its inability to penetrate the electro-static field surrounding and sheltering Hertz.
At that moment, the tac-nuke landed.
Even protected by the Defensive Matrix, Hertz suffered catastrophic damage to his equipment. Unable to sustain himself without the aid of a network of biosensors and hypo-probes delivering and tailored mixture of stimulants and suppressants to his bloodstream, Hertz blacked out.
As his consciousness faded, Hertz gazed on the flaming wreckage of the Protoss expansion. "All’s well that ends well," he mumbled to no one in particular.
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