The Specialist

Chapter 1

Consumed by the blinking lights and dials, lieutenant Robert “Meatball” Mitchell sat in the seat of his Goliath MK-2. The darkness of the hanger covered everything outside the glimmering lights of the controls in his cockpit. He had turned the auxiliary power on to do a systems check on his unit after it had been delivered to the star-port earlier that afternoon. His eyes were tired and the effect of the coffee he had had an hour ago was wearing off. At thirty years it seemed that his body did not react to sleep deprivation as well as it used to in his twenties. His natural athleticism was still evident however, and he prided himself on his chiselled features and rock-hard abdomen. Mitchell believed in leading by example, and his easy manner with the men, combined with the respect he commanded on the battlefield made him a natural leader. Of course being a veteran of numerous battles didn’t hurt either.

Mitchell’s Zippo flared, and he shook his torpid mind awake as his lungs filled with nicotine.

“SatCom system – Check”
“Nav system – Check”
“Weapons system – Check”
“Modulators – Check”
“Cooling System – Check”
……

As the diagnostics system preformed its checks, one by one the red lights turned green until finally the female voice of the on-board computer announced, “All systems go”.

Mitchell didn’t want to leave his diagnostics check for next day. Even though the engineers had serviced and checked each unit before dispatching them for action, Mitchell knew he did not even have time to replace a circuit tomorrow morning, since he would be tied up with his responsibilities as platoon leader.

The check was complete. He flicked the switch to turn on his heads-up display. Immediately the entire glass bulb of the Goliath lit up with green diamonds that identified the friendly units around him. A red diamond would typically mark enemy units – he was glad there weren’t any of those around. Then he flicked his motions scanners and infrared detectors on. The motion scanners sounded like a dripping tap as it transmitted ultra-low frequency sonar that would register motion up to 1000 meters. The infrared only gave the heads-up display a slightly yellow glow. Then, as one of the perimeter guards walked past the Goliath’s sensory range outside the hangar, he was displayed as a red silhouette on an otherwise black visor.
“Good” Mitchell thought to himself. Everything seems fine. Once the weapons are armed tomorrow, he could do the final check. He sat back in the chair and his Zippo flared as he lit another cigarette. The system shut down routine commenced as he blew a plume of smoke in the air. His thoughts turned to the first time he found himself in a Goliath cockpit three years ago.
As a corporal that had only seen the inside of a Siege tank, he was startled by the complexity of the Goliath’s cockpit. It looked more like the cockpit of a Wraith than a tank, and the RTM-balance system consumed more processing power than all the navigation and targeting systems of a Siege tank put together. He can remember cursing the day he had agreed to the transfer to the Goliath battalion. The massacre on Vaspar-7 left a big gaping hole in the 2nd battalion and the division was reshuffled and reorganised.

“Sure” he thought to himself back then, “at least I would stay in the 121st mechanised division. I could always transfer back to become Siege commander”. Now, with three years and numerous battles below his belt as a Goliath operator, he could not imagine himself doing anything else. The mental dexterity and focus required to operate a Goliath, having to perform the function of driver, gunner and commander all at once, was a rush Mitchell could not imagine getting as a tank commander. And so his dream of being a tank commander was at first delayed and eventually replaced.

His thoughts returned to the cockpit and to the reason he found himself on the eve of battle. When it comes to mountainous terrain, no mechanical unit could support the grunts except a Goliath. And that was exactly why the 2nd and 3rd Goliath battalions were dispatched to this dirt-ball called Theran-Gamma. The terrain had rendered the two Siege battalions that were already there useless. The ground assault had driven the Zerg into the mountains, and now, surrounding the mountain pass to keep the vermin in, it was impossible to advance the attack without mechanised support.
The heads-up display blinked off, and the crimson silhouette of the perimeter guard vanished.
Mitchell made his way down the cat-ladder. He would quickly inspect the unit’s filters and reactor system before grabbing of few short hours of sleep. In the distance he could hear what sounded like thunder. He knew the boys on the line weren’t sleeping tonight.

***

“Ker-Whump”
“Ker-Whump”
The complete darkness of the night was instantaneously interrupted by the bright flashes of the Siege tanks as they fired a volley of high explosive plasma rounds into the mountain range. For the last three hours they had been pounding the mountainside where a suspected Zerg hive had been detected. Behind the perimeter bunkers and formations of tanks, an explosive argument echoed the violent noise of the big guns.
“This is absolute bull-shit”, sergeant Sam Ventura challenged his superiors.
“While we sit here lobbing shells at the mountain they are generating a horde up there that will consume us in a single wave. Ghost recon units report three hives are already active! Why are we still standing here”, Ventura demanded.
Captain Bell glared at Ventura over the table.
“Who the hell do you thing you are to come barking at us like a junk-yard dog you little shit! I will have your ass court-martialled so fast your head will spin! Now you remove your insubordinate ass before I shoot you myself!” Bell screamed with a red face and droplets of spittle shooting from his mouth.
“We will advance when the damned Goliaths get here and we’re good and ready!” Bell shouted after Ventura as he left the command centre.

“Ker-Whump”
“Ker-Whump”

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