"I've never played Heartcutter because I think he's afraid of me."
-YourRoleModel
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| My War | | | Author: | | | IP: | p125.netXXXX | | Date: | 06/03/00 12:06 | | Game Type: | Starcraft | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 5, Min: 5
Lifetime Rating for Belt: 5.6667 |  | My war began the same way every day. It was not a flashy "Join the Marines" poster or some propaganda flick showing nuclear stirkes. My war began by asking "Dear
God, how many men are dying today?" as I crawled out of bed. Another day, another mission. The Protoss were supposed to be only mildly concerned with this planet.
They were supposed to crumble before the 3rd Division. Evidently, they hadn't read the same battle plans as our commanders. The Baldies seemed to have an endless
supply of Zealots, crashing through our battle lines like tidal waves. Zealots weren't my concern, though. The Protoss army was the problem of our Arclites, Marines, and
Firebats. Our Wraiths and Goliaths got to deal with the Carriers and Scouts. Things don't always go as planned and sometimes our boys just need a miracle. That's my
job. I'm a Ghost.
Briefing was the same as yesterday, a seemingly endless repetition of "Go win the war for us." I ignore it as usual and grab my gear from Supply. I often ride around in
dropships, which is the worst part of the job. The pilots like to talk. I don't. About half time, my ride gets blown up after dropping me off. Its easier when I don't know who's
on board.
The Protoss were kind enough to save me the trouble by trashing two battalions of the 1st Brigade. The 1st was awfully weak and the Baldies are pounding through them to
get to where yours truly bunks; division HQ. Anyway, today I'd just hoof it.
As I walk away from HQ, people always smile and nod at me. All the young kids, fresh out of boot camp, think I'm going to win the war for them. That's what the
propaganda movies told them. They'll learn after they see the remains of a Ghost's cloaking suit in the stomach of a splattered Ultralisk. My job doesn't need to pay
retirement benefits.
The Protoss were about fifteen miles away. I jog it in a couple hours, taking the time to think about things. Maybe I'll tell you about it, maybe I won't.
Anyway, I finally reached action. The smoking husks of a few Golgies were strewn around the broken Arclites they were supposed to be protecting. A few Scouts were
circling the wrekage like vultures, waiting for rescue teams to ambush. I ignored them and they couldn't see me. Things looked bad for the 1st Battalion and the division at
large.
A few miles later, an unusual vision appeared. A lone Probe scooted along the horizion, flanked by a pair of Dragoons and a couple Zealots. As I angled towards them, the
Scouts from before streaked overhead to join the procession. They seemed to be heading to some high ground about twelve miles from HQ. We had some defenders there,
but by the Protoss' nonchalant attitude, I guessed we didn't anymore.
After a half hour our so of trailing the column, we approached hill 372. A nice piece of elevated terrain that used to be the home of a squad of Golgies and a couple towers.
All I could see now were a few Zealots here and there. A pair walked around the top of the hill, checking the Terran dead for any possums.
An assault rifle sprayed out lead, sounding just like a buzzsaw. It had much the same effect on one of the Zealots, who fell with blood pouring from his head. A Marine
pushed his way out from the Goliath wrekage he was hiding in and turned towards the second Zealot. The Zealot wasn't there, of course. The Baldy had moved quicker than
a snake, racing towards the Marine's blind side. As my compatriot looked for the other Zealot, the Protoss reached him. Well, I guess I should say the stinking Baldy got
to both of him, as the Marine fell in two pieces. Poor guy. Brave, but not smart.
The Zealots backed off and the Scouts shot up the hilltop. No more surprises for these Protoss. No surprises but me, that is.
That lone Probe headed to the top of the hill. The robot began calling in a base from Aiur. One by one, glowing halos of buildings in transit formed atop the hill. There was
no way the 1st Battalion could cope with another base in their area. I guess they needed a miracle. My miracles are of the thermonuclear kind.
I hiked up hill 372, trying to avoid all the Zealots milling around. All this fancy equipment and my biggest problem is rubbing elbows. It was almost funny when I got knocked
over by a Dragoon barreling past me. The freak construct stopped and began searching around. This could be bad. A mess of Zealots came over and spread their arms out.
They all started walking around, trying to find something invisible. Something like me. By playing blind man's bluff, they told me they didn't have an Observer around. If
there's one thing I'm afraid of, its being seen by something I can't kill. The Protoss must get that feeling from me, but who said life is fair? Almost on cue, the Zealots
stopped wandering around and stood still. So, the Observer is on the way. I didn't have much time.
Command is so thoughtful. With a new addition to my suit, I didn't have to go to all the trouble of sending a nuke to a specific location. All I do is push a little yellow button
and a little patch of Hell is sent directly to my location. Nice of them. I push the button and start looking for a way out. I need to be close to the blast, but not too close.
Just then, a few Zealots started looking my way. I guess the Observer arrived. I ran. So did they. We both knew who was faster, but then again, I wasn't racing the Zealots.
If I could get away from the Observer, I would be safely invisible again. As I sprinted down the hill with a couple of Baldies after me, I glanced at the mini-computer on my
arm. The damn nuke was still tracking me. Instead of heading towards the nice location in the middle of the Protoss base, the loving little bomb decided it just couldn't
stand to be apart from me. I might as well make this one count.
* * *
Three Zealots chased the lone Ghost away from the new base. The man was fast, but the Protoss were faster. The Ghost began to make a wide turn to the left. As he did,
he fired his rifle, dropping the closest Zealot. Completing his turn, he ran back uphill. From around the base, all the Protoss began converging on the Ghost. Zealots who
jogged as fast as Olympians raced up hill 372. The Dragoons spidery legs carried them closer to the man as well. Overhead, the Scouts dropped altitude to bring their
firepower to bear. Straight to the center of the base, the Ghost ran the race he couldn't win. As the Protoss surrounded him on all sides, a bright light appeared in the sky.
Explosive charges rocketted a wedge shaped sliver of uranium 235 into a larger sphere of the substance. Over the four square miles of hill 372, the world ended. When the
initial blast passed by, nothing stirred upon the gamma ray wasteland. The Protoss forward base had been destroyed and the Ghost had brought one final miracle to the
3rd Division. |
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