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"